the reins and the whip. It’s the best day of my life, better than my First Communion day, which Grandma ruined, better than my Confirma- tion day when I had the typhoid. They don’t call me names anymore.They don’t laugh at my scabby eyes.They want to know how I got such a good job at eleven years of age and what I’m paid and if I’ll have that job forever. They want to know if there are any other good jobs going in the coal yards and would I put in a good word for them. Then there are big boys of thirteen who stick their faces in mine and say they should have that job because they’re bigger and I’m nothing but a scrawny little runt with no shoulders.They can talk as much as they like. I have the job and Mr. Hannon tells me I’m powerful. There are days his legs are so bad he can hardly walk at all and you can see Mrs. Hannon worries. She gives me a mug of tea and I watch her roll up his trouser legs and peel away the dirty bandages.The sores are red and yellow and clogged with coal dust. She washes them with soapy water and smears them with a yellow ointment.She props the legs up on a chair and that’s where he stays the rest of the night reading the paper or a book from the shelf above his head. The legs are getting so bad he has to get up an hour earlier in the morning to get the stiffness out, to put on another dressing. It’s still dark one Saturday morning when Mrs. Hannon knocks at our door and asks me if I’d go to a neighbor and borrow their handcart to take on the float for Mr. Hannon will never be able to carry the bags today and maybe I’d just roll them on the handcart for him. He won’t be able to carry me on his bicycle so I can meet him at the yard with the handcart. The neighbor says,Anything for Mr. Hannon, God bless him. I wait at the gate of the coal yard and watch him cycle toward me, slower than ever. He’s so stiff he can hardly get off the bike and he says, You’re a great man, Frankie. He lets me get the horse ready though I still have trouble getting on the harness. He lets me handle the float out of the yard and into the frosty streets and I wish I could drive forever and never go home. Mr. Hannon shows me how to pull the bags to the edge of the float and drop them on the ground so that I can pull them on to the handcart and push them to the houses. He tells me how to lift and push the bags without straining myself and we have the sixteen bags delivered by noon. I wish the boys at Leamy’s could see me now, the way I drive the horse and handle the bags, the way I do everything while Mr. Hannon 264