4

Bob Cur tis: River Drifter

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in Sylacaugy, I mought go back up thar t' work in th' mill.
I jes' ain't decided."

"You and Christine are getting along in years," I
ventured, "You ought to settle down."

"Maybe," he replied, "but we'uns air gittin' along
'bout as good now as we'uns ever did. WE'uns ain't never
had nothin'."

"You've got a fine wife."

His bearded face broke into a grin that bared stumps
of tobacco-stained teeth. "Shore, I have," he laughed, "I
wouldn't keep no other sort."

We were silent as he pulled the boat along the trotline,
baiting it carefully, but he paused at one of the hooks
and glanced at me over his shoulder. He was not smiling now.

"Yuh know," he said, "I've tried time an' ag'in t' git
ahead a little, so thet I could do somethin' better fer my
folks, but I don't never git nowhar. I ain't never had but
one job thet payed me mor'n $1.50 a day, an' thet was in the
mill, whar I made $12 a week. But they laid me off, an' I
couldn't do nothin' else. When I come back down hyar, I
have t' come. Hit's better t' eat a little bit than none
a-tall."

He began pulling again slowly along the trotline.

"Mos' people don't know whut hit means t' go hongry."

"I guess lots of them have learned during the last few
years," I reminded.

"Well, I ain't never been no other way," be said, and
laughed a little. "I guess th' best times I ever seen was

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