Boom Town Boy Read online

  “Friends, there’s been more people in my store in the last two days than there ever was in a month of Sundays before. It used to be so quiet around here, you could hear a penny go plop when it rolled in the dust. I’m feelin’ mighty good today …”

  “Hooray!” shouted the crowd.

  “Because they’re pumpin’ five hundred barrels of oil a day from the well right in back of my store,” Peg-Leg went on.

  “Hooray!” cried the people.

  “I ain’t just happy—I’m delirious! Whoopee!” Peg-Leg began to dance a little jig.

  “Whoo-pee! Whoo-pe-e-e!” echoed the people.

  “What you gonna do with all your money?” asked a voice from the crowd.

  “I been figurin’ and figurin’,” said Peg-Leg, with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve wore my wooden leg down two inches waitin’ on so many customers this last week, I guess I’ll splurge and buy me a factory-built wooden leg!”

  “Whoo-pee! Whoo-pee!” yelled the crowd.

  “And that ain’t all,” Peg-Leg went on. “We got a new town right here, that’s growed up in a week, and I’m gonna give it a name. It’s a boom town, an oil town, a get-rich-quick town! It come in with a whizz and it landed with a bang. Let’s call it Whizzbang!”

  “WHIZZBANG! O. K. Let’s call it WHIZZBANG!” answered the people. “A good name for a town—WHIZZBANG!”

  “And that ain’t all,” the storekeeper continued. “I’m so happy today, I’m givin’ everybody here a present.”

  He reached down into his cash drawer with two hands and tossed out handfuls of loose change. Pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, silver dollars and half-dollars flew through the air, bounced and rolled over the floor. The coins hit people in the face, landed in hands or pockets, or were jounced off shoulders in the scuffle that ensued. The next minute Peg-Leg’s customers were down on their hands and knees, trying to gather free money into their pockets.

  “Happiness has gone to my head!” cried the storekeeper. He laughed and laughed till tears came to his eyes, as he tossed handful after handful of loose change into the air.

  “Look at ’em!” he cried, pointing. “Look at the greedy pigs—my customers.” Then he began laughing again. Peg-Leg laughed until he could not stop.

  After the people had gathered up all the coins from the floor, Peg-Leg was still laughing. A woman pounded him on the back, but he did not stop. A man threw a pailful of water in his face. The storekeeper gulped a few times, wiped his face on a bolt of silk from the counter, and stopped laughing. The crowd thinned out and went away, telling a new tale of Peg-Leg’s fantastic riches.

  All through the excitement, Orvie wondered where Mama was. He tried to pick up some of the coins, but had his hands and toes stepped on. He edged his way to the door and went outside. He had had enough of the money-mad crowd and he wanted to get way from it. He saw more people, all strangers, trying to shove and push into the store, as news of free money spread down the street.

  Orvie found a place near the corner of the building, where he could watch through the show-window. The sight made him feel sick, so he turned away. In the road, cars and wagons were still churning the mud and making the chug-holes deeper. Orvie wished he were safe at home again.

  At last Mama and Della and Addie came out of the store. Mama’s hat was crooked, Della’s hair was wild, and she had lost the tie to her middy. Addie was crying at the top of her voice.

  “Thank goodness!” said Mama. “We thought you got knocked over and trampled on, Orvie. We couldn’t see you anywhere. I called and you didn’t answer. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Mama, I’m all right,” said Orvie.

  “Did you get any money?” asked Della.

  “Naw—didn’t want none,” said Orvie. “Got a couple sore toes.”

  “I got a quarter and a silver dollar and a dime and a half-dollar,” said Della, “a dollar and eighty-five cents all together.”

  “I got a quarter and two nickels,” said Addie through her tears.

  “Wasn’t Peg-Leg a sight!” exclaimed Mama. “Everybody’s so glad to see him come into all that money, and wasn’t he generous? If he’d get sixteen wells, it wouldn’t give him the big head. He’d still be the same old Peg-Leg.”

  “I want to spend my free money, Mama,” said Della. “Let’s go in this new Sunflower Dept. Store and look for my hat.”

  “Have you seen Papa yet, Orvie?” asked Mama.

  “No,” said Orvie.

