Free Journeyman by Erskine Caldwell

about it without getting into trouble? I don’t want to get thirty days in some little cross-roads jail in South Georgia.”
    “I know my way around pretty well,” Semon assured her. “I’ve had a little experience that way one time or another. You don’t have to worry about that.”
    Lorene regarded him for several moments.
    “Look here,” she said severely, looking him straight in the eyes. “You talk like you do know your way around.”
    “I’ve had a little experience,” he said. “A little.”
    “That’s how I had you figured out.”
    He leaned forward once more, placing his arm over the back of her chair and lowering his head close to hers.
    “I’ve been thinking that maybe we can get started right here before Monday. If Tom Rhodes comes down here today, we ought to be able to get a little money out of him.” He waited to see what effect that had on her. “He looks like the kind of fellow who would pay his way.”
    “You’ve picked the wrong one there,” Lorene laughed. “Tom wouldn’t pay money. He used to throw me down for nothing when I lived here. No, Tom wouldn’t start paying now.”
    Semon was not through.
    “There’s Clay,” Semon intimated. “What’s wrong with trying him?”
    Lorene laughed at him.
    “That’s silly. Clay wouldn’t, either. It’s a crazy idea of yours to think Clay would. I used to be married to him. Why should he?”
    Semon turned to contemplate the magnolia tree in front of the house. After a while he turned back to Lorene.
    “I think I can work it,” he stated. “If Tom Rhodes comes down here with that jug of his again, it ought to work out as slick as grease.”
    She turned suddenly and looked Semon straight in the eyes. A faint smile came to her lips. She knew men who planned just as he did, but none of them had worked in a guise like Semon’s.
    “What are you, anyway?” she demanded. “Are you a preacher or a pimp?”
    Semon looked offended. He sat up and glared down at her angrily.
    “I’m a man of God,” he said sternly. “And don’t you forget it, either.”
    “You get him to agree, and I’ll do my part,” she said at last. “But it looks to me like you’re crazy. Trying it with Clay won’t work. He wouldn’t give you a dime.”
    “We’ll see, we’ll see,” Semon said. “You do just like I tell you, and we’ll see.”
    He got up and stood beside her chair, looking down at Lorene and contemplating her.
    “I’m going to take a little walk up the road,” he announced. “I might see Tom Rhodes up that way.”

Chapter IX
    I T WAS A HOT and tiresome walk through the sand and dust to the house where Tom Rhodes lived. Semon had to stop several times to rest beside the road. At last he got within sight of the place, and by that time he was dusty and short of wind. He had to take off his coat half way there, and he swung it at his side trying to fan the burning heat away.
    There was no one to be seen at Tom’s house when he first got there. As he went towards the barn, however, he saw a Negro man shucking corn in the door of the crib. He called the man to him.
    While the colored man was shuffling towards him, Semon found shade under a willow. The heat was coming down with more intensity than ever, and he was not accustomed to walking in the hot sun.
    “Where’s Mr. Tom?” he asked the Negro.
    “He’s out around the barn somewhere. Do you want to see Mr. Tom?”
    Semon nodded wearily, fanning himself with his wide-brimmed black hat.
    The man went off towards the barn, stirring up the dust with his wide-soled shoes. He was gone for several minutes. When he came back into sight, he pointed his hand at Semon. Tom came around the corner of the barn a moment later.
    “I was afraid you’d forget your promise,” Semon said.
    “What promise?”
    “That you were going to bring another jug down to Horey’s house.”
    “I’ll be doggone,” Tom said, coming into the shade. “Did I say that? I must have forgot all about