Chapter VIII: Jerry Hires Out

North Bank’s basketball season came to an end with the deciding game against Cumbridge Hall which was played in the Sharples Gymnasium and was won by the visitors, 21 to 16. Tom and Jerry watched the contest over the balcony railing and were very much excited and rooted diligently with the others to the bitter end. Joe Kirkham, who played right forward and who, because Jackson was in difficulties with the office as a result of an inherent objection to studying, was acting captain, made a wonderful effort to pull down Cumbridge’s lead in the last period and played like a whirlwind. But, although the local five scored eight points to the Dark Blue’s three, the latter’s lead was not to be overcome. Joe was rather despondent after the game and Tom and Jerry lugged him over to Number 7 and fed him maple fudge until he had forgotten the defeat. Fudge was a weakness of Jerry’s, and the present supply had been laid in that afternoon when he and Tom had gone across to Annapolis to buy a cap. A few minutes before ten Joe took his departure, comforted in mind and body.

The crew candidates, who had been at work at the rowing machines for a fortnight, took the water early in March, and the track and field athletes blossomed in scanty white raiment whenever a mild day permitted. Mild days were becoming frequent, too, by that time, and on one of them Jerry, in the interim between a ten and an eleven-thirty recitation period, pulled his new cap on the back of his tow-colored head in the approved fashion and wandered over to the empty athletic field. Spring was veritably in the air this morning and Jerry experienced dim longings that came near to causing him a slight attack of homesickness. Back home on such a day he might have slung his old shotgun over his shoulder and gone off up the hogback with a couple of disreputable hounds at his heels. There wasn’t a dog in Huckinsburg that wouldn’t follow at the sight of a gun. Down there the air would be warmer and softer, without the chill breath that blew in from the Chesapeake Bay, and some of the trees would be showing green buds and there might even be, here and there, a jasmine bloom. Jerry shook his head.

“Reckon it’s going to be right hard to stay indoors some of these days,” he muttered. And after a moment, with a flicker of a smile in his pale blue eyes, he added: “Wonder what they’d do to me if I was to play hooky sometime!”

Pondering that, he thrust his hands into his trousers’ pockets and the right hand came in contact with the few coins that constituted his available assets. He drew them forth and looked at them ruefully. Seventy, eighty, ninety――a dollar and twelve! Saturday’s trip to Annapolis had been expensive. The cap and a pound of fudge and a couple of ice cream sodas at Moore’s had made an awful dent in his wealth. After the Baltimore visit he had sent home and subtracted a big ten dollar bill from his savings in the little bank, but there had been a lot of small expenses and here he was “plumb nigh bust again”! And now that it seemed fairly certain that he was destined to play baseball――for if the first or second nines didn’t want him the Baldwin House team was already bespeaking his services――he was confronted by the necessity of paying out ten or possibly twelve dollars for a uniform. Jerry shook his head again. If this sort of thing went on his savings wouldn’t look like much by the time he had finished at North Bank. Of course, during the summer he’d go back to the store if Pap had a place for him, but Pap had a fellow working for him now and there wasn’t enough trade for two clerks except on Saturdays.

His musings had taken him to the corner of the school grounds, across the gridiron and the jumping pits and past the diamond, and now, confronted by the hedges, he was in the act of turning back toward the buildings when voices near at hand attracted his attention. A little way beyond, Cicero, the school’s general factotum, was busy with a pair of mammoth shears on the privet hedge that ran along the road, and, in conversation with him across the hedge of the adjoining property was a big, fine-looking man of middle age whom Jerry judged to be Mr. Laurence. He looked much like the men of his age that Jerry was used to seeing back home, save that he was dressed better and with far more care for his appearance. He wore a drooping brown mustache that showed a few gray hairs and a well-trimmed goatee below, and a wide-brimmed brown felt hat was pushed to the back of his head.

“No, sir, I don’t know no one at all right now, Major,” Cicero was saying. “Reckon I might find some one for you, though.”

“I wish you’d try, Cicero,” answered the other. “I’ve been advertising in the Annapolis _Capital_, but no one’s answered. What’s the matter with your folks? Don’t they want to work any more?”

