Lyin' Like a Dog, The Yankee Doctor, The Danged Swamp! 3-Volume set

by Richard Mason

  Whap! Whap!

  “Ahaaa! Stop! Stop!”

  I kept after him, pelting him with rocks as he tried to run back to the school grounds. I finally hit him with a big 1-inch rock right behind the ear, and he started crying.

  “Ahaaaa! Oh, Richard, please stop! I promise I won’t ever hit you again! Please stop!”

  Whap! Whap! Whap!

  “Ahaaaaa! Ahaaaaa! Ahaaaaa!”

  I remembered all those days he made my life miserable, and I just kept on pelting him. He finally got up enough strength to start running back toward town with me right behind him shooting him in the back. I must have hit him 20 or 30 times because I was running out of rocks. Finely, when we were almost back to the schoolyard, I stopped and yelled at him,

  “Homer Ray, do you promise you’ll never bother me again, if I stop?”

  “Yes, yes, Richard, I promise! Please don’t shoot me again!”

  “Okay, Homer Ray, I’m gonna quit, but if you so much as touch me again, I’ll figure out some way to hammer you within an inch of your sorry life.”

  “I won’t touch you again, Richard. I promise.”

  Well, I stopped shooting him, but, heck, I’d run out of rocks anyway. He made it to the school grounds crying like a baby, and I turned around and headed home. Shoot, I know I overdid it, but I just went wild thinking about all the slaps and hit I’d taken from him. He’d just gotten his just desserts.

  The next day I was standing on the schoolyard when I saw that sorry Homer Ray walk up. Heck, I wondered if he really meant it when he promised not to bother me anymore? I thought. Well, I might as well give it a test. I was standing there with John Clayton and Connie when he walked by. Shoot, there were cuts and bruises all over him, and I could just tell from the way he slunk by me, he’d had it with bullying me. So I yelled at him, “Well, go ahead and slink off you yellow-bellied chicken! Go crawl in a hole you worthless pile of garbage!”

  “My gosh, Richard, I can’t believe you said that to Homer Ray, and he just walked away,” said John Clayton.

  “Shoot, I taught that bully a lesson yesterday, one that he won’t forget.” Connie smiled and gave me a little hug.

  “Richard, you’re wonderful,” she said as she grabbed my hand.

  “Uh, uh…” I was speechless. Thank goodness the bell rang. I walked across the school ground that morning relieved to know I was through with Homer Ray. He might call me names, but he was never gonna hit me again. Now I could have something besides keeping away from Homer Ray on my mind. ’Course Rosalie was always on my mind, but after Connie jumped on Homer Ray during the fight, and then this morning after she hugged me, I couldn’t keep from thinking about her—but just as a friend.

  That afternoon, as I walked home from school, all I was thinking about was how really good I felt after stopping the bullying, and since the sorry, escaped prisoners were long gone, I went to bed that night for the first time in a long without a care in the world—except maybe wondering how I could get Rosalie to like me.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The New Richard

  I crawled out of bed the next morning, still thinking about what to do about Rosalie. Heck, you know, if you keep thinking about stuff, sooner or later you’ll do something so danged stupid you won’t believe it. Uh, huh, I sure did, and I just shake my head when I think about it. Well, anyway, I jumped outta bed whining about have to run my paper route.

  “Dang it!” I mumbled, “I’m almost late delivering those stinking papers again.”

  Shoot, I nearly flew out of my room, and in an hour I was back at my house and off to feed the chickens and mules. As I fed them, I was just going through the motions, still thinking about Rosalie being mad at me this summer and calling me white trash.

  “Dang! Double dang it!” I looked down and shook my head. Not paying attention had caused me to step in a pile of cow manure and it just squished up between my bare toes. My gosh the stuff was up to my ankle.

  “Ahaa, my feet. What a mess!” I walked over to the backyard hose and started to wash them. Then it hit me, Do I look like white trash? I was going barefooted to school every day, never combing my hair, and wearing an old worn-out school shirt and cut-off shorts.

