the reins and the whip. Its 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 dont call me names anymore.They dont laugh at my scabby
eyes.They want to know how I got such a good job at eleven years of
age and what Im paid and if Ill 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 theyre bigger and Im 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 Im 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 thats 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. Its still dark
one Saturday morning when Mrs. Hannon knocks at our door and asks
me if Id 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
Id just roll them on the handcart for him. He wont 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. Hes so stiff he can hardly get off the bike and he says,
Youre 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 Leamys could see me now, the way I drive the
horse and handle the bags, the way I do everything while Mr. Hannon
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