Leaving Cold Sassy (9780547527291) by Olive Ann Burns Read Free Book Online Page A

get there I took the early afternoon freight train from Athens, riding high in the cab with the engineer, Mr. Talkington. We’d been friends ever since I saved him from killing me on Blind Tillie Trestle when I was fourteen. I was fooling around up there on the trestle when his train came thundering onto the tracks, headed right towards me. I quick stretched myself out thin between the rails and the train ran over me, but I lived to tell it. All of which happened the same day Grandpa Blakeslee eloped with Miss Love. Now I rode with Mr. Talkington anytime I couldn’t wait for the passenger train to Cold Sassy.
    I said good-bye to Mr. Talkington in Cold Sassy, borrowed Papa’s Buick, drove out to see Mr. Ambrose, then back to Cold Sassy, where Campbell Junior was waiting for me on Papa’s front steps.
    When we got to the drugstore, Dr. Clarke, the pharmacist, was behind the counter. He piled an extra scoop on Campbell Junior’s big-dish ice cream. “That ought to hold you from here to New York City,” he said, sliding it across the counter. “You want a big dish, Will?”
    â€œYessir. I got to fatten up.”
    â€œYou been eatin’ like a horse ever since you got legs, Will, but you still look like a crane. You’ll use up this much ice cream just twitchin’ your shoulders.”
    â€œI reckon I picked up that habit from my granddaddy. He was a champion shoulder-twitcher.”
    â€œFor a fact he was,” said the druggist. “But, Will, if you want to gain weight, my advice is get married. I never knew a young man didn’t gain after the weddin’. I was up twenty pounds in three months. Campbell Junior, how bout a Co-Cola?”
    The boy looked at me. I nodded and said we’d both have a Coke.
    Dr. Clarke put each Coca-Cola glass under the syrup spout, then under the carbonated water spout, stirred with a long spoon, chipped some ice off the big block, spooned it in, and handed over the drinks.
    â€œNo charge, Will. I mean for the boy’s extra scoop and his Co-Cola. Campbell Junior, do yourself proud in that Yankee school, hear? And when you get back home, come tell me if they make Co-Colas up yonder as good as I do.”
    â€œYessir. Thank you, sir. But maybe they don’t drink Co-Colas up North, Dr. Clarke. Mama says they don’t eat fried chicken.”
    â€œEverybody drinks Co-Colas, son. Even Yankees.”
    As we sat down at one of the little round tables, white-topped on black iron legs, I nodded towards the ceiling fan. “Eat fast, Campbell Junior. The breeze feels mighty good, but it sure can melt ice cream.”
    While we ate, I told him about going to New York City with Papa on a buying trip for the store. I didn’t tell him how scared I was, being only seven and having heard all my life how mean damnyankees were.
    Campbell Junior got a little excited while I was raving on about the wonders of New York. But then he started talking about leaving home and all. “Miss Willa had a good-bye party for me today,” he said sadly. “She made a cake for the whole class. She gave me the biggest piece, Cudn Will, and she ain’t been my teacher but two days! I begged Mama to let me go to school in the mornin’, just till time for the train, but she says I cain’t.”
    When we got back to the house, I stood on the veranda with him, trying to think how to cheer him up. Then I remembered my buckeye. I pulled it out of my pants pocket and handed it to him. “For luck, son.”
    â€œThank you, Cudn Will. Gosh, that makes forty-two!”
    â€œForty-two?”
    â€œWait a minute, can you?” He disappeared into the house and came back holding up a cloth tobacco sack. It bulged with buckeyes. “Everybody in my class brought me one today,” he said proudly. “For luck in my new school.”
    â€œWell, that ought to do it, Campbell Junior. If you run short of money, you can sell some to