Hopkinsville Kentuckian. [volume] (Hopkinsville, Ky.) 1889-1918, 1903-11-10
THE SEVENTH EVENT



fields the pickers had but a scam
six hours of work, for the kiln.
were overcrOwded. In the baliny
rooms the long steel needles hat
been piled continuously. At short
intervals, heavy burlapped oh
longs were rolled from the scales
and added to the stack for ship
ment.
Brady was only a picker. He
had been ''laid off" with the rest
In the meager shade beneath his
tramp wagon he was stretched
face downward, Grasshoppers
lighted fearlessly upon his back
and sprang off again, their wings
clicking metallicaIly. The sorrel
mare, tethered to a clump of will
low, came the length Of her rope,
and whinnied for water. There
was a stir in the wagon, and the
sudden half cry of an awakening
child. A frowsy-headed little boy
peered from under the canvas cur
tains, then he clambercd down
and stood ankle deep in the stub
BILE.
Daddy" he called. Daddy!
Mes hungry, daddy"
The man sat up and stared at
the fOrlOrn little figure.
amos is hungry, daddyw the
child continued, imperatively.
Eyes, yes" the man mechanical
~ answered. He rose and STUN
bled over to a row of imprOvised
shelves behind the sheet iron
camp stove. The first can he
opened was empty. The second
held part of loaf of bread. He
cut Il generous slice and creased
il sparingly with butter from a
Jar. Then he lifted the little fel
low, swung him into the wagon
again and climbed in behind him.
The child eyed the bread with
round, disappearing eyes "AIom.
mer gives me mer-lasses, he said,
slowly
~ -es."
And she gives my kittie milk. "
He grabbed lank gray kitten by
its fore leg and pulled it toward
him. 'In the morning" he con
tinued, thOughtfully, "mommer
gives me mush--an' pancakes. |
want my mOmmer. daddyw
The man made no answer. His
eyes travelled from the band of
fresh cotton crepe upon his hat to
faded pink Sunbonnet that dan
gled among other garments, sus-
pended by huge safety pins from
the wagon top. The child's gaze
followed his. "Will she be sorry
cause she didn't take her bun
metz" he asked. Wondering at the
silence, he Observation-Disclosures
into his fathers face. "Is yer cry.
! in some more, daddy?" One
grimy little hand patted the rough
cheek above him, leaving telltale
traces in its moisture. eyer
mustn't" he said. "Amos'll 60
an find herw
Brady pushed the boy suddenly
from him, swung out of the wag-
on and busted himself with the
sconi preparations for the even
ing meal AS he worked, child
ish treble foated out to him,
grooming in a fashion of its own:
Were gOin'-ter tind-my
mommer! We're goin'-ter find
my mommerw
The larder was limited. Never
had the purse been 80 thin since
Tom Brady and Marcia, his wife,
had become of the people known in
the west as "wagon tramps." The
inevitable "rainy day" had come.
1t had found them in the midst of
apricot season at the drier. There
had been a brief illness and the
child was "bOarded out" for a
week. Then came the funeral.
Brady had borrowed low, fiat
wagon, and the mare, Sinabar,
had drawn Marcia for the last
time. At the hop yards it was
hard to weigh in very much with
a child to look after. Grief adds
lead to ones fingers. So the mush
and the "mer-lasses" had given
out; the pocketbook was depleted.
ounapa Of kl,a t,,,;,A1I 80 80,