Read Online Clay Hand by Dorothy Salisbury Davis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy Salisbury Davis
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all the time.
“I wonder what’s wrong with him,” Nichols said. “Most tradespeople here have been in the mines at one time or another, and had to leave them. I suspect in the long run there’s more money to be made in them than there is in business.”
“Not to hear the women talking up at Lavery’s this morning,” Phil said.
“Maybe. I guess one hand washes the other. There’s only one of the three collieries in the town digging now, I understand. The population’s been dropping off here, too. During the war it was about twice what it is now. The new migration. Where do they go from here?”
Phil shrugged.
The tavern-keeper returned with the milk. “Fresh,” he said. “You are strangers in Winston?”
“Good milk,” Nichols said. “Yes. We’re friends of Dick Coffee, the man who…”
“I know the man. I did know him, that is. You are here for the inquest?”
Nichols nodded.
“I have just been told to appear at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. The sheriff. It disturbs me. I do not like to be called on by the sheriff.”
“Routine questioning probably,” Nichols said.
The man shook his head. “I maybe shouldn’t have served him liquor that night. It’s hard not to serve when people are friendly. I am a friendly man. My wife is friendly. We like people who laugh to come here. We like it, the way our children like to play.” He motioned with his hands to illustrate the naturalness of it.
“They were on good terms then, the old man and Coffee?”
“They were very congenial.”
“I wonder why McNamara kicked them out then,” Nichols said to lead him on.
“My friend, this town is full of superstitions. The Irish, you know, are very superstitious people. Then there is the Number Three Colliery. Most of our people work in Number Two. Number Three is very old. There are people in town whose grandfathers worked in it. They feel it…” he fumbled for the words, “…it has life.”
“But Clauson,” Nichols persisted, “he’s never had anything to do with the mines?”
“No. But he is a magician. Maybe they think they have caught him in a trick.” The man spread his hands on the bar, the cleanest hands Phil had seen in Winston. “My friend, people do not seem to care if they are tricked a hundred times a day, if once in a while they can catch someone in a trick. Maybe it’s human nature. Maybe they think they have caught him in a trick…. I talk too much.”
“You talk sense,” Phil said then. “What kind of a mood was Coffee in Friday night? Did you know him before then?”
“He was in a couple of times before that. A nice man. A little sad, maybe, but nice. Friday night, he was…” again he fumbled for the words. He made a gesture with both hands indicating high spirits. “He was trying to convince Mr. Clauson his daughter was the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Quite a trick, from what I’ve heard,” Nichols said.
“Not with a father, my friend. He agreed with him, but seemed to disagree—just to lead him on.”
“And this is the testimony you’ll be called on to give tomorrow morning,” Phil said.
“I will be asked to tell what I have heard, and I will tell it. But I don’t like it.”
Chapter 10
I N THE LATE AFTERNOON , Phil drove back to Mrs. O’Grady’s with his luggage. Two men, obviously coal miners, were washing in the back kitchen, stripped to the waist. They neither looked at him nor spoke as he went through to the kitchen. There, the widow was clattering the lids of pots, and the pots themselves, on the range. She liked noise, Phil thought. In a way it was a symbol of activity, and the symbol was as close as she came to it. She put a big spoon into the girl Anna’s hand when she saw him, and bade her baste the meat until she returned.
She hobbled into the living room ahead of him. “It’s the room at the front of the house,” she said. “Right over our heads here. Warm yourself there at the stove before you go up.”
He set
“I wonder what’s wrong with him,” Nichols said. “Most tradespeople here have been in the mines at one time or another, and had to leave them. I suspect in the long run there’s more money to be made in them than there is in business.”
“Not to hear the women talking up at Lavery’s this morning,” Phil said.
“Maybe. I guess one hand washes the other. There’s only one of the three collieries in the town digging now, I understand. The population’s been dropping off here, too. During the war it was about twice what it is now. The new migration. Where do they go from here?”
Phil shrugged.
The tavern-keeper returned with the milk. “Fresh,” he said. “You are strangers in Winston?”
“Good milk,” Nichols said. “Yes. We’re friends of Dick Coffee, the man who…”
“I know the man. I did know him, that is. You are here for the inquest?”
Nichols nodded.
“I have just been told to appear at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. The sheriff. It disturbs me. I do not like to be called on by the sheriff.”
“Routine questioning probably,” Nichols said.
The man shook his head. “I maybe shouldn’t have served him liquor that night. It’s hard not to serve when people are friendly. I am a friendly man. My wife is friendly. We like people who laugh to come here. We like it, the way our children like to play.” He motioned with his hands to illustrate the naturalness of it.
“They were on good terms then, the old man and Coffee?”
“They were very congenial.”
“I wonder why McNamara kicked them out then,” Nichols said to lead him on.
“My friend, this town is full of superstitions. The Irish, you know, are very superstitious people. Then there is the Number Three Colliery. Most of our people work in Number Two. Number Three is very old. There are people in town whose grandfathers worked in it. They feel it…” he fumbled for the words, “…it has life.”
“But Clauson,” Nichols persisted, “he’s never had anything to do with the mines?”
“No. But he is a magician. Maybe they think they have caught him in a trick.” The man spread his hands on the bar, the cleanest hands Phil had seen in Winston. “My friend, people do not seem to care if they are tricked a hundred times a day, if once in a while they can catch someone in a trick. Maybe it’s human nature. Maybe they think they have caught him in a trick…. I talk too much.”
“You talk sense,” Phil said then. “What kind of a mood was Coffee in Friday night? Did you know him before then?”
“He was in a couple of times before that. A nice man. A little sad, maybe, but nice. Friday night, he was…” again he fumbled for the words. He made a gesture with both hands indicating high spirits. “He was trying to convince Mr. Clauson his daughter was the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Quite a trick, from what I’ve heard,” Nichols said.
“Not with a father, my friend. He agreed with him, but seemed to disagree—just to lead him on.”
“And this is the testimony you’ll be called on to give tomorrow morning,” Phil said.
“I will be asked to tell what I have heard, and I will tell it. But I don’t like it.”
Chapter 10
I N THE LATE AFTERNOON , Phil drove back to Mrs. O’Grady’s with his luggage. Two men, obviously coal miners, were washing in the back kitchen, stripped to the waist. They neither looked at him nor spoke as he went through to the kitchen. There, the widow was clattering the lids of pots, and the pots themselves, on the range. She liked noise, Phil thought. In a way it was a symbol of activity, and the symbol was as close as she came to it. She put a big spoon into the girl Anna’s hand when she saw him, and bade her baste the meat until she returned.
She hobbled into the living room ahead of him. “It’s the room at the front of the house,” she said. “Right over our heads here. Warm yourself there at the stove before you go up.”
He set
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