  “He’ll come for us, once he gets the car turned around and is ready to go home,” said Mama.

  Mama and Della led the way, and Orvie and Addie followed.

  The new store had a big counter full of fancy hats. A young, stylishly dressed woman, with light yellow hair and very pink cheeks was trying on a variety of hats. They all had wide, floppy brims, and plumes or red roses on them. Mama stared at her suspiciously.

  “Is that the woman I rented that last little house to? The one in the alfalfa field?” Mama asked Della.

  “It looks like her, Mama,” said Della. “Hazel Daley she said her name was.”

  “Yes, that’s her,” said Addie. “She came to the pump for water this morning and she called me ‘dearie’.”

  “What makes her cheeks so pink?” whispered Della.

  “That’s red paint on ’em,” said Mama. “She’s a wicked woman. Where’ll she ever wear a hat with a long plume like that in this town?”

  “It’ll be her Sunday hat,” said Della. “I think it’s awful pretty. She’ll wear it to the Prairie View church. Do you think I have enough money to buy one like it?”

  “To church?” sniffed Mama. “That kind of a woman never puts her nose inside a church.”

  “Why, Mama, she’s pretty and …”

  “Did you hear the price of that hat?” asked Mama. “Twenty dollars, but the clerk said she could have it by paying two-fifty down. Come, let’s get out of here.”

  “But Mama, my new hat …” wailed Della.

  “Your little dollar eighty-five won’t go very far in a place like this.” Mama marched the children out of the door.

  Bert came back to the car disgusted—he had seen no tractors at all, only oil machinery. Papa had no new harness and Mama hadn’t found a teakettle. Della had no new hat and Addie’s gumdrops were gone. Only Grandpa was happy, vigorously chewing tobacco. Orvie wished he had bought his licorice, so he could spit too.

  On the way home the Ford slid and skidded over the wet clay road. The Robinsons became alarmed by heavy clouds of black smoke which they saw curling up ahead. The unpleasant stench of burning oil and gas fumes filled the air.

  “An oil well’s caught fire,” said Papa, “or else a slush-pond’s on fire somewhere.”

  “Hope it’s not ours,” said Mama nervously.

  “No, it looks too far to the east,” said Grandpa.

  The fields were all filled with oil derricks, and the old farm landscape had disappeared. A new and strange oil field had taken its place. There was no longer the green of growing wheat or grass pasture to be seen, but black oil everywhere, spreading out to kill growing plants and to devastate the face of the earth. It was a wonder the fires did not occur more often.

  When the Robinsons reached home, they could see that the oil fire was more than a mile away, in the section east of the old Pickering place. Many cars were heading, in that direction, clogging the muddy roads.

  “Orvie, go see if everything’s all right out at our slush-pond,” said Mama, “and chase those cows away. They seem bound to get at that salt water. They are after the salt, but the oil will kill them. We’ve lost four cows already and we can’t afford to lose more.”

  “Can’t we?” chuckled Grandpa.

  “I won’t stand by and see my cows kill themselves,” said Mama. “I’ve always liked cows.”

  Orvie started for the pasture. He picked up a stick and chased the cows. Grandpa followed with Shep.

  “Papa will have to build a fence around the slush-p
ond,” said Orvie. “We can’t be forever chasin’ cows.”

  “The oil company ought to do that for us,” said Grandpa.

  “Grandpa,” said Orvie, “wouldn’t it be nice to climb to the top of the derrick some time? Harry wants to and so does Ralph.”

  “Slim told you boys to stay off,” said Grandpa.

  “I’d like to tell Freckles Hart what it feels like to be up so high,” Orvie went on. “He’s always braggin’ about all the men he saw get killed. I bet I could see over the top of the world, if I got up on that catwalk on top. I bet I’d feel like I could fly faster’n a bird.”

  “Mebbe so,” said Grandpa. “Wouldn’t surprise me none.”

  Suddenly a loud roaring filled the air. Grandpa and Orvie looked up in the sky, and saw an airplane come closer and closer. It seemed to be circling round the Robinson farm.

  “Golly, Grandpa, look! It’s coming here!”

