“You’re right, Tyson,” said Eugene, “but it will be.”
Tyson Smathers took the money, with a puzzled, freckled grin. Then he went on down the street, throwing papers.
The maples were thin and sere. Their rotting leaves covered the ground. But the trees were not leafless yet. The leaves were quaking. Some birds began to chatter in the trees. Wind pressed the boughs, the withered leaves were shaking. It was October.
As Luke and Eugene turned up the street toward town, a woman came out of the big brick house across the street, and over the yard toward them. When she got near, they saw she was Mrs. Pert. It was October, but some birds were waking.
“Luke,” she said fuzzily. “Luke? Is it Old Luke?”
“Yes,” said Luke.
“And’Gene? Is it old’Gene?” She laughed gently, patting his hand, peering comically at him with her bleared oaken eyes, and swaying back and forth gravely, with alcoholic dignity. The leaves, the withered leaves, were shaking, quaking. It was October, and the leaves were shaking.
“They ran old Fatty away,’Gene,” she said. “They won’t let her come in the house any more. They ran her away because she liked Old Ben. Ben. Old Ben.” She swayed gently, vaguely collecting her thought. “Old Ben. How’s Old Ben,’Gene?” she coaxed. “Fatty wants to know.”
“I’m m-m-m-mighty sorry, Mrs. P-P-P-Pert…” Luke began.
Wind pressed the boughs, the withered leaves were quaking.
“Ben’s dead,” said Eugene.
She stared at him for a moment, swaying on her feet
“Fatty liked Ben,” she said gently, in a moment. “Fatty and Old Ben were friends.”
She turned and started unsteadily across the street, holding one hand out gravely, for balance.
In that enormous silence, birds were waking. It was October, but some birds were waking.
Then Luke and Eugene walked swiftly townward, filled with great joy because they heard the sounds of life and daybreak. And
