The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 3

by Donald Harington

“Whenever I’m through with a show, I ship it back to the distributor in St. Louis. I don’t have any to spare that I’m not showing.”

  Hoppy eyed Cap Thompson and wasn’t too sure that he was telling the truth. But he said, “I just thought I’d ask. Thank you.” Hoppy turned to go, but paused. “If you should happen to run across Emmett Binns, tell him he’s broke the hearts of a lot of good folks down in Newton County. Hell, maybe he’ll try to sell my shows to you. I had a bunch of good Hopalong Cassidy shows.”

  “My crowds only want to see Gene Autry and Roy Rogers and Tex Ritter.”

  “Singing cowboys ought to be rounded up and shot,” Hoppy said.

  They stopped at a store to get something to eat, and then they headed back by a different route, stopping at Osage, one of the towns on Hoppy’s circuit, where he was due to appear later in the summer. Hoppy told his old friend storekeeper Sammy Sturgis the story of what had happened, and said that he might not be coming after all, if he couldn’t find Binns and get his pitcher shows back. Sturgis took the news as if it were the end of the world, and said he’d personally organize all the able-bodied men of Osage into another posse to hunt for Binns. That would pretty much cover the northern part of the Arkansas Ozarks.

  When they got back, and met at Faught’s store with the other members of Arlis’ posse, not one of whom had found any trace of Binns, it was full dark and time for what would have been the showing of “The Hills of Old Wyoming.” A pall settled upon the town and its inhabitants, almost as if Christmas Day had arrived without any evidence of Christmas. As some sort of consolation Hoppy and Sharline gave a performance of all their juggling acts, including Sharline’s dazzling tricks with the chiffon fascinators, and then they also put on a show of all their magic tricks, including levitation, disappearance, and hypnotism, but it just wasn’t the same, and there were long faces all around.

  Arlis Faught said to the assembly, “Well, as long as we’re here, and itching to watch some good stories, why don’t we just have some tale-telling?”

  So folks sat around and took turns telling all their favorite old stories, omitting the off-color ones because children and womenfolk were present. It wasn’t bad. In fact, Hoppy himself, who through long exposure to all of his own pitcher shows had become more or less immune to their enchantment, was thoroughly beguiled by some of the stories he listened to. Even Sharline took a turn, telling a couple of old ghost stories she’d heard and couldn’t forget. In fact, she did such a good job of narrating, with proper pauses and inflections and delivery in general, that Hoppy could almost see the things happening, just like in that one time he had listened to his grandfather, Long Jack Stapleton, giving a demonstration of his fabled power to tell stories that became visible.

  Before bedtime, Hoppy said to her, “Tomorrow you can change the sign on Topper so it says, ‘Sharline’s Roaming Pitcher Stories.’” She looked at him to see if he might not be kidding. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe they could really make a living at it. He was so pleased with the thought that he put a little extra interest into satisfying Sharline in bed. She was becoming unquenchable, but he did all he could to quench her.

  The next day, the members of the posse met at Faught’s store and with the help of roadmaps planned the territory they would cover that day. Several of them commented to Sharline on what a fine storyteller she was. Arlis Faught informed them that he had an appointment that day with the postal inspector and didn’t know just when he was arriving, so regretfully he wouldn’t be able to join the posse. He offered Hoppy the use of his Chevy roadster, but one of the other members of the posse, Teal Buffum, who planned to head eastward into Searcy County, offered to take Hoppy and Sharline with him. Hoppy told Sharline she didn’t have to go with them. It would be a long and tiring trip over some bad roads, and there wasn’t any sense in both of them going. So she could stay behind if she felt like it. Hoppy had been worrying about what might happen if they actually did come across Emmett Binns. Hoppy was ready to strangle him, and he didn’t want Sharline to witness the violence.

  Only later, after he and Teal Buffum were on the road, did it occur to Hoppy that there might be a risk in leaving Sharline alone with Arlis Faught, who had charmed her the day before, not just with his good looks and courtly ways but his smooth tongue. Hoppy knew that he and Sharline were practically a married couple, or at least a couple, and she would always be faithful to him. But would she? Teal Buffum, as they drove, did hardly any talking at all, which left Hoppy’s mind free to wander, and he had a few unsettling thoughts about the fact that Sharline was, after all, a very lusty gal who sometimes surprised Hoppy with her sheer relish for bed matters. He had said to her only the night before, “I just can’t keep up with you.” And it was true. If she could have her way about it, they’d spent all their free time in bed.

