Reivers, The - William Faulkner [44]
"Evening, Boon," Mr Binford said. "Evening, Mr Binford," Boon said. "This is a friend of mine. Lucius Priest." But when I made my manners to him, he didn't say anything at all. He just quit looking at me. "Reba," he said, "buy Boon and Corrie a drink. Tell Minnie to make these boys some lemonade."
"Minnie's putting supper on," Miss Reba said. She unlocked the closet door. It had a kind of bar in it—one shelf with glasses, another with bottles. "Besides, that one of Corrie's dont want lemonade no more than Boon does. He wants beer."
"I know it," Mr Binford said. "He slipped away from me out at the park. He would have made it only he couldn't find anybody to go into the saloon for him. Is yours a beer-head too, Boon?"
"No sir," I said. "I dont drink beer."
"Why?" Mr Binford said. "You dont like it or you cant get it?"
"No sir," I said. "I'm not old enough yet."
"Whiskey, then?" Mr Binford said.
"No sir," I said. "I dont drink anything. I promised my mother I wouldn't unless Father or Boss invited me."
"Who's his boss?" Mr Binford said to Boon.
"He means his grandfather," Boon said.
"Oh," Mr Binford said. "The one that owns the automobile. So evidently nobody promised him anything."
"You dont need to," Boon said. "He tells you what to do and you do it."
"You sound like you call him boss too," Mr Binford said. "Sometimes."
"That's right," Boon said. That's what I meant about Mr Binford: he was already looking at me before I even knew it.
"But your mother's not here now," he said. "You're on a tear with Boon now. Eighty—is it?—miles away."
"No sir," I said. "I promised her."
"I see," Mr Binford said. "You just promised her you wouldn't drink with Boon. You didn't promise not to go whore-hopping with him."
"You son of a bitch," Miss Reba said. I dont know how to say it. Without moving, she and Miss Corrie jumped, sprang, confederated, Miss Reba with the whiskey bottle in one hand and three glasses in the other.
"That'll do," Mr Binford said.
"Like hell," Miss Reba said. "I can throw you out too. Dont think I wont. What the hell kind of language is that?"
"And you too!" Miss Corrie said; she was talking at Miss Reba. "You're just as bad! Right in front of them—"
"I said, that'll do," Mr Binford said. "One of them cant get beer and the other dont drink it so maybe they both just come here for refinement and education. Call it they just got some. They just learned that whore and son of a bitch are both words to think twice before pulling the trigger on because both of them can backfire."
"Aw, come on, Mr Binford," Boon said.
"Why, be damned if here aint still another hog in this wallow," Mr Binford said. "A big one, too. Wake up, Miss Reba, before these folks suffocate for moisture." Miss Reba poured the whiskey, her hand shaking, enough to clink the bottle against the glass, saying son of a bitch, son of a bitch, son of a bitch, in a thick fierce whisper. "That's better," Mr Binford said. "Let's have peace around _ Let's drink to it." He raised his glass and was saying, "L dies and gents all," when somebody—Minnie I suppose—I began to ring a hand bell somewhere in the back. Mr Bin-ford got up. "That's better still," he said. "Hash time. Learn us all the refinement and education that there's a better use for the mouth than running private opinions through it."
We went back toward the dining room, not fast, Mr Bin-ford leading the way. There were feet again, going fast; two more ladies, girls—that is, one of them was still a girt —hurried down the stairs, still buttoning their clothes, one in a red dress and the other in pink, panting a little. "We hurried as fast as we could," one of them said quickly to Mr Binford. "We're not late."
"I'm glad of that," Mr Binford said. "I dont feel like lateness tonight." We went in. There were more than enough places at the table, even with Otis and me. Minnie was still bringing things, all cold—fried chicken