Read Online The Diamond Bikini by Charles Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Williams
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they was out here you damn near blowed ‘em up with dynamite, and now they just keep chasin’ each other down the hall to the John all gaunted down to skin an’ bones like a blind muley-cow with the scours, and I can’t get no sense out of ‘em at all except one of ‘em said he thought they’d been drinkin’ croton oil.”
Uncle Sagamore just looked at him, real surprised. “Croton oil?” he says, like he couldn’t believe it. “Why, Shurf, they must of been just hoorawin’ you. They wouldn’t do nothin’ like that. Why, you take a couple of men that’s smart enough to get to be politicians an’ draw a paycheck for settin’ in the shade of the courthouse to watch out for gals gettin’ in and out of cars so they don’t sunburn their legs—why they got more sense than to drink croton oil.”
He stopped to sail out some more tobacco juice. The sheriff was just sputtering, like he couldn’t even think of words any more.
Uncle Sagamore wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why, hell,” he says, “even old boll weevil like me that ain’t got brains nough to do nothin’ but work nineteen hours a day to pay his taxes is got more sense than to drink croton oil. It’ll give you the scours something awful. But I’ll tell you what, Shurf,” he went on. “I won’t let on to nobody that you even mentioned it. It would be a awful thing to get around, come to think of it, people sayin’ to each other how them goddam fat politicians was gettin’ so bored with high livin’ and doin’ nothing but milkin’ the taxpayers that they’ve took to drinkin’ croton oil just to pass the time. I won’t breathe it to a soul.”
Uncle Sagamore looked around then and saw us. “Shurf,” he says, “I’d like to have you meet my brother Sam.”
The sheriff jerked his head around and stared at us. “Oh, no!” he says, like he hurt somewhere. “Oh, Jesus, no! Not two of you! Not two Noonans in the same county. God wouldn’t do that to anybody. I’ll—I’ll—” He choked all up.
“Sam,” Uncle Sagamore went on, “the shurf here is kind of worried about his men. Seems like they’ve started sneakin’ off to drink croton oil on the sly, like a baby stuffin’ beans up his nose, and he’s afraid the voters’ll get wind of it. But I was just tellin’ him he ain’t got a thing to worry about as far as we’re concerned. We can keep a secret as well as anybody in the county.”
“We sure can,” Pop says. “Nobody’ll ever find it out from us. But ain’t that kind of a funny thing for ‘em to want to do?”
“Well, sir,” Uncle Sagamore says, “we’re not in no position to judge, Sam. We’re not in politics. Ain’t no way we can rightly tell what kind of a strain a man might be under, settin’ there every day with all that responsibility. Why, a strain like that could get so bad after a while a man might even start to think about gettin’ out of politics and goin’ to work, though offhand I can’t seem to recollect of a case of one ever crackin’ up quite as bad as that.”
The sheriff was getting a little purple around the face now. He kept trying to talk, but it was mainly just sputter, like steam pushing up the lid of a coffee pot. “Sagamore Noonan!” he yells, “I—I—”
Uncle Sagamore didn’t even seem to hear him. He just shifted his tobacco over on the other side and shook his head sort of sad. “Politics is hard on a man, Sam,” he says. “It always puts me in mind of Bessie’s cousin, Peebles. Peebles was a dep’ty shurf for a long time, till he begin to grow this here sort of mildew on his hunkers. Just regular mildew, like you see on a pone of bread that’s gone stale. It was a real puzzling thing, and they couldn’t figure it out at all.
“Well sir, it went on like that for quite a spell, with Peebles goin’ to the doctor every week or so to have this mildew scraped off his butt, but they never could figure out what caused it, till one day the
Uncle Sagamore just looked at him, real surprised. “Croton oil?” he says, like he couldn’t believe it. “Why, Shurf, they must of been just hoorawin’ you. They wouldn’t do nothin’ like that. Why, you take a couple of men that’s smart enough to get to be politicians an’ draw a paycheck for settin’ in the shade of the courthouse to watch out for gals gettin’ in and out of cars so they don’t sunburn their legs—why they got more sense than to drink croton oil.”
He stopped to sail out some more tobacco juice. The sheriff was just sputtering, like he couldn’t even think of words any more.
Uncle Sagamore wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why, hell,” he says, “even old boll weevil like me that ain’t got brains nough to do nothin’ but work nineteen hours a day to pay his taxes is got more sense than to drink croton oil. It’ll give you the scours something awful. But I’ll tell you what, Shurf,” he went on. “I won’t let on to nobody that you even mentioned it. It would be a awful thing to get around, come to think of it, people sayin’ to each other how them goddam fat politicians was gettin’ so bored with high livin’ and doin’ nothing but milkin’ the taxpayers that they’ve took to drinkin’ croton oil just to pass the time. I won’t breathe it to a soul.”
Uncle Sagamore looked around then and saw us. “Shurf,” he says, “I’d like to have you meet my brother Sam.”
The sheriff jerked his head around and stared at us. “Oh, no!” he says, like he hurt somewhere. “Oh, Jesus, no! Not two of you! Not two Noonans in the same county. God wouldn’t do that to anybody. I’ll—I’ll—” He choked all up.
“Sam,” Uncle Sagamore went on, “the shurf here is kind of worried about his men. Seems like they’ve started sneakin’ off to drink croton oil on the sly, like a baby stuffin’ beans up his nose, and he’s afraid the voters’ll get wind of it. But I was just tellin’ him he ain’t got a thing to worry about as far as we’re concerned. We can keep a secret as well as anybody in the county.”
“We sure can,” Pop says. “Nobody’ll ever find it out from us. But ain’t that kind of a funny thing for ‘em to want to do?”
“Well, sir,” Uncle Sagamore says, “we’re not in no position to judge, Sam. We’re not in politics. Ain’t no way we can rightly tell what kind of a strain a man might be under, settin’ there every day with all that responsibility. Why, a strain like that could get so bad after a while a man might even start to think about gettin’ out of politics and goin’ to work, though offhand I can’t seem to recollect of a case of one ever crackin’ up quite as bad as that.”
The sheriff was getting a little purple around the face now. He kept trying to talk, but it was mainly just sputter, like steam pushing up the lid of a coffee pot. “Sagamore Noonan!” he yells, “I—I—”
Uncle Sagamore didn’t even seem to hear him. He just shifted his tobacco over on the other side and shook his head sort of sad. “Politics is hard on a man, Sam,” he says. “It always puts me in mind of Bessie’s cousin, Peebles. Peebles was a dep’ty shurf for a long time, till he begin to grow this here sort of mildew on his hunkers. Just regular mildew, like you see on a pone of bread that’s gone stale. It was a real puzzling thing, and they couldn’t figure it out at all.
“Well sir, it went on like that for quite a spell, with Peebles goin’ to the doctor every week or so to have this mildew scraped off his butt, but they never could figure out what caused it, till one day the
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