U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [19]
"Get out and walk; goddam it to hel , lead it if you can't drive it," sputtered Doc Bingham. Fainy jumped out and led the horse up to the back door of the farm--43-house; the rain ran down his sleeve from the hand he held the horse by.
"Good afternoon, ma'am." Doc Bingham was on his feet bowing to a little old woman who had come out of the door. He stood beside her on the stoop out of the rain. "Do you mind if I put my horse and wagon in your barn for a few moments? I have valuable perishable ma-terials in the wagon and no waterproof covering . . ." The old woman nodded a stringy white head. "Wel , that's very kind of you, I must say . . . Al right, Fenian, put the horse in the barn and come here and bring in that little package under the seat . .
. I was just saying to my young friend here that I was sure that some good samaritan lived in this house who would take in two weary wayfarers." "Come inside, mister . . . maybe you'd like to set beside the stove and dry your-self. Come inside, mister-er?" "Doc Bingham's the name
. . . the Reverend Doctor Bingham," Fainy, heard him say as he went in the house. He was soaked and shivering when he went into the
house himself, carrying a package of books under his arm. Doc Bingham was sitting large as life in a rocking chair in front of the kitchen stove. Beside him on the wel scrubbed deal table was a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. The kitchen had a warm cosy smel of apples and bacon grease and lamps. The old woman was leaning over the kitchen table listening intently to what Doc Bingham was saying. Another woman, a big scrawny woman with her scant sandy hair done up in a screw on top of her head, stood in the background with her redknuckled hands on her hips. A black and white cat, back arched and tail in the air, was rubbing against Doc Bingham's legs.
"Ah, Fenian, just in time," he began in a voice that purred like the cat, "I was just tel ing . .
. relating to your kind hostesses the contents of our very interesting and educational library, the prime of the world's devo--44-tional and inspirational literature. They have been so kind to us during our little misfortune with the weather that I thought it would be only fair to let them see a few of our titles."
The big woman was twisting her apron. "I like a mite o' readin' fine," she said, shyly, "but I don't git much chanct for it, not til wintertime."
Benignly smiling, Doc Bingham untied the string and pul ed the package open on his knees. A booklet dropped to the floor. Fainy saw that it was The Queen of the White Slaves. A shade of sourness went over Doc Bing-ham's face. He put his foot on the dropped book,
"These are Gospel Talks, my boy," he said. "I wanted Doctor Spikenard's Short Sermons for Al Occasions." He handed the halfopen package to Fainy, who snatched it to him. Then he stooped and picked the book up from under his foot with a slow sweeping gesture of the hand and slipped it in his pocket. "I suppose I'l have to go find them myself," he went on in his purringest voice. When the kitchen door closed behind them he snarled in Fainy's ear, "Under the seat, you little rat . . . If you play a trick like that again I'l break every goddam bone in your body." And he brought his knee up so hard into the seat of Fainy's pants that his teeth clacked to-gether and he shot out into the rain towards the barn.
"Honest, I didn't do it on purpose," Fainy whined. But Doc Bingham was already back in the house and his voice was burbling comfortably out into the rainy dusk with the first streak of lamplight.
This time Fainy was careful to open the package before he brought it in. Doc Bingham took the books out of his hand without looking at him and Fainy went round be-hind the stovepipe. He stood there in the soggy steam of his