  So his mind wasn’t very eased as he and Teal made their day’s search, stopping in Cowell and Lurton and Pelsor and Ben Hur to make inquiries. In Witts Springs, they came across a couple of Searcy County sheriff’s deputies who had been investigating a road accident, and just happened to be big fans of Hopalong Cassidy who had looked for Hoppy’s coming to their towns. Hoppy told them all about Emmett Binns and what he had done, and he gave them a full description of Binns and his car, and they agreed, not only to keep an eye out for the culprit, but to contact by radio the various other sheriff’s departments in the Ozarks and to send out an apb, or “all points bulletin,” for the capture of Binns.

  “Hell,” Hoppy remarked to Teal when they were on the road again, “I didn’t even know what radio was. Let alone apb. We should’ve done that first thing.”

  Late in the afternoon they came to Tilly, which was the easternmost town on Hoppy’s circuit, where he was due to appear in three more weeks, and where Hoppy knew practically everyone in town. He was about to have Teal stop at Bardis Cobb’s store so he could break the sad news to Bardis, when he happened to catch sight of something unusual in the meadow adjoining the cemetery: there was row after row of benches formed with planks placed across tomato crates. Hoppy’s first thought was that the folks of Tilly were so eager for his arrival that they had already gone ahead and set up the outdoor theater, but then he noticed that a screen was already in place tied between two trees, and further, that a projection booth mounted on a half-ton truck bed was also already in place.

  Goddamn if it wasn’t the Stigler Brothers encroaching on Hoppy’s territory! He was furious. All the anger that he had built up toward Emmett Binns was now directed toward Hoy and Loy Stigler, who he found right away at their camper.

  “Just what in hell do you mean, anyhow?” Hoppy demanded of them.

  “Why howdy, Hop,” said Hoy. “You’re early, aint ye? You wasn’t supposed to show up in Tilly ’till next month sometime.”

  “I aint showing up, just yet,” Hoppy said. “I mean, I aint showing up to show pitchers. But you fellers don’t have Tilly on your route. It’s mine. So what in hell are you doing here, all set up?”

  “We’re showing a bunch of fine John Wayne pitchers,” said Loy. “We figgered that wouldn’t be conflicting with your Hopalong Cass’dy pitchers, because John Wayne’s westerns is of a little bit higher quality.”

  “The hell you say. Even if John Wayne’s was the best pitchers ever made, that don’t give ye no call to move in here and start taking folks’ money that they’re saving up for me!”

  Both Hoy and Loy were hanging their heads and looking awful sheepish, and if they’d been dogs—which they practically were—they’d’ve been drooping their tails ’twixt their legs. “Well, gee, Hop,” Hoy said, “business has been kind of slow down in Pope County, so we figgered we’d just try a little of this corner of your territory. You wouldn’t of known we was here if you hadn’t stumbled across us just now. What are you doing here, anyhow?”

  “I’m trying to locate a certain preacher name of Emmett Binns, who absconded with every last reel of film I had to my name.”

  Hoy and Loy both gaspe
d. “That bastard!” Hoy said. “We’ve had trouble with him everywhere we’ve went, but I never thought he’d stoop to stealing pitcher shows.”

  Loy said, “It’s one thing to spew a load of preachments about the sinfulness of pitcher shows. But it’s sure a horse of a different feather to actually rob ye of your pitchers.”

  Hoppy realized that if he couldn’t find Binns and retrieve his pitchers, it didn’t matter one jot whether the Stigler Brothers set up in his towns or not. “I’m up the old Shit Creek,” Hoppy said, “and the paddle is busted.”

  Hoy and Loy went on commiserating with Hoppy for quite a spell. As showmen themselves, they could easily appreciate what a tragedy it was to have all your pitchers stolen. They were so sincere and earnest and eloquent in their sympathy that Hoppy forgot completely that they were a pair of unscrupulous pitchmen who had muscled their way into his territory.

