Airfield Read Online Free Page B

because...
    "Rudy, are you going to make us those sodas or not?
    "So, Beatty, are you living in Muddy Springs or just visiting? We should get you down to—"
    "Julie Elise," the other girl breaks in, "stop babbling and come sit down."
    At pushed-together tables I meet another half dozen kids. Names come too fast for me to get them all straight, but I attach Leila to Julie Elise's friend and Henry and Milton to two of the boys.
    "When did you get here?" Henry asks, and I tell him just yesterday morning, on a bus from Dallas.
    Julie Elise has introduced me as Beatty, but when Milton asks, "Hey, Dallas, do you dance?" I know what I'm going to be called as long as I'm in Muddy Springs.
    "Sure," I answer.
    We make space for ourselves between other dancing couples just as the music ends, and while we wait for the record to change, Milton tells me he plays football for Muddy Springs High. "It keeps me busy in the fall," he says. "And of course I'm a workingman, got to clerk Saturdays at the hardware store to support the old jalopy."
    Close my eyes and he could be any boy I know in Dallas or Waco or San Antonio.
    "That's nice," I say.
    I stay at the Mirage a good while, though, grateful for the friendly welcome.
    The only awkward moment comes when Julie Elise suddenly spots the grease I haven't quite got out from under my fingernails. "What
have
you been doing, Dallas?" she asks.
    "Helping the airfield mechanic." I give some details to explain, but I stop when I see I'm telling more than anybody wants to know.
    Soon after, I find an excuse to leave.
    Â 
    Crossing the highway to the tourist court, I'm surprised to see that Grif's automobile is parked in front of the cabin. Then I spot Clo and him roasting hot dogs on sticks over a small charcoal fire. They're holding hands, but they quit that when I call, "Hi, I'm home."
    "I was just coming to get you," Clo says.
    "It didn't look that way to me," I answer. Then, because they both seem so embarrassed, I feel bad about teasing.
    Clo says that supper's early because Grif has to get back to the airport to check in some air express.
    "Kenzie says you gave him a hand today," Grif tells me.
    "Just read to him, mainly. He sure can be grumpy."
    "He'd rather be flying planes than fixing them, I'd guess," Grif says. "But that bad leg's got him permanently grounded."
    By this time the traffic out on the highway is increasing. A lot of it is kids leaving the malt shop. Milton sees us and taps out a shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits rhythm on his car horn, which makes Clo raise her eyebrows. "Promising?"
    "Nope," I answer, just as I glimpse Moss walking along the edge of the road from the direction of town. His shoulders are hunched, his head down.
    "I guess he didn't get the theater job," I say.
    Grif asks, "Who? That boy? No wonder, if he went asking for it looking like that."
    "You'd look shabby, too," I say, "if you were living all alone in an abandoned railroad car and you didn't have a thing to your name, not even soap." I stop, realizing Clo and Grif are staring at me in surprise, and Clo asks, "Beatty, how do you know...?"
    But then she flings herself out of the lawn chair and snaps a dead branch from a scrawny tree. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Beatty, I told you ... Here," she says, handing me the branch. "Put on another frankfurter."
    Then she walks down to the road. "Moss?" she calls. "I'm Beatty's aunt. Come join us?"
    Â 
    Moss isn't like any other boy I know. Not that any of the ones I do know are rich. It's just he's the first I've ever known who's truly poor.
    He has good manners, though. He's got bad grammar and says
not no
like a country boy, but he also says
sir
and
ma'am.
And when Grif mentions an automobile problem, Moss talks about exhaust manifolds and differentials and never misses a syllable.
    The two of them end up under the car, their legs sticking out and their voices and experimental knocks on various metal parts carrying Clo's and my way.
    Moss doesn't leave until Grif