The Friendship by Mildred D. Taylor Page A

over candy I knew I couldn’t have, or shiny new things either, I went on to the back and stood with Stacey. Since the Wallaces were taking their own good time about serving us, I busied myself studying a brand-new 1933 catalog that lay open on the counter. Finally, Dewberry asked what we wanted. Stacey was about to tell him, but before he could, Dewberry’s eyes suddenly widened and he slapped the rag he was holding against the counter and hollered, “Get them filthy hands off-a-there!”
    Stacey and I turned to see who he was yelling at. So did Christopher-John. Then we saw Little Man. Excited by the lure of all those shiny new things, Little Man had forgotten Stacey’s warning. Standing on tiptoe, he was bracing himself with both hands against the top of the glass counter for a better look inside. Now he glanced around. He found Dewberry’s eyes on him and snatched his hands away. He hid them behind his back.
    Dewberry, a full-grown man, stared down at Little Man. Little Man, only six, looked up. “Now I’m gonna hafta clean that glass again,” snapped Dewberry, “seeing you done put them dirty hands-a yours all over it!”
    “My hands ain’t dirty,” Little Man calmly informed him. He seemed happy that he could set Dewberry’s mind to rest if that was all that was bothering him. Little Man pulled his hands from behind his back and inspected them. He turned his hands inward. He turned them outward. Then he held them up for Dewberry to see. “They clean!” he said. “They ain’t dirty! They clean!”
    Dewberry came from around the corner. “Boy, you disputin’ my word? Just look at ya! Skin’s black as dirt. Could put seeds on ya and have ’em growin’ in no time!”
    Thurston Wallace laughed and tossed his brother an ax from one of the shelves. “Best chop them hands off, Dew, they that filthy!”
    Little Man’s eyes widened at the sight of the ax. He slapped his hands behind himself again and backed away. Stacey hurried over and put an arm around him. Keeping eyes on the Wallaces, he brought Little Man back to stand with us. Thurston and Dewberry laughed.

    We got Aunt Callie’s head medicine and hurried out. As we reached the steps we ran into Mr. Tom Bee carrying a fishing pole and two strings of fish. Mr. Tom Bee was an elderly, toothless man who had a bit of sharecropping land over on the Granger Plantation. But Mr. Tom Bee didn’t do much farming these days. Instead he spent most of his days fishing. Mr. Tom Bee loved to fish. “Well, now,” he said, coming up the steps, “where y’all younguns headed to?”
    Stacey nodded toward the crossroads. “Over to Aunt Callie’s, then on home.”
    “Y’all hold on up a minute, I walk with ya. Got a mess-a fish for Aunt Callie. Jus’ wants to drop off this here other string and get me some more-a my sardines. I loves fishin’ cat, but I keeps me a taste for sardines!” he laughed.
    Stacey watched him go into the store, then looked back to the road. There wasn’t much to see. There was a lone gas pump in front of the store. There were two red roads that crossed each other, and a dark forest that loomed onthe other three corners of the crossroads. That was all, yet Stacey was staring out intensely as if there were more to see. A troubled look was on his face and anger was in his eyes.
    “You figure we best head on home?” I asked.
    “Reckon we can wait, Mr. Tom Bee don’t take too long,” he said, then leaned moodily back against the post. I knew his moods and I knew this one had nothing to do with Mr. Tom Bee. So I let him be and sat down on the steps in the shade of the porch trying to escape some of the heat. It was miserably hot. But then it most days was in a Mississippi summer. Christopher-John sat down too, but not Little Man. He remained by the open doors staring into the store. Christopher-John noticed him there and immediately hopped back up again. Always sympathizing with other folks’ feelings, he went over to Little Man and