Once at my grandfather's store, I had given him a piece of candy. Snatching it out of my hand, he ate it and then sneered at me and said it wasn't any good. During a pie supper one night, he wanted to bet a dime that he could whip me.
My mother told me always to be kind of Rainie, that he couldn't help being the way he was. I asked,
'Why?' She said it was because his brothers were always picking on him and beating him.
On entering the store, they stopped and glared at me. Rubin walked over to the counter. Rainie came over to me.
Leering at me, he said, 'I'd like to make a bet with you.'
I told him I didn't want to bet.
He asked if I was scared.
'No. I just don't want to bet,' I said.
His neck and ears looked as though they hadn't been washed in months. His ferret-like eyes kept darting here and there. Glancing down to his hands, I saw the back of his right sleeve was stiff and starchy from the constant wiping of his nose.
He saw I was looking him over, and asked if I liked what I saw.
I started to say, 'No,' but didn't, turned, and walked away a few steps.
Rubin ordered some chewing tobacco.
'Aren't you a little young to be chewing?' Grandpa asked.
'Ain't for me. It's for my dad,' Rubin growled.
Grandpa handed two plugs to him. He paid for it, turned around, and handed one plug to Rainie. Holding the other up in front of him, he looked it over. Looking at Grandpa, he gnawed at one corner of it.
Grandpa mumbled something about how kids were brought up these days. He came from behind the counter, saying to me, 'Let's go grind that corn.'
The Pritchard boys made no move to follow us out of the store.
'Come on,' Grandpa said. 'I'm going to lock up till I get this corn ground.'
'We'll just stay here. I want to look at some of the shirts,' said Rubin.
'No, you won't,' said Grandpa. 'Come on, I'm going to lock up.'
Begrudgingly, they walked out.
I helped Grandpa start the mill and we proceeded to grind the corn. The Pritchard boys had followed us and were standing looking on.
Rainie walked over to me. 'I hear you have some good hounds,' he said.
I told him I had the best in the country. If he didn't believe me, he could just ask my grandfather.
He just leered at me. 'I don't think they're half as good as you say they are,' he said. 'Bet our old blue tick hound can out-hunt both of them.'
I laughed, 'Ask Grandpa who brings in the most hides.'
'I wouldn't believe him. He's crooked,' he said.
I let him know right quick that my grandfather wasn't crooked.
'He's a storekeeper, ain't he?' he said.
I glanced over at Grandpa. He had heard the remark made by Rainie. His friendly old face was as red as a