The old darky chuckled. “Reckon they never did, Major! Only, sometimes they has to. It’s powerful hard to get a colored man to go to work in the spring, sir. Seems like if they get through the winter they ain’t worritin’ none ’bout spring!”

The Major laughed and turned away, flicking the hedge with the cane he carried. “Well, I wish you’d see if you can’t find some one,” he replied. “This place is going to rack and ruin, it is so!”

He went off in the direction of the comfortable residence that stood well back from the road, and Cicero, after watching him a moment, returned leisurely to his task of snipping the too ambitious twigs of the privet hedge. Jerry, leaning against the backstop in the corner of the ball field, pondered. After a minute or two he approached the negro, and Cicero, becoming aware of his presence, bobbed his old head and smiled broadly.

“Mornin’, sir, mornin’! Right scrumptious weather we’re havin’, sir.”

“Howdy,” responded Jerry. “Was that Mr. Laurence you were talking to, Cicero?”

“Yes, sir, that was the Major; Major Lucius Waiden Laurence. Mighty fine gentleman, the Major is, sir.”

“Wasn’t he asking you to find him some one to do some work?”

“Yes, sir, that was his complaint. He had a no-account darky workin’ for him last fall and he done failed to return. Looks like colored folks ain’t wantin’ to work nowdays.”

“What sort of work does the Major want done?” asked Jerry.

“Mostly gardenin’. Says his hedges needs trimmin’, for one thing. And I reckon they does, too.”

Jerry referred to the big nickel watch that reposed in a waistcoat pocket. He still had twenty minutes of freedom. Near at hand was a gap between the poplars that invited, and in a moment Jerry had climbed the fence and was off across the broad lawn, Cicero looking after him with a deal of curiosity. The Major had not returned indoors, but was standing outside the garage behind the residence. He observed the boy’s approach with a hospitable smile and spoke first.

“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” he asked cordially.

“Howdy,” began Jerry. Then he swallowed and made a new start. “Good-morning, sir,” he substituted. The Major smiled more broadly.

“Howdy,” he returned. “You’re one of the school fellows, I reckon.”

“Yes, sir. I heard you talking to Cicero about a man to do some work for you. I ain’t――I haven’t ever done no――any gardening sir, but I reckon I could. I reckon I could trim hedges, anyway.”

The Major looked surprised. “But look here, son,” he said, “how does it happen you’re looking for a job? First I ever heard of any of you boys working. Thought you were all too grand for that.”

“I can’t say about the rest of them, sir,” replied Jerry, “but I ain’t too grand. I always have worked, sir. And I was thinking that if I could do the work maybe you wouldn’t mind me having the job. I――I sort of need the money.”

“Bless my soul, go ahead!” said the Major heartily. “I reckon you can trim a hedge, like you say. If you can’t, get Cicero to show you how. You can’t make them look much worse than they’re looking right now, I’ll wager! When could you do it?”

“I’d have to work sort of between times, sir, all except Saturdays. I could work all Saturday afternoons. And I reckon I could put in about three hours other days.”

“Well, that sounds all right. What’s your name, son, and where do you come from?” Jerry informed him and the Major nodded approvingly.

“I thought you didn’t come from around here. North Carolina’s a fine state, Jerry, and I’ve got a heap of friends down there. Now, what sort of wages are you looking for?”

“I reckon I’ll have to leave that to you-all, sir. Whatever you say. I ain’t experienced none, and so――――”

“Fifty cents an hour, then?”

“Yes, sir, that would be all right. ’Course, if I don’t do like you want done――――”

“I’m at liberty to fire you? Well, I reckon you’ll satisfy me, son. When do you want to begin?”

Jerry pondered. Then: “I reckon I could start in this afternoon at two. I ain’t――haven’t got any recitation to-day at two. I could work to half past three――nearly.”

“What happens at half past three? You don’t have any lessons at that time of day, do you?”

“No, sir, but there’s baseball practice, and I’m trying for the nine.”

“Are you really? Well, don’t let work interfere with your play too much, Jerry. Boys need a lot of play, I reckon. You come with me and I’ll show you where the tools are kept. If you don’t find what you need you tell me and I’ll see if we can get it. Keep track of your own time, son, and at the end of the week we’ll have an accounting. That satisfactory to you?”

