The Sporting House Killing G. Powell (best free novels .TXT) 📖

about something real humorous. They reminded him of home, which he missed sorely. The city was awful crowded, and things here was downright different. It was like a place where you could step out of your own time and into the next one to see what was up ahead. Electric lights made good sense, and indoor plumbing at the main school building had sure been nice back in the winter. Telephones might be a fine idea too, though he ain’t yet had occasion to use one. Ice cream and sody water was positive improvements for the progress of mankind, but there was times like right at that very moment when he didn’t much care for the big city.

Life back home on the farm might be a string of endless chores, but the daily routine was something you could count on, along with Momma’s meals. He didn’t mind chopping wood, really. Or plowing. Picking cotton in the summer was work—made your hands raw and your back sore—but there was always fishing to look forward to. At least he’d be home for harvest in the summer by the time the cicadas started singing. No better napping than in the shade of the front porch after picking cotton all day, when the cicadas would sing a body to sleep. He’d wake up to the smell of Momma’s supper afterward.

An old cowboy come along on a fine-looking mare, ambling down Fourth Street in no apparent hurry, hunched over the saddle horn like he’d had a hard ride into town. He was whistling a mournful tune—sounded like “Lorena,” maybe. Grandpa whistled that too. Pretty soon, the trolley come clanking along in the cowboy’s tracks. Or maybe he was on theirs. The trolley conductor honked his horn and the cowboy eased his horse off the tracks, still whistling, never looking up.

A hack come rolling up Fourth and turned in front of Jasper into the alley. The passenger in the back seat, a woman in a fancy wide-brimmed hat with flowers and bows, turned her head and looked straight at him as the hack passed.

Land o’ Goshen, it was Miss Jessie!

She made no expression, didn’t say howdy neither, and then the hack was on down the alley. It stopped under a big iron walking bridge that crossed over the alley from the second story of one building to another across the way. Nobody got out. Pretty soon, a man come out of the building to the right and went up to the carriage. He went back inside, and it wasn’t long before another man come out. This one sure looked like that bald fella from the whorehouse. He carried a big square box to the hack and handed it to Miss Jessie. The man went back inside, and the hack rolled on off.

Jasper jumped up and ran back to Mr. Calloway’s office.

“Miss Peach, I’m sorry to be a bother,” he called through the open door, “but I just seen that bald man.”

“Which bald man, Jasper?” she asked with a beautiful smile.

“The one I seen going into Miss Jessie’s on the night all that business with Cicero happened.”

“Are you sure?”

“Looked just like him. I’ll admit a fair distance betwixt us, but bald sticks out.”

She headed for the door. “Show me where he is.”

He led her down the alley until they stood just under the overhead passageway and pointed to the alley door. “I think he come out of there.”

She stepped back to the edge of the alley and looked to her right, counting doors with her finger. “One, two, three, four. It must be Sanger Brothers.”

“Who’s they?”

“The big dry goods store. The storefront’s on Austin Avenue.” She took off down the alley. “Follow me, Jasper.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She led him around the corner and onto Austin Avenue, then slowed to a stroll. They passed a bookstore and a small grocery before she stopped in front of a window display. The sign painted on the window said in big gold letters Sanger Brothers and under that Dry Goods, Clothing, Shoes, Millinery, Ladies Suits and Wraps, Fancy Goods. There was a dry goods store back in Flatonia, too, where he went with Momma once a month to stock up on things they needed, but that one didn’t have nothing like this store. In the Sanger window, a statue of a woman stood all dressed up in a fancy dress with a big floppy hat covered in flowers. She looked downright real. Some other women’s clothes, all fancy, hung on racks.

“I don’t want that man to leave before Mr. Calloway or Mr. Harley gets back,” Miss Peach said. “We’re going inside to find him. I want you to point him out when you see him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He followed her inside. He ain’t never seen so many clothes and shoes and such. They walked through a long, narrow room with shelves on both walls. The shelves had stacks of boxes, must’ve been hundreds. In front of the shelves was high-back bench seats and stools. A few ladies sat there while men put shoes on their feet. Open boxes was on the floor all around ’em. There was enough shoes in that room for every woman in Fayette County to have three pair. Momma wouldn’t believe her eyes.

“Jasper, look at the men, not the shoes,” Miss Peach said under her breath.

None of ’em was bald. Miss Peach led the way through a door into another big room. Long wooden counters had boxes stacked on top. A sign said Hosiery, whatever that was. Men and ladies walked around, helping folks doing their shopping. He looked at all them men, but the bald fella wasn’t nowhere. They checked all the first-floor rooms, but no bald man.

She led the way to an elevator. “Let’s go to the second floor.”

“I ain’t never been in no elevator, ma’am. I always just take the stairs.”

She went in anyway, and he followed.

“Good afternoon,” she said to the elevator operator. “Two, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Should I hold on to something?” Jasper asked.

She smiled. “No, it’s an