  “Dang! I sure do!” I yelled, “I’m standing here washing cow manure off my feet! Sure, I look like white trash! That’s it! I’m changing the way I look!” Heck, I really thought I’d figured out why Rosalie was snubbing me. My brain was just working overtime, as I thought about how to change up the way I looked.

  I ran in the house yelling at Momma.

  “Momma, I’m tired of going to school looking like this!”

  “What?”

  “I said, I’m tired of looking like this! I’m wearing shoes today and a good shirt!”

  “Well, Richard, I’m proud of you. I think that’s just great!”

  Momma smiled and went back to breakfast. Daddy was leaning back in his chair drinking a cup of coffee.

  “What was that all about?” asked Daddy.

  Momma just smiled. “He’s growing up, Jack. I think he’s trying to impress Rosalie.”

  “Oh, Momma, I heard that. I’m not trying to impress nobody. I just wanta look better!” ’Course, I was lying like some old yard dog. Heck, who would wear shoes and a Sunday shirt if they didn’t have to?

  “Okay, Richard, it’s fine with me.”

  I walked into my room and began going through my closet. I pulled out my good shoes, long pants, and best Sunday shirt and put them on the bed. Yes! These clothes will make a difference. Then I looked in the mirror.

  “Yuck, my hair,” I mumbled, “It looks terrible! I gotta do something about this.””

  My hair is coal black, kinda long on top and chopped off over my ears and that’s because Momma puts a mixing bowl on my head and cuts off anything that sticks out. Shoot, it’s dang hard to make your hair look good after that. I walked into the bathroom. “What’s this?” I picked up a tube of hair cream. “Oh, yeah, this is what Daddy uses on his hair.” Daddy has fairly long, sandy red hair that he spends a lot of time combing. He uses this creamy, white hairdressing called Brylcreem.Brylcreem. I’d heard it advertised on the radio. They had a catchy little song: “A little dab’ll do it.”

  Heck, as I stood there, I started thinking, Well, if a little dab’ll do it, maybe a big dab will really do it. I squirted about half of the big white tube in my hand and started rubbing it into my hair. Whoa, a half tube of Brylcream just might be more than I needed, but I don’t like to waste anything so I really started to work it in. I continued to rub the Brylcream into my hair until the slick, white cream changed my slightly faded, dull black hair into a glistening, slick, coal-black mass of hair. I took the comb and started working. First, I tried parting my hair on both sides, but it wouldn’t stay in place. Finally, I parted my hair right down the middle.

  Yes, that’s it! It looked frozen in place, shiny and jet-black with two raised rolls of glistening hair on either side of the part, and the cream that hadn’t been worked in real good gave the black hair kinda of a silver look. Shoot, I was real pleased. (Heck, I thought that silver look made me look older.)

  “Okay, now for my good shirt and shoes.” I slipped on my new school shoes and shook my head. I was really hoping to go another month barefooted, but since I’d decided to change the way I look, I had to wear shoes. I put on my Sunday white, long-sleeved white shirt and my good pants, tucked the shirt in, and stepped over to admire myself in the mirror.

  Boy, do I look different! Now, let’s see what Momma thinks, as I wiped some of the Brylcream off my ears.

  Momma was cooking my breakfast so she was busy when I walked into the kitchen. I stood in the doorway and waited for her to turn around. As she put the eggs on a plate and took her first look at me, she just froze.

  “Richard, what on earth have you done to your hair?”

  “I used some of Daddy’s Brylcream on it. How does it look?”

  “Uh, well, oh—but why are you
wearing your good Sunday shirt and your new school shoes?”

  “Momma, I’m dressing this way every day from now on.”

  “Richard, I don’t think that’s quite what you want to wear to school, but I’m glad you want to look nice. Now go change into your regular school clothes and wash your hair.”

  “Momma, please don’t make me change. I’ll be careful not to get my good shirt dirty. I promise.”

  Daddy walked back in the house from the barn, took one look at me, smiled, and said, “Richard, I don’t think Rosalie’s worth it—Uh, what did you put on your hair?”

  “Oh, Daddy, I’m not doing this for Rosalie. I just want to look better, and I used a little of your Brylcream. Is that okay?”