  The airplane circled, banked and came slowly down. It landed in the level wheat field behind the barn. Orvie and Grandpa ran over just as three men stepped out. They were dressed in leather coats and wore high-laced boots, so Orvie knew they were oil men. Then he recognized Jim Waterman, the tool-pusher.

  “So much high water between here and Ponca City,” Waterman explained, “we decided to fly over.”

  “When it rains around here, it just won’t quit,” said Grandpa.

  “Bad fire over east here,” said Waterman. “We’ll get a car to take us over.” He looked down at Orvie, then pointed to the airplane. “Would you like a ride, son?”

  “A ride?” Orvie could not believe his ears. “In the plane?” Grandpa spoke up. “I’m afraid his folks wouldn’t let him go up in an airplane …”

  Orvie’s face fell. “Aw, Grandpa, they wouldn’t care.”

  “Unless some responsible member of the family went along!” added Grandpa, laughing. “Orvie and me’s ready any time, Mr. Waterman. We was just sayin’ we wished we could see over the top of the world or else fly like a bird.”

  Mr. Waterman spoke to the pilots. “Take these two passengers up for a fifteen minute flight. Then come back and wait for us. We’ll start back to Ponca in an hour.” He walked away with the oil men.

  The ride was more wonderful than Orvie had ever dreamed it could be. He was still up in the clouds when he came down again. He put his hand in his pocket. There was Papa’s nickel—it brought him back to earth.

  CHAPTER VII

  No. 1 Robinson

  “Orvie sat on the grass under the cottonwood tree, fixing his bicycle. He had it all apart, and the parts were scattered around. The long clothesline around the corner of the house was full of bedding.”

  “Here, boy, come and pump for me.” A woman stood by the pump with two bottles in her hands.

  Orvie jumped up and began to pump. The woman was Hazel Daley, whom they had seen’ in the Sunflower Dept. Store. She said that her husband was Jack Daley, a driller, and he made high wages, ten dollars a day. Hazel was young and pretty—Orvie liked pumping for her.

  Other women came to the well, carrying pails, pans and buckets, and bringing their children. Mrs. Barnes came, pulling a sled with two large milk cans on it, but Bonnie Jean was not with her.

  “Why don’t you bring something bigger?” Orvie asked Hazel Daley.

  “I haven’t any cooking pots or buckets,” she answered.

  “How do you cook then?” inquired Mrs. Soaper. Her small girl and boy were hanging to her skirts, while Charley carried her buckets.

  “I don’t!” Hazel Daley laughed. “We eat at the Bucking Horse Café. I haven’t any dishes either. But I can make coffee and open tin cans.”

  The women looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

  “Have you heard the news?” asked Hazel. “A man was killed last night …”

  “Where?” gasped Orvie.

  “Up on Pistol Hill,” said Hazel. “The sheriff got there too late. The killer got away.” She took her bottles and disappeared around the corner of the house.

  When she was gone, Mrs. Armstrong said, “She bought another swell hat.”

  “Another?” cried Mrs. Decker. “Bet it ain’t paid for.”

  “I live in the house right next door to the Daleys,” said Mrs. Barnes. “That woman and her husband fought and screamed all last night. We couldn’t get any sleep.”

  “They must have been drinking,” said Mrs. Cassady.

  “There’s a bootlegger got a still down by Cottonwood creek,” said Mrs. Soaper. “They don’t have to go far for it. Notice them jugs she carried?”

  “A bootlegger—what’s that?” piped up Orvie.

  “Don’t you know?” Mrs. Soaper’s boy, Charley, let his mother pump her buckets full and came over to talk to Orvie.

  “It’s a man who makes liquor,” Charley went on, “and charges plenty for it. His name is Nicky Grimes and he needs empty whisky bottles. I know where we can find some. Would you like to make a little easy money?”

  Orvie remembered the nickel in his pocket and how seldom Papa handed nickels out. “Yes, I would,” he said.

  “Come with me, then,” said Charley.

  The two boys started off toward the barn, where they stopped to pick up a tow sack.

  “You’ve got a pony, ain’t you?” asked Charley.

  Orvie nodded. They mounted Star and rode off over the pasture.

