The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner [93]
I stopped and returned Russell’s pump and drove on to town. I went to the drugstore and got a shot and then I went to the telegraph office. It had closed at 20.21, forty points down. Forty times five dollars; buy something with that if you can, and she’ll say, I’ve got to have it I’ve just got to and I’ll say that’s too bad you’ll have to try somebody else, I haven’t got any money; I’ve been too busy to make any.
I just looked at him.
“I’ll tell you some news,” I says. “You’ll be astonished to learn that I am interested in the cotton market,” I says. “That never occurred to you, did it?”
“I did my best to deliver it,” he says. “I tried the store twice and called up your house, but they didn’t know where you were,” he says, digging in the drawer.
“Deliver what?” I says. He handed me a telegram. “What time did this come?” I says.
“About half past three,” he says.
“And now it’s ten minutes past five,” I says.
“I tried to deliver it,” he says. “I couldn’t find you.”
“That’s not my fault, is it?” I says. I opened it, just to see what kind of a lie they’d tell me this time. They must be in one hell of a shape if they’ve got to come all the way to Mississippi to steal ten dollars a month. Sell, it says. The market will be unstable, with a general downward tendency. Do not be alarmed following government report.
“How much would a message like this cost?” I says. He told me.
“They paid it,” he says.
“Then I owe them that much,” I says. “I already knew this. Send this collect,” I says, taking a blank. Buy, I wrote, Market just on point of blowing its head off. Occasional flurries for purpose of hooking a few more country suckers who haven’t got in to the telegraph office yet. Do not be alarmed. “Send that collect,” I says.
He looked at the message, then he looked at the clock. “Market closed an hour ago,” he says.
“Well,” I says. “That’s not my fault either. I didn’t invent it; I just bought a little of it while under the impression that the telegraph company would keep me informed as to what it was doing.”
“A report is posted whenever it comes in,” he says.
“Yes,” I says. “And in Memphis they have it on a blackboard every ten seconds,” I says. “I was within sixty-seven miles of there once this afternoon.”
He looked at the message. “You want to send this?” he says.
“I still haven’t changed my mind,” I says. I wrote the other one out and counted the money. “And this one too, if you’re sure you can spell b-u-y.”
I went back to the store. I could hear the band from down the street. Prohibition’s a fine thing. Used to be they’d come in Saturday with just one pair of shoes in the family and him wearing them, and they’d go down to the express office and get his package; now they all go to the show barefooted, with the merchants in the door like a row of tigers or something in a cage, watching them pass. Earl says,
“I hope it wasn’t anything serious.”
“What?” I says. He looked at his watch. Then he went to the door and looked at the courthouse clock. “You ought to have a dollar watch,” I says. “It wont cost you so much to believe it’s lying each time.”
“What?” he says.
“Nothing,” I says. “Hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”
“We were not busy much,” he says. “They all went to the show. It’s all right.”
“If it’s not all right,” I says, “you know what you can do about it.”
“I said it was all right,” he says.
“I heard you,” I says. “And if it’s not all right, you know what you can do about it.”
“Do you want to quit?” he says.
“It’s not my business,