  “Son, I’m glad you want to look better, but you may be overdoing it. And, uh, why did you part your hair down the middle?”

  “Well, my hair just seemed to want to be parted down the middle. Look how it kind of ridges up on both sides.”

  “Richard, I think you’ve done way too much for one day.”

  “Oh, Daddy, I can’t just do one little thing. I have to do everything, or no one is gonna notice any change in me.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry. You’ll be noticed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Believe me; you’ll be noticed.”

  Momma walked over to Daddy and said, “Jack, I don’t think you should let Richard go to school looking like that.”

  “Sue, I’ve tried to tell him, but he’s determined to wear those clothes, and I give up on the hair.”

  “Daddy, I promise, I won’t mess up these clothes.”

  Daddy looked at me, still smiling, and said, “Richard, don’t say I didn’t try to stop you, but why don’t you at least wash that Brylcream out of your hair?”

  “If I do that, it’ll mess up the way I look.”

  “Okay, Richard, it’s up to you.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. Just get used to me looking like this. I’m gonna dress this way every day.”

  Daddy just shook his head, and Momma smiled.

  “Jack, your son is growing up.”

  I played like I didn’t hear that comment. Breakfast was soon over and I was out the door in less than 10 minutes.

  I guess it was bothering them because I was growing up. After all I’m 13. Wait until John Clayton and Rosalie see the new Richard. I ran down the road toward school, and slowly walked through the gate. John Clayton saw me and ran over. When he was almost up to me, he stopped dead in his tracks and his mouth dropped open.

  “Richard! Richard! What’s wrong? Why are you dressed like that? Did somebody die?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong, stupid. I’ve decided to dress a little better for school.”

  “But what about, you know, uh, I mean your hair, what’s wrong with your hair?”

  “Oh, I put some of Daddy’s Brylcream on it. How do you like it?”

  “Like it? Like it? Have you looked in a mirror? You look like that little, skinny idiot in the Little Rascals picture show.”

  “I don’t either! You’re just jealous!”

  Homer Ray walked up about that time and let out a big hoot. I knew he wasn’t gonna hit me anymore, but that sure didn’t stop him from yelling and pointing at my hair and clothes. That wouldn’t have been so bad except Rosalie walked by with Freckles and they both laughed out loud when they looked at me. John Clayton was sure right. I’ve had miserable days at school, but nothing like this.

  Shoot, the most embarrassing thing happened right before school let out. Gosh, I was just thinking how hot it was in that classroom, when I felt something trickle down my neck. Well, I reached up and wiped my neck and looked at my hand. Oh, my good Lord in heaven above! That hot school room was melting the Brylcream in my hair, and it was not only running down the back of my neck, it had started creeping down my forehead. Dang, I started praying for the bell to ring, but I knew, when a big white greasy drop slid down my nose, I wasn’t gonna make it. John Clayton looked over at me about that time, his mouth dropped open, and he had to put his hand over it to keep from laughing out loud.

  ’Course, I tried to act as if nothing was happening, but as the minutes passed, and more of that greasy Brylcream ran down my face, kids started to point and snicker. I might have made it to the bell, but one of them sorry girls just went, “Heeee, heeee, heee!” and pointed her stupid finger at me. Well, that got Mrs. Smith’s attention, and I thought, unless Jesus swooped me up right then and there, I was about to have the most embarrassing moment of my short life. Well, Jesus didn’t come, so I kinda slipped down as far as I could in my seat and tried to get behind the kid sitting in front of me. Shoot, that didn’t work at all. Mrs. Smith cocked her head over to where she could get a good look at me. She didn’t laugh, but it was all she could do not to.

  “Richard, you may go to the rest room.” Then, as I stood up, she said, “and do something about your hair.”

  Well, let me tell you something right now. If you ain’t stood up in front of a whole class with greasy Brylcream just dribbling down you face and neck, then you ain’t had the most humiliating time of your life. I could still hear them kids laughing all the way down the hall.

  Finally, school was out for the day, and I started running as soon as I got out the door and didn’t stop until I was home. Off came the shirt, pants, and shoes. I ran outside in my cut-off shorts, put my head under the water hose, and washed off the Brylcream.