  At length Hoppy remembered the request he had made of Cap Thomson, and he thought to try it here. “You boys wouldn’t happen to have some extry shows that you could be persuaded to loan me the borry of or even sell me?”

  Hoy and Loy exchanged looks. Hoy said, “We don’t have nothing but what we’re showing, half a dozen good John Wayne cowboy pitchers and a Lone Ranger serial. But how much was you willing to pay to rent or buy a pitcher?”

  “How much are you willing to ask me to pay?” Hoppy said.

  Hoy said to Loy, “Have we got anything we could let him have?”

  Loy said, “Let me look. We sure aint gonna let him have a John Wayne, though.” Loy climbed up into his projection booth. He was gone a while. Then he stuck his head out the door and said, “Hoy, come up here a minute.” And Hoy too climbed up into the projection booth.

  Hoppy walked to where Teal Buffum was waiting in the car. “I’ve got a hunch,” he told Teal, “that those fellers might be fixing to let me have a pitcher. This oughtn’t to take much longer.”

  Finally Hoy stepped down from their booth and Loy handed down to him a whole stack of film reels, maybe a dozen cans.

  “Wow!” said Hoppy. “How many pitchers is that?”

  “Just one,” said Loy. “Which is the main reason we don’t want it. It’s too long for any of our customers. But they’s lots of other reasons we can’t use it. So we’ll let you have it, all eleven reels, for a hundrit dollars cash money plus other considerations.”

  “We got it by mistake, sort of,” Hoy explained. “We sure didn’t order it.”

  “What in hell is it?” Hoppy asked.

  Loy handed him a reel, which had the title printed on it: “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “Never heared of it,” Hoppy said. “Who’s in it?” He was hoping it wasn’t some singing cowboy. He really couldn’t abide singing cowboys, but the title sounded like it probably had songs in it.

  “It’s got James Cagney and Mickey Rooney and Dick Powell and a whole bunch of big names,” Hoy said. “Lots of pretty gals too.”

  “Just how long is it?” Hoppy asked.

  “A hundrit and forty-two minutes,” Hoy said.

  “Jesus Christ!” Hoppy said. “Who would stay to watch a pitcher that long?”

  “Maybe you could show it like a serial, in three or four nights,” Loy suggested.

  “Have you seen it?” Hoppy asked and they sheepishly nodded their heads. “What else is wrong with it?”

  “It’s kind of hard to figger out what’s a-going on,” Hoy said. “The plot is kind of complicated, and the way folks talk is kind of odd.”

  “Is it a cowboy pitcher or not?” Hoppy asked.

  “I believe they was a hoss in it,” Hoy said. He turned to his brother. “Loy, wasn’t they a hoss in it?”

  “Yeah,” Loy said, “they was definitely a hoss in it. A big black hoss.”

  “Aint they no shooting in it?” Hoppy asked.

  The Brothers conferred and reached the conclusion that not a single shot was fired.

  Hoppy needed a moment to take a look into his wallet and count his money. He just barely had enough. Then he asked, “What’s the other considerations?”

  “The other considerations is that you let us have Tilly and also Mt. Judea.”

  “Looks like you’ve already got Tilly,” Hoppy said. “But I be damned if I’ll ever let you have Mount Judy. You fellers stay out of Newton County. It belongs to me.”

  “Take it or leave it,” Hoy said.

  Teal Buffum got out of his car and ambled over. “Hoppy, it’s getting pretty late,” he said. “We’d best be heading on back.”

  Hoppy glowered at the Brothers Stigler. “This is a terrible bargain,” he said. “Mount Judy is one of my favorite towns.” It really was. He had friends in every corner of it. And it was the next town coming up on his route, and he was eager to show it to Sharline. He wished he had her here with him, for her advice. He wished he could show her this “Midsummer Night’s Dream” and get her opinion before he laid out a hundred dollars for it and gave up Mount Judy. “Goddamn it all to hell,” he said, and handed over his hundred dollars and took possession of a pitcher show that he didn’t know nothing about.

