Locomotive to the Past George Schultz (top 10 books to read TXT) 📖

“But, you see? I just simply… I just… well, I just…”

“Oh, quit being so damn dramatic,” cautioned Eric—with a smile. An almost-grin—about as broad as Our Hero had ever witnessed, when it had come to his landlord. Thank God!

“Quite frankly, Dear,” added Susan, “we really didn’t think that you’d have had the six dollars. Actually, we pretty well knew . . . that you wouldn’t! You’d mentioned… when you’d first came here… something, about having fifteen dollars. And that was probably true… at the time. But, there was that weekend, you know. That one Sunday. The one… where we’d gone, and ‘thrown you out’. We felt… once we’d actually thought about it… that you probably would’ve had to have spent a few bucks then. You’d just about had to. We didn’t feed ya, y’know. I’m sure that, having done that… having spent a few dollars… it certainly must have weighed, on you! Weighed heavily! We probably… we undoubtedly… should never have let you stew over it, this long! Let you panic… over the situation! You were never in danger… repeat, never in danger… of being asked to leave. I was pretty well taken, with you… on the day you showed up here. I’m sure you know that.”

“Yeah, she was,” added Eric. “It just took a little longer . . . for me. But, Susie? She was for you… all the way. Even before I’d ever met you. Well before I ever met you.”

“As you well know,” smiled Susan.

“As… as I… as I what?’

“Come on, Jason! Do you think we didn’t hear you? Hear you… at the very last, anyway? When you were… out in the dining room? When Eric and I were discussing you? Do you imagine . . . that we didn’t know, that you were right there? You’d have to have been almost a… almost a… well, almost a sub-human! Someone from another planet . . . not to have tried, to sneak in a listen! I know that… know that, if it had been me . . . I’d have certainly tried to find out! Find out . . . what the people were saying! What they’d be saying… about me!”

“I do have to admire the way you were able to scramble back,” added Eric. “The way you were able to get back . . . into the living room! So quickly! And so quietly! Back into the living room! My compliments.”

“I’d told Eric to remove his muddy shoes,” explained his wife. “To give you enough time… ample time… to scramble back. He’d already taken them off, don’t you know.”

“Yeah,” affirmed Eric, laughing, heartily. “You probably didn’t need all those extra seconds. Talk about your cat-like movements.”

“Then… you… you knew? You knew . . . all the time? Both of you? You really knew?”

“Of course, Dear,” answered his landlady, reaching across and patting the back of his hand. “Of course we did. As I said, though, the reason you’d touched this cold, cold, heart of mine, was because… well, because I believed that you’d given me, practically, all of your money! I figured, ‘Anybody who’s that taken with me… with the house, with what-ever . . . he or she has to be a good person’. A special person.”

“I… I can’t believe this! I mean…”

“We were both waiting, though,” responded Susan, “for you . . . to go ahead, and deal with the thing. To ‘fess up to us, y’know. To tell us the truth.”

“Yeah,” added her husband. “The six bucks . . . that’s no big deal. Character is, though. And you’ve shown a lot of good grace, here. A lot of class.”

Good grace? Class? Dear Lord! Is that YOU, Grandpa? Is that YOU . . . looking after me? Looking down . . . and taking my side? Maybe taking my SOUL? Taking care of me?

“Listen, Dear,” offered Susan, “you can pay us, on Friday. When you get your first paycheck. And… don’t pay any attention… to that ‘room only’ thing. You’re… actually, you’ve become . . . well, you’re just like one of the family, by now. In fact, I’d really felt badly… turning you loose! Turning you away… to face the cruel world, on Sunday. We really didn’t know… if you’d had more than a few coins, in your pocket. It worried the both of us. Eric was going loan you five dollars. We probably should have fed you… when you got back. That was something… that neither one of us thought of, Not till after… well after… you’d gone up to bed.”

“Yeah, sorry ’bout that,” said her husband.

Jason was surprised by the Maxwell Smart remark. He could not believe that anyone—in 1942—would’ve uttered that expression. Not in that fashion, anyway.

“Oh, we’ll continue to take the six bucks,” said his host. “Because we both feel that you do need to continue to have some manner of responsibility.”

“And we’ll expect you to… once you’ve gotten a check or two under your belt,” augmented his wife, “we’ll look for you to begin to buy yourself… your own clothes. Your own clothes, your own shoes, your own toiletries. That sort of thing. I’ll still pop for the potato chips, though. What’s a nickel . . . between friends?”

“Are you crazy?” responded Eric—with the broadest grin Jason had ever seen. “Potato chips? We’re going to keep him… in potato chips? You never told me that! Why… he’s jolly-well going to bankrupt us!”

Friday! It finally came—and, with it, a “most generous” check. With the overtime—accrued from the previous Saturday—Jason’s check was over $100. Withholding, of course, was nothing, even close to resembling the deductions that had dogged Our Boy—despite his “moderate” income—during his storied career, at Mr. Clarkson’s “divine” coffee shop. Those unholy deductions, had patently perturbed him—all through his rather-limited working life.

The young lad had “come out”—into the workforce when he’d been a mere “guppy”, of 14. He’d convinced the manager, of a local pizza joint, that he was 15-going-to-be-16—rather than exactly a year younger, than those false figures. He’d wound up washing dishes—and scouring those huge, food-encrusted, kettles. He’d also bused tables. And was even an occasional “emergency” member, of the vaunted wait staff.

He couldn’t become a delivery boy—since he’d had no car.