It was, and Jerry said so, and after being shown the tool shed behind the house he took leave of his employer and hurried pell-mell back to school and that eleven-thirty class in English. Before dinner he took time to return to Number 7 and study his schedule of recitations. He found that on Tuesdays he would not be able to deliver the promised three hours, but he soon solved that difficulty. It would be easy enough to get up early some morning and make up that hour before chapel. Altogether, he could put in twenty hours a week at the Major’s, by working all of Saturday afternoon, and that meant the munificent sum of ten dollars! He didn’t lose sight of the fact that his gardening labors were going to cut into his study time a whole lot, but he believed that by staying at home in the evenings, instead of visiting around with Tom or Joe for an hour or more, he could maintain his present class standing, which, while nothing to boast of, perhaps, wasn’t so bad in view of his handicaps. As Tom was not at home Jerry had no opportunity of acquainting him with the news, nor did he see him during dinner time, and so it was that Tom first learned of his roommate’s new activity just before practice hour when Lory Browne, meeting him on the campus, remarked: “I see Jerry Benson’s got a new business, Tom.”

“That so? What is it?” Tom responded.

“Don’t you know or are you kidding?” asked the crew captain suspiciously.

“I don’t know what you mean, Lory, honestly. What’s Jerry up to?”

Lory chuckled. “Just now he’s trimming the Laurence’s hedge and a couple of dozen fellows are over there guying him. I supposed you knew.”

“Trimming the Laurence’s―― What for?”

“Search me, Thomas. Thought maybe you and he had gone into partnership: Hartley and Benson, Gardening Contractors; Mawns Lowed――I mean――――”

“Never you mind what you mean,” laughed Tom. Then, becoming serious: “Guess I’ll go and see what he’s up to,” he said. “You never know what that crazy guy will do next!”

Lory smiled, nodded, and ran up the steps of the Hall, and Tom went hurriedly toward the ball field where already a dozen candidates were whiling away the time with bat and ball. Beyond the backstop, where the line of tall, yellowing poplars that divided the school grounds from the Laurence property met the hedges that lined the road a group of boys, many of them in baseball togs, were amusedly watching the none too adept efforts of Jerry Benson who, having started at the school end of the Major’s hedge, was doing his inexperienced best to make it conform to the prescribed shape. The gibes that floated across to the laborer were, for the most part, good-natured, for Jerry was generally well liked, even if his odd appearance and queer ways still occasioned secret amusement.

“How much do you get, Benson?” asked one of the audience.

“Does he have to shave it when he gets through cutting its hair?” inquired another.

“He’s not cutting hair, you lobster, he’s manicuring.”

“Hey, Jerry, there’s a place you missed!”

“Let me do some, will you?”

As a matter of fact, Jerry would have been glad to let some one else relieve him, for hedge shears are heavy and this particular pair was rusted and worked hard. His wrists were already lame and tired, and within the last ten minutes he had looked four times at his watch. But he was determined to keep going until a quarter past three, which would allow him plenty of time to change into his togs in the gymnasium and get back to the diamond at half past. At first he had good-humoredly replied to the remarks directed at him, but now he was letting the onlookers answer their own questions, which they seemed fully able to do. Tom looked and wondered, and while he looked a voice that hadn’t spoken before was heard. Wayne Sortwell, dressed for playing, had joined the group a moment before Tom, and he had seen Tom’s arrival. His remark was meant more for Tom’s ears than for Jerry’s. In fact, it is doubtful if Jerry heard it at all, for his labors had carried him well down the hedge away from the others.

“Who’s the nigger cutting the hedge?” asked Wayne of no one in particular. “Gosh, he’s got white hair!”

“He isn’t a negro,” volunteered a small youth who stood close by, in all seriousness. “He’s Jerry Benson.”

“Get out!” scoffed Wayne. “Only a coon would do that sort of work. Maybe I can get him to black my shoes when he gets through.”

“He’s more likely to black your eye!” exclaimed Tom. “And I guess he would if he heard you, Sortwell.”

