Somehow, I’d gotten real friendly with a married woman, name of Rose Hauck. One of those involvements which I’ve always kind of drifted into before I knew what was happening. Rose didn’t mean a thing to me, except that she was awful pretty and generous. But I meant plenty to her. I meant plenty-plenty, and she’d let me know it.

Just to show how smart Rose was, Myra considered her her very best friend. Yes, sir, Rose could put on that good an act. When we were alone, me and Rose that is, she’d cuss Myra until it actually made me blush. But when they were together, oh, brother! Rose would suck around her—honeyin’ and dearie-in’ her—until heck wouldn’t have it. And Myra would get so pleased and flustered that she’d almost weep for joy.

The surest way of gettin’ a rise out of Myra was to hint that Rose was something less than perfect. Even Lennie couldn’t do it. He started to onetime, just kind of hinted that anyone as pretty as Rose couldn’t be as nice as she acted. And Myra slapped him clean across the room.

3

Maybe I didn’t tell you, but this Ken Lacey I was going to visit was the sheriff a couple of counties down the river. Me and him met at a peace officers’ convention one year, and we kind of cottoned to each other right away. He wasn’t only real friendly, but he was plenty smart; I knew it the minute I started talking to him. So the first chance I got, I’d asked him advice about this problem I had.

“Um-hmmm!” he’d said, after I’d explained the situation and he’d thought it over for a while. “Now, this privy sits on public property, right? It’s out in back of the courthouse?”

“That’s right,” I said. “That’s exactly right, Ken.”

“But it don’t bother no one but you?”

“Right again,” I said. “You see, the courtroom is on the downstairs rear, and it don’t have no windows in back. The windows are upon the second floor where I live.”

Ken asked me if I couldn’t get the county commissioners to tear the privy down and I said no, I couldn’t hardly do that. After all, a lot of people used it, and it might make ‘em mad.

“And you can’t get ‘em to clean it out?” he asked. “Maybe sweeten it up a little with a few barrels of lime?”

“Why should they?” I said. “It don’t bother no one but me. I’d probably call down trouble on myself if I ever complained about it.”

“Uh-‘hah!’” Ken nodded. “It’d seem right selfish of you.”

“But I got to do something about it, Ken,” I said. “It ain’t just the hot-weather smell, which is plenty bad by itself, but that’s only part of it. Y’see, there’s these danged big holes in the roof that show everthing that’s going on inside. Say I’ve got some visitors in, and they think, Oh, my, you must have a wonderful view out that way. So they look out, and the only view they get is of some fella doing his business.”