  The women and children went back to their box-car houses and Mama was kept so busy, she did not miss Orvie at all. A string of salesmen kept knocking at the door. They tried to sell Mama everything from automobiles and pianos and organs, to radios, phonographs and wash-machines. To all of the men, Mama said: “We haven’t struck oil yet.”

  One salesman was hard to get rid of. He had a large Silvertone Cabinet Model radio. “Quite a lot of producers in this neighborhood,” he argued. “You’ll strike oil any day now.”

  “Can I get a piano and take music lessons?” begged Della.

  “I don’t sell pianos,” snapped the salesman.

  “I got talked into making a payment on a gas stove that I can’t use because we have no gas,” said Mama. “Oh yes, they’re going to pipe it in, but they haven’t done it yet.”

  “You can use this radio even if you have no electricity,” said the man. “It’s a seven-tube Silvertone battery-operated receiver with dynamic speaker. Now for the first time you can enjoy musical and voice reproduction with lifelike fidelity. Cash price only ninety-eight dollars, or thirty days trial and nine-fifty a month …”

  “There comes the truck with my new stove now.” Mama left the salesman, who got discouraged and went away. She told the truck man to put the stove on the back porch. “I’ll never use it anyway. Orvie, chop up some wood and fill the woodbox.”

  Orvie had just come back, overheated and breathless. While the oil workers were eating dinner, Mama stirred up her daily batch of bread. Another knock came at the front door.

  “Tell that salesman to go away, Della,” called Mama.

  But it was not a salesman. “He’s Superintendent of the Tumbleweed Oil Company, and he wanted to see Papa, but says you’ll do, Mama.”

  Mama turned the bread dough over to Della and went in.

  “Your husband is on the Cemetery Committee of the Prairie View church, I understand, Mrs. Robinson,” the man began.

  “Oh,” said Mama. “Now I know what you’re after. Yes, Al’s on the Committee, but we wouldn’t think of consenting to let any oil company drill in the churchyard or cemetery.”

  “But lady,” said the Superintendent, “think of all you’ll be losing. We’ll make the congregation rich. You have let oil wells come right here in your dooryard …”

  “Yes sir,” said Mama, “and many’s the time I’ve regretted it, but we needed the money so bad. Farming’s a hard way to make a living.”

  “Now in the cemetery …” began the Superintendent.

  “Would the derrick be higher than the church steeple?” Orvie asked.

  �
��Just about twice as high, son,” said the man, smiling.

  “You hush up, Orvie,” scolded Mama. “We’ll never give our consent. Even if the men will, the women won’t. Something’s got to be kept sacred. You’re ruining our homes and our farms, and still you’re not satisfied. My baby daughter lies buried in that cemetery.”

  “But lady, we’ll dig ditches and drain the oil and salt water off …”

  Mama couldn’t say another word. She went to the door, opened the screen and ushered the man out. Then she sank down in a rocker and buried her face in her hands.

  Orvie looked on, distressed. “But Mama, he didn’t say he was going to, he only asked if he could.”

  Mama did not look up. “My little baby … my little baby …” she kept on crying.

  “Mama, just looky here what I got,” cried Orvie, in an effort to cheer her. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.

  “Orville Robinson!” Mama got up from her chair. “Where did you get all that money? Your Papa … no … Did Grandpa give you all that?”

  “No, Mama,” said Orville, beaming. “I earned it myself. I knew you’d be glad.”

  “How did you earn it?”

  “Well, me and Charley …” It wasn’t so easy to tell after all.

  “Charley Soaper? You haven’t been runnin’ around with that Charley Soaper and gettin’ into mischief?”

  “No Mama,” Orvie went on. “Me and Charley just rode Star down to the creek and we took a tow sack along and we picked up a whole sackful of empty bottles. The people down there didn’t bother me none ’cause Charley was along, they know Charley—and we took ’em to a man who paid us money for ’em. I knew you’d like to have the creek cleaned up a little. Those campers are makin’ such a mess down there, they throw paper and tin cans and bottles all over everywhere …”

  “Bottles!” Mama stared hard at Orvie. “What kind of bottles are you talking about?”

  “Well, er … just bottles,” said Orvie. “I guess … maybe they’re old whisky bottles …”