Ralph Compton: Do or Die

Peddlers and hawkers were out in force. A kid not much over twelve had set up a grinder and was calling out, “Knives to grind! Scissors and razors!”

Across the street, a black man bawled, “Charcoal for sale! By the peck or the bushel! Get your charcoal here!”

There were days when Charley thought maybe he should give up being a stableboy and take up vending. The only thing was, he never had been comfortable around crowds. Too many people made him nervous.

A boy in a bowler hawking newspapers was on the next corner. “Get your Rocky Mountain News ! Hot off the presses! Read all about the riot in New York City! Thirty-three dead!”

Another twenty yards and Charley spied a girl peddling sweet potatoes. “Yeddy ho! Sweet potatoes, so! Best to be found!”

A lump formed in Charley’s throat, and he edged into the shadow of a store. Out of habit he removed his hat and nervously crumpled it in his big hands. He would have stood there forever admiring her, but the girl noticed him and smiled sweetly.

“Charley! You’re early tonight.” She held out a potato on a stick. “Hungry? You can have one for free.”

Charley’s tongue seemed to have swollen to the size of his shoe. Shaking his head, he croaked, “No thanks, Melissa. It’s awful kind of you, but you need money as much as I do.”

Melissa Patterson was bone thin and had straggly blond hair. No one would call her pretty by a stretch, but to Charley she was the loveliest girl in the city, if not all of creation. He had bought a potato from her once, and she had struck up a conversation in that warm and open manner she had, and before he knew it, he was stopping every evening just to bask in a few minutes of her company. “Call it my treat, then. Friend to friend.”

Charley took that as an insult. It implied he couldn’t fend for himself. Fishing in a pocket for a coin, he informed her, “I pay my own way, thank you very much. Here.” He accepted the potato, which was warm to the touch, and took a bite. As he was chewing, what she had just said sank in. “Am I your friend?”

“The best I have.” Melissa grinned and put a hand on his arm. “And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

Charley’s face seemed to catch fire. “Seen Tony?” he asked with his mouth full.

“Two blocks south, last I knew.” Melissa lowered her hand, and her grin faded. “Going to spend your night with him again, I take it?”

“He’s my friend too.”

“If you want my opinion, it’s a one-sided friendship. He lets you tag along because he needs your muscle to keep from having his head stove in.”

“He can take care of himself.” Charley had long sensed Melissa didn’t care for Tony, and he couldn’t understand why. They were both from New York. That gave them something in common. He would have thought they would hit it right off. And at first they had. But then she’d taken to treating Tony as if he had a contagious disease.

“You worry me, Charley. You truly do. It’s not the hands of a clock that count—it’s the gears inside that move the hands.”

Charley was sure she had a point, but it eluded him. “I don’t own a clock. I don’t even own a watch. The pocketwatch I had was busted on the trip out. It fell off the wagon, and a wheel ran over it.”

Melissa sighed. “You’ve got to learn to look past the outside of things, is all I’m saying. Don’t always take people at how they appear. Think of them as ponds or lakes.”

All Charley could think of was how confused he was. To hide the fact, he bit into the potato.

“All you see when you look at a lake is the surface. You never see what’s underneath. It could be a big old trout. It could be a water snake waiting to bite you. Remember that, and you’ll go a lot farther in life.”

“You know a lot about lakes and such for a city girl.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Melissa handed a potato to a customer and accepted payment. “I’m from upstate New York, not New York City. I was raised on a farm, just like you. I’d still be there now if my mother and father hadn’t died in that accident.”

Charley knew the details. How her folks had been coming home late one winter’s night from a church social, and how the wagon had overturned on an icy bend in the road, killing them. Melissa had been sent to live with an uncle but had run away after six months. Now here she was, alone in the world and barely scraping by, the same as him. “I never did understand why you left your uncle. From what you say, he had a nice house and plenty of land.”

“Uncle Thaddeus had the devil in him,” Melissa said and let it go at that.

Charley finished the potato. He wouldn’t mind staying longer and talking, but he was afraid of becoming tongue-tied like he usually did. “Well, I’ll be seeing you.” He shuffled off.

“Darn you, Charley Pickett!”

Charley turned. She was looking at him strangely. “What did I do now? I paid you, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Melissa sighed, and her thin shoulders slumped. “It was nothing. You go on ahead and have fun. I just hope I get to see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow and every day.” Charley was rewarded with a smile that warmed him to his toes. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he ambled the two blocks to the corner of Walker and McCallister. Sure enough, a familiar voice pealed above the clamor of traffic.

“Fresh water! By the glass, the quart, the gallon! Get your fresh mountain water right here!”

Tony Fabrizio’s cart was filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes. He was a year or two older than Charley and wore faded street clothes and a rakish cap. With his dark hair, chiseled profile, and square jaw, he was just about the most handsome fellow Charley had ever met. Which made Melissa’s dislike of him all the harder to explain.

“Sold much water today, buddy?”

“Charley!” Tony grinned and clasped Charley by the shoulders. “ Mio amico! Do I have a treat in store for us tonight!” He pulled Charley around behind the cart. “How would you like to eat at one of the best restaurants in the city?”

“Are they givin’ away free meals?”

Tony glanced both ways, then pulled open his jacket, slid a hand into a pocket, and flashed a roll of bills large enough to choke a mule. “I would say this is more than enough, si ?”

Astounded, Charley blurted, “How in the world . . . ?”

Placing a finger to his lips, Tony said, “Never mind the how. Help me take my cart back to my place, and we will enjoy a night we will long remember.” He clapped Charley on the back, bent, and began pushing the water cart south. After only a few steps, he winked and asked, “How about you do me a favor and take over? I have been on my feet all day, and they are sore.”

Charley had worked hard all day too, but he didn’t mind helping. The cart was light as a feather. It amused him that Tony always asked for help. His friend had a fast tongue and faster hands, but he was as puny as a kitten. “You sure tire easy.”

“Think so, do you? We cannot all be slabs of muscle like you. The heaviest thing I lifted back home was a wine bottle. I am not able to throw a cow over my shoulders and walk off with it.”

Charley guffawed at the image. “You’re exaggera tin’. It has to be a real small cow.”

For some reason, Tony found that hilarious. “You amaze me sometimes. You truly do. You were fortunate to be raised on a farm. On the streets of most cities, you would not last two days.”

“I can hold my own when I have to.”

“Sure you can. All I am saying is that you are too trusting, too gullible. One of these days someone will stab you in the back unless you learn to read people better.”

“How to see inside them, you mean?” Charley let go of one of the handles to scratch his chin. “Melissa said the same thing to me earlier. It’s nice, the two of you lookin’ after me as you do.”