The latter turned and simulated surprise at Tom’s presence. Then he laughed. “Oh, I reckon not. He’d be glad to earn a nickel, probably.”

Some one advised him to “shut up,” but several laughed, and Wayne added contemptuously: “Don’t see why he works for the neighbors. He could pick up a lot if he started a shoe-shining stand!”

Tom’s long-nursed if ill-founded dislike of Wayne Sortwell broke forth. With two strides, pushing aside the small boy who had spoken a moment before, he confronted Wayne with blazing eyes.

“Benson’s a friend of mine,” he said quietly.

Wayne Sortwell returned his look undisturbedly. “No fault of mine, is it?” he asked sneeringly. “You choose your own friends, Hartley.”

“Yes, and fight for them!” answered Tom.

Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “Threatening me, Hartley?” he asked.

“Exactly! You keep your dirty mouth closed about Benson or I’ll shut it for you!”

“I’ll talk as I like about Benson or any one else.” Wayne shrugged his shoulders. “And I’ll fight you, Hartley, any time you say. But not here.”

Several of the older boys present had interposed by that time. “Cut it out, you fellows,” begged Tub Keller. “You can’t scrap here in full sight of the school. Shut up, Tom! Wayne was fooling. Don’t be so touchy!”

“Tell him to let Benson alone then,” answered Tom hotly. “Benson――――”

“What about me?” interrupted a drawling voice at Tom’s shoulder. “Here I am. Any one looking for me, Tom?” Jerry, still armed with his hedge shears, blinked inquiringly.

“It’s nothing at all,” said Tub soothingly. “Get your togs on Jerry, or you’ll be late.”

“Sortwell was inviting you to black his boots,” explained Tom, still unappeased. Wayne met Jerry’s inquiring look unperturbedly and smiled sneeringly. Jerry smiled, too, then.

“Reckon he was just foolin’,” said Jerry mildly. “He knows I wouldn’t do that. I’m aimin’ to earn a little money, but I’m right particular how I do it.”

Wayne shrugged impatiently. “I haven’t any quarrel with you, Benson. But if this fresh freak here thinks he can tell me what I’m to do he’s got another guess.”

“I’m telling you to let me alone and my friends alone,” retorted Tom, “and I’m ready to back it up, Sortwell. Any time――――”

“Oh, dry up!” said Tub wearily. “Tom, you and Jerry hustle over and change or Keegan’ll have the hide off you. There isn’t going to be any scrapping to-day. I’ll lick the first fellow who starts anything!”

That brought a laugh, and, with Jerry tugging at his arm, Tom swallowed some of his wrath and, sending a last scowling, challenging glare at Wayne, took his departure. On the way to the gymnasium he narrated the story of the episode and Jerry listened calmly, swinging his shears thoughtfully the while. “Well,” he observed when Tom had ended, “I reckon he ain’t used to seeing a white man do work like that, Tom. You can’t blame him a whole lot, either. He comes from Georgia, and I reckon down there nobody but a negro would do a job like clippin’ a hedge. They wouldn’t where I come from, either; leastways, not unless it was their own hedge. They wouldn’t take money for doing it, I mean.”

“Oh, piffle!” exclaimed Tom. “He talked like that just so’s I’d hear him and get mad. And I did. And if he tries it again I’ll knock him down, no matter where we are.”

“Reckon I’d rather you didn’t, Tom. I got a couple of arms and fists of my own, and I’ll tend to my own battles. What you got against Sortwell, anyway? Before this, I mean.”

“I don’t like him,” growled Tom.

Jerry smiled. “Don’t seem like a very good reason for having a feud against him,” he said dryly. “Better try to like him, Tom. Honest, it don’t do a feller any good to hate any one. It ain’t right. I’ve seen a whole lot of hatin’ back home, Tom, and it always brings a heap of trouble. ’Course, if a feller wrongs you, it’s different. It don’t help any to hate him, though, even then. Best way’s to fight him fair and start over again. Ain’t any one that ain’t――hasn’t got more in him to like than he has to hate, Tom.”

“Sortwell hasn’t,” answered Tom convincedly. But he added, with a chuckle: “Maybe, though, if I could swat him a couple of times I might like him better!”