  “There, never again!”

  Trying to change my looks was a total failure. It sure didn’t impress Rosalie, and almost everyone in the class except Connie had teased me about my hair.

  Rosalie was still treating me, as John Clayton liked to remind me, like white trash. That’s what he started up with the very next day.

  “She’s just stuck up, Richard. Besides that, why on earth do you care if she won’t speak to you?”

  Well, she has the bluest eyes… that thought sure crossed my mind.

  But one girl was giving me a lot of attention: Connie. I considered that since Connie had saved me from maybe being killed by worthless Homer Ray, she wasn’t so bad after all, and if she wouldn’t try to show me up by outrunning me, we could be friends. In fact, I think Connie is pretty, and it sure is fun to be around her.

  I walked home from school that afternoon in a bad mood. When we left class, I walked right by Rosalie, and she snubbed me like I wasn’t even there. John Clayton was right behind her. After she passed us, he looked back at me and said, “Hey, white trash.”

  “Don’t you call me white trash. You’re just as much white trash as I am. That’s what she called you, too.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know. But every time she snubs you, it’s just like saying, “You’re white trash.” You should just forget Miss Stuck Up. After all her daddy ain’t gonna let her have anything to do with white trash.”

  “That’s it for you, you little rat!” I tackled John Clayton and we hit the ground, rolling in the dirt.

  “What in the world are two best friends fighting about?” We looked up, and there was Connie.

  “Oh, we weren’t fighting. We were just playing around,” I said.

  “Probably over Miss Rosalie.”

  John Clayton hollered and laughed out loud.

  “Am I right?”

  “Well, no,” but I knew she didn’t believe me since John Clayton had laughed so loud.

  “Richard, I thought you had more sense than to be stuck on someone who thinks she is better than the rest of us.” And she walked off, leaving us sitting in the dirt.

  “See!” said John Clayton.

  “Idiot!” I got up, knocked the dirt off my pants and started walking down the road toward my house.

  That night, after I finished supper, I went over to the radio and tuned in the Lone Ranger. Yesterday, he and Tonto had been trapped in an old mine shaft that the bad guys had just dynamited, and it looked like certain death for both, but when Tonto yelled, “Kemo Sabe, come quickly,�
� I knew Tonto had found a way out. Sure enough, in a minute they had climbed through a secret passageway and were safe. When the last “Hi, Yo, Silver” had faded, Daddy and Momma came into the kitchen and tuned in Walter Winchell, and in no time we heard his familiar voice.

  On and on he went with news about the American Soldiers starting to occupy Japan, but since the War was over, nothing about the news interested me, I got up and left the table.

  I went to bed early that night, still unhappy about the way Rosalie had acted. What can I do? What can I do?” I wondered as I drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Danger… And Big Trouble

  Shoot, it had been the most god-awful, boring week at school that I have had in a coon’s age, and I was glad when the bell rang that Thursday afternoon. I walked home whining about how bad school was, and I was kinda bent all outta shape because, instead of doing something fun, I was gonna have to feed them worthless chickens and gather the eggs.

  Well, after working all afternoon like some sorry yard dog, I was sure ready to hit the sack. I was about to doze off, when I thought of something; By gollee, I'm gonna head down to Flat Creek Swamp and go fishing tomorrow—uh, huh, and I'll get my chores done early tomorrow morning ’cause Daddy ain't gonna let me leave the house till the mules and chickens is fed.

  Heck, while them escaped prisoners was in the swamp, everybody stayed pretty much up by the road. But that was awhile back and no telling where them sorry men were now. Well, it had been so long since I went fishing that I got excited and started feeling a lot better. As usual, I woke at 5, put on my summer shorts and a thin, pull-over white shirt, and headed for the newsstand. Heck, I was in a hurry, and it didn’t take me long to make it to Doc’s. I zipped into Doc’s and pointed to the clock above Doc’s desk.

  “Look, Doc!”

  “Well, I’ll be! Richard is almost on time!”

  “Yes, sir, I’m gonna finish the papers early and do some of my chores this morning, so I’ll have time to go fishin’ after school.”