The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1920-07-16
By Oney Fred Sweet

~ y
Faced Mike could see hawk circlin'
high in the sky, beneath the white
floatin' clouds that, with their gold
lodges, was sailin' along like treasure
ships.
And the yellin' and the splashin'!
Hard-Faced Mike was hearin' the ecEo
come back from the shadowy pockets
beneath the law-branched plum and
choke-cherry trees.
I saw Hard-Faced Mike crop down
on the bank, an for the first time he
was noticin'. the June-high blue grass
in which he'd been layin'. He was
catchin' the smell of the June
warmed earth, and he was hearin'
the insects-the insects that was
keepin' up a snare-drum effect to the
alto of the creek ripples and
the tenor of the echo back in the
shadows. Over on the dusty road a
lumber-wagon goes rumblin' along, an
could see Hard-F Faced Mike recol-
lected the rumble-a farmer driviI'
home from town.
Seventeen years had suddenly drop.
ped off of Hard-Faced Mike; a sew
enteen-year growth of scales and for
the minute cleared away from his
eyes, and his heart was poundin' hard
against the seyenteen-year-thick cal
lous about it.
The cynical squint was all gone as
he followed the antics of the young
savages in the dlnky crick, and lis
tened to the new kind of lingo they
babbled when they came out on the
bank to dress.
Can you pick 'em all out?" 1 asks,
"the old gang?"
He didn't answer. He was watchin'
the kid with cow-lick in his whitish
hair, that had made the dive from
the bank.
You could see the kids muscles
ripple beneath his shoulders that was
particularly sunburnt on top when he
used his arms to brush his hair back
smooth, like the gents in the collar
advertisements. His clothes wasn't
much when he came to put 'em on.
but somehow there was a college boy
hang to his ACKNOWLEDGED pants.
You could notice his voice, when
he joined in the babble, hadn't fully
got past the stage of havin break
in it.
1t seemed so ALFRED easy for that
gang to laugh, but there was mighty
few of their jokes that we had the
key to. We was like foreigners in a
strange country. The gangs who
cares-about-you" attitude seemed to
sort O. hurt Hard Faced Mike. They
had stolen his old haunts as if he and
his gang had never originally ruled
over 'em.
He watches 'em wistfully when
they flies out down the path that takes
'em over the dusty road toward town,
stoppin' every now and then to pick
green gooseberries, or to throw
stick at squirrel.
We sat on the bank of the crick a
long time after the gang had drifted
out of sight between the low-branched
plum and choke-berry trees. Grooves
in Hard-Faced Mikes brain that had
been cobwebbed over for seventeen
years was suddenly gettin' active.
What you thinkin' about?" l asks.
And what do you suppose that old
barrel-house bum answers?
81 wonder who's playin' wild the old
red carnelian now," he says, "the
one l used to win marble games with
back of the school-house? Hank Klein
and the Mcneil kids an Jim Writ an
Earne Sopere always thought that Ca
nick was charmed. An then there
was that catapult l made. l hunted
all spring to find the right kind OF
a crotch, and l picked whole -four
sack full of maple seeds to pay for
the rubbers, but pecked crow with
it out of the top of one of old man
Harlow's poplar trees"
He don't say anything for just a
minute, and then he goes on:
81 guess told you back in the
road" he says, "about the crowd that
was down to the depot platform that
mornin' when Company D left to take
part in the Spanish-American. The
band was playin' and the town was