His neck and ears looked as though they hadn’t been washed in months. His ferret-like eyes kept darting here and there.
Glancing down to his hands, I saw the back of his right sleeve was stiff and starchy from the constant wiping of his nose.
He saw I was looking him over, and asked if I liked what I saw.
I started to say, “No,” but didn’t, turned, and walked away a few steps.
Rubin ordered some chewing tobacco. “Aren’t you a little young to be chewing?” Grandpa asked.
“Ain’t for me. It’s for my dad,” Rubin growled. Grandpa handed two plugs to him. He paid for it, turned around, and handed one plug to Rainie.
Holding the other up in front of him, he looked it over. Looking at Grandpa, he gnawed at one corner of it.
Grandpa mumbled something about how kids were brought up these days.
He came from behind the counter, saying to me, “Let’s go grind that corn.”
The Pritchard boys made no move to follow us out of the store.
“Come on,” Grandpa said. “I’m going to lock up till I get this corn ground.”
“We’ll just stay here. I want to look at some of the shirts,” said Rubin.
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