  Chapter fourteen

  It was mass dark when they got back and Teal dropped him off at Topper. Sharline was nowhere to be seen. Hoppy reckoned she might’ve already gone out looking for her fairy friends, and he waited a while for her to come back. He went ahead and stacked the eleven reels of his new pitcher show into the racks on Topper’s wall, and then he loaded the first reel into the projector and turned the projector so it would face the white screen painted on the wall, and he refocused the lens. He was going to show a preview of it this very night, even if it was late and the show lasted for nearly two and a half hours. He was hoping with all his might that it would be a really good pitcher show even if it didn’t have any shooting in it, and he wanted to share his first viewing of it with Sharline. But then he remembered where he’d left her that morning, so he walked over to the Faught place, across the road from Faught’s store, and there she was, sitting in Faught’s porch swing with Arlis beside her, the two of them just real cozy and Arlis talking up a blue streak as usual.

  “You two aint gone to bed yet?” Hoppy said, making a joke, but neither of them knew what to say to that. “Well, I reckon we’re back in business, sort of. Leastways, I got me a pitcher show. Just one, but it’s a long one. Maybe too long. Sharline, hon, I was hoping you’d watch it with me tonight to see if it’s worth watching or not.”

  Sharline stood up and stretched as if she’d been sitting in that porch swing ever since supper time. Her stretching sure did nice things for her figure, and Arlis noticed it too. “Okay,” she said and walked down from the store porch. She asked Hoppy, “Can Arlis come too?”

  Hoppy didn’t like the idea of giving a free preview to someone who would be a paying customer. That wasn’t the only thing he didn’t like the idea of, but he realized he was indebted to Arlis for all his help and the driving the day before. He spoke to Arlis: “I don’t reckon any of your posse had any luck today.”

  “Not a hide nor a hair of Binns,” Arlis said solemnly. “It seems maybe he’s just up and left the country.”

  “Well, come on and see this pitcher show with us, if you’d care to.”

  “I’d be obliged and pleasured,” Arlis said.

  So the three of them went to Topper, and Arlis helped Hoppy move the noisy delco out into the yard. There was hardly any of the Chism’s Dew left, maybe just a pint or so, but Hoppy poured drinks for the three of them. Then Arlis took the spare chair while Sharline sat on the bed, and Hoppy started up the machine.

  After the usual backward counting of numbers on the screen down to nothing, a drawing came on, that looked like some kind of gal sprite a-swimming toward you with stars over her head, and also big letters spelling “OVERTURE,” and the music started. That was all, just real fancy music with that word OVERTURE over that drawing of the gal sprite staying on the screen. Hoppy hadn’t heard the word before and didn’t know
what it meant, but he couldn’t understand why the word just stayed there on the screen while the music went on and on. He glanced at Sharline and then at Arlis to see if they might be as puzzled as he was. But they both just had smiles on their faces like they were actually listening to the music and enjoying it.

  If the music had finally stopped, Hoppy wouldn’t have been so bothered, but the music just went on and on and on, getting faster, and Hoppy began to suspect that that’s all there was to it, and the Stigler Brothers had stuck him with eleven reels of nothing but fancy music. He puzzled over any possible clue in the word OVERTURE, and thought of other words that had TURE in them, like pasture and feature and nature and picture and future and culture. That music sure was cultured. But he thought also of vulture. And as the minutes went by with nothing but that word up there and the music going on and on, like a hundrit fiddles playing at once as fast as they could, he thought of TORTURE. And he turned the projector off.

  “I’ve been played a trick on,” he declared. “This aint even a pitcher show.”

  “Why’d you stop?” Sharline wanted to know. “That’s so pretty. My stars! I never heared such pretty music. Don’t you think, Arlis?”

  “You bet,” Arlis said. “Hoppy, if it aint too much trouble, let’s us just listen to the rest of it.”

  So reluctantly Hoppy turned the projector back on, and he sat beside Sharline on the bed and tried to be patient. The music slowed down for a little while but then it speeded up again. “Do you see anything?” he demanded of the other two. “I don’t see nothing but that pitcher of that swimming lady with the pointy ears, and that confounded word, OVERTURE.”

  “I see little fairies dancing in a dream, running and flying through the forest,” Sharline said. “I see a bride at a wedding getting herself kissed before walking back up the church aisle. I see a thousand notes of music.”

  “Ten thousand notes,” said Arlis, “all coming together to make one tremendous splendor of sound like a mountain, like a mountain announcing its spring-like flowers a-blooming out in yellow all yelling out in yellow all bunched and mighty!”