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Rated: 13+ · Book · Action/Adventure · #1757574
A young man's coming of age story and the 1888 Memphis Poker Tournament.
#719315 added March 7, 2011 at 1:52pm
Restrictions: None
Chapter 2: Kid Gets a Job
Henry Roberts groused about finding good help for his livery stable as he and Jess played poker at the Tumbleweed. “That Calhoun boy doesn’t come in half the time and the other half I find him out smoking behind the stable.”

“Hire Kid,” Jess suggested. “He’s dependable and reliable.” The sixteen-year-old started work the next day. Because he worked a split shift--six to ten in the mornings and three to eight in the evenings, Kid walked the two mile grubby road twice daily. His job entailed mucking stalls, feeding and watering the horses, and cleaning the wagons.

Ma expected Kid home between shifts to slave for her. She took in laundry and ironing. Two weeks into Kid’s new job, an epiphany struck Ma. “The rich folks might be more likely to hire me if they don’t have to bring their laundry out here,” she told her son. “I reckon you could tote laundry home yourself. That ought to double my customers.”

The plan satisfied Ma but not her son. Kid found hauling cumbersome sacks of laundry to and from town not to his liking. Sometimes he dropped one, but mostly fast-riding horsemen churned up a storm cloud of dust swaddling Kid and his bundles with fine red grime.

The first day Ma loaded Kid up with the clean, ironed clothes to return, she about lost all her business. Turns out, the laundry wasn’t either ironed or clean by the time Kid walked it into town. In typical Ma fashion, she tossed one of her famous hissy fits. When the dust settled inside the Barlow home, Pa and the donkey captured the laundry return duty. Eventually, half the customers elected to pick up their own.

Six months into Kid’s job, Roberts called him into the office. Kid held his breath and attempted to ignore his twitching eye. He stood in the door way. “Yes, sir?”

“Kid, you’re doin’ a good job. Several customers commented you not only did your job, but did little extras like cleaning their horse’s hooves. Pe-e-ew boy! You must not have a sensitive nose. Nothing stinks like a horse’s feet being trimmed. Putrid job!” Kid exhaled a long satisfying breath and smiled.

“I like horses, Mr. Roberts. Anything they need, I can do. Horses like the attention and then they like me back. A fellow can’t have a better friend than a horse.”

“You’re a polite young man and always willing to do extra around here. I appreciate that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roberts. I love my job. It sure beats working for Ma. I thank you for hiring me.

“How much you saved up since you went to work here?” He leaned over his desk to straighten the bills of laden.

Kid put his hands in his jean pockets and started tapping his toe on the floor. A group of men laughed as they passed by the livery stable. “Nuttin’.”

“Speak up, boy, I can’t hear your mumbling.” He leaned back in his chair and lit up a cheroot.

Kid looked up and stared just to the south of Mr. Roberts’ eyes. “Nuttin’.” His eye began to convulse .

“I feared as much.” He blew out a ring of cigar smoke. “Look at me, Kid.”

He raised his ebony eyes to Roberts’ hazel green ones. “I knowed you weren’t likely to. Jess told me Ma would confiscate all your earnings. Course, it’s no secret in town about your ma’s mean disposition. I ain’t meaning a whole lot of disrespect-- just a little.”

“I know.” Kid stared out the window. A horse fly hiked across the pane and buzzing in the silence.

“I’m gonna give you a raise of fifty cents a week…..now let’s keep this between the two of us, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m gonna keep this money for you and be like your personal bank. Whenever you be needing some of that money, just ask and I’ll give it to you. What you say?”

“Don‘t rightly know what to say….except thank you.”

“Let folks think you’re still getting $2.50 a week. Don’t even tell your pa. He’s likely to get liquored-up and blab. Your Ma finds out and we’re all dead! I don‘t know how that woman knows everything, but she shore seems to find out what goes on.”

In the following weeks, Kid turned over any tips he got to his boss “on account”. “On account of your Ma,” Roberts would say and then they’d both laugh. They thought it a great trick on the crotchety old woman.
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