Harry had sat the horse and watched him, in his blue overalls and horizontally striped blue and white T shirt, which, with the long sandy hair—like his own—that obscured his ears and shaded his gray eyes gave him the appearance of a miniature prison escapee. Harry had watched him until he turned the corner, then he rode on to Thomason’s.

But now, standing on the porch, listening to the aimless grumbles of the men talking (Mister Harper was not there to give their conversation form and scope), he began to feel guilty: It’s like I sent my own son into a she-lion’s den. The boy got more guts than me. God knows, I should be able to keep a forty-year-old bitch with a broken hip at arm’s length. But I sold my own boy out. When he gets back, I’ll buy him something. He leaned against a post, his post; it did not have his name on it, but no one else used it; he took no part in the talk, continued looking up the street toward the General, waiting for the boy to turn the corner.

Through his denim work shirt and jacket, he felt a fleshy hand on his shoulder. “Where’d you send Mister Leland, Harry?” It was Thomason, his best friend among the men, an apron tied high around his chest like a dirty white strapless evening gown.

“Sent him up to Miss Rickett’s. She’s—”

“You don’t have to say it. Don’t you think he’s too young for that?” He was grinning broadly. “Seems like he wouldn’t be big enough yet to fill that. Some of us can’t hardly fill that.”

Behind them, the men laughed.

“At least, I ain’t fallen so low as to ever need to want to fill that. So I, for one, don’t know nothing about its dimensions.” He pushed his elbow back, hitting Thomason in the ribs, then laughed. “Leastways, that’s why I sent him. I want to keep her away from me.”

“But ain’t you afraid for him? You trying to bring him up decent, ain’t you?” Thomason’s alarm was exaggerated.

“She won’t bother him none. Maybe give him something sweet.”

“That’s what I’m talking about! And take him in her arms and say he should come back in six years and when he’s as big and good-looking as his pa she’ll show him something real special!”

The men laughed again.

“Awh, shut up!” Harry, not really angry, turned away and looked up the street again. And then he saw the boy turn the corner, running.

“Here he comes.” Thomason clapped Harry’s shoulder. “A-running. I reckon she didn’t get him this time. But then that boy runs everywhere. Still, he got too much spunk left.” He turned away and backed to his space against the wall.