A few weeks ago I left three fictitious youngsters in the hayloft of Uncle Ex Newman’s barn as they laid out of school— Clark Mosely, his older brother Hen, and their still older cousin Jay Harvey Tatum.
“It’s hotter’n seven hells in this blamed hayloft,” Jay Harvey said.
“That sun’s a beatin’ on that tin roof. I bet it’s a lot cooler down on the barn’s dirt floor,” Clark said.
“Yeah, and a sight more like to be caught hiding out down there, too,” Hen said. “How long we gonna stay up here, Jay Harvey?”
“’Til time for school to let out, I reckon,” Jay Harvey replied.
“How the devil we gonna know when that is? Ain’t a one of us got a watch.”
“Ah, we’ll know. The sun and our stomachs’ll tell us, you can bet,” Jay Harvey smugly surmised.
“Well, what’re we gonna do while we sit up here all day?” Clark crossly asked. “This ain’t no fun.”
“Don’t worry, boys,” Jay Harvey soothed. Grinning, he pulled a cigar out of his britches pocket.”
“Holy smoke!” Clark exclaimed. “Where’d you get that?”
“I sort of picked it up the last time I was at Hob Henderson’s store. Got me some matches, too. We’ll just take us a little smoke while we rest up a little bit.” Jay Harvey took the cigar and clumsily bit the end off, really more like the last third of it, not as smoothly as he’d seen his father Wade Tatum do, but as effectively to the Mosely brothers as if Elder Parley Shipman had done it himself on the altar of Brown’s Fork Church. It took Jay Harvey four matches to get the cigar lit, and he was getting a little worried, as he had only scarfed five matches from the matchbox in his mother’s kitchen. Jay Harvey inhaled, and a sharp hacking cough and what seemed like a chimney full of dark blue, smelly smoke emerged from his mouth. He hacked and coughed for about two minutes, and the Moselys took turns beating him on the back until he was able to speak.
“That’s good stuff—STRONG! That’s a high dollar cigar there, boys.”
“If it’s so all-fired great, how come I’ve never seen any old folks smoking cigars or cigarettes that choked like that?” Clark asked suspiciously.
“I’ll tell you why, Clark Mosely, if you have to know—they smoke them cheap cigars. This one would have cost a whole nickel if I had a bought it. This is one of them high dollar cigars. Probably from Cuber.”
“Where’s Cuber?” Hen asked?
“How I’m s’posed to know? Jay Harvey asked. “I’ve only been to, not through, the first grade, and they don’t teach joggerfy that low. I did hear the older kids recitin’ somethin’ ‘bout it one day, though. Must be in deepest, darkest Africky.”
“You know what, Jay Harvey?” Hen asked. “I don’t think half the time you know what the blazes you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”
“Ay, it don’t matter so much whatcha say,” Jay Harvey declared. “It’s more’n how it’s said. At least that’s what ol’ Eat More told Pa one time,” Jay Harvey said.
“Ah, Eat More’s just a ol’ bootlegger, Aunt Lizie says. She says they ain’t nothin’ can be believed from the lips of a drunkerd.”
“I never heard of Eat More bein’ drunk,” Clark said.
“Course not,” Hen said. “He don’t make rot gut to drink—he makes it to sell.”
“Most of the men in Tatum Holler sure helps ol’ Eat get rid of it,” Jay Harvey said. “I’d say if they was a race to see who drunk the most it would be the Mosely men, ‘specially yore daddy Fletch.”
“At least Daddy drinks ‘shine better then you smoke a see-gar,” Clark taunted.
“Well, heck, I’ll get better at this, too, when I’ve smoked as long as yore daddy’s drunk,” Jay Harvey said. “You boys want a puff, or are you gonna hold out and see if you can get hold of some of Fletch’s ‘shine?”
“If you had the choice,” Hen asked Jay Harvey, “would you keep that smelly ol’ cigar or trade it for some of Eat More’s ‘shine?”
“I’d find a way to keep my cigar and get some of the ‘shine, too,” Jay retorted with a smile and wink.
“You look just like ol’ Eat More when you wink like that,” Clark said. “Momma said it makes her skin crawl when ol’ Eat More winks at her.”
“Are you gonna take another puff of that cigar or just hold it ‘til it burns out?” Hen asked Jay Harvey.
“Well, youn’s got me to talkin’ and I ‘most forgot ‘bout it,” Jay Harvey said. He took a smaller puff of the cigar, but coughed more than he did on the first puff. The Moselys did not beat his back this time, and Jay Harvey’s voice sounded funny when he spoke again. “Good stuff,” he croaked.
“You seem to be gettin’ a little sick lookin’,” Clark said. “You feel all right, Jay Harvey?”
“Never better,” Jay Harvey wheezed.
“Better git another puff, Jay Harvey,” Hen said. “She’s burning out fast.”
Jay Harvey took another small puff and managed not to cough that time, though he did clear his throat and swallow a couple of times. Both Moseleys, young as they were, could tell that Jay Harvey was getting the look that Mother Maggie called “green around the gills”.
“Dang, I’m hungry,” Hen said. “Boys, it must be about dinner time. Let’s eat our dinners up here.”
“Oh, I don’t know if it’s that late,” Jay Harvey said. “’Sides, we ain’t got no water up here to swaller them bis-kits with.”
“Why, work up enough spit and you can swaller anythang, ain’t that right, Clark?”
“Right, Hen. We can git us a good drank when we sneak down from here to go home.”
“Here, Jay Harvey, want a bite o’ mine?” Hen offered.
When Jay Harvey smelled the apple butter on Hen’s biscuit, he dropped the cigar into the hay and clapped his hand over his mouth. He ran to the corner of the hayloft and retched like he was dying. Both Hen and Clark laughed at him until their sides hurt.
“Here, now, what’s a goin’ on up there?” a woman’s voice from below demanded.
“Ah, heck, we’re caught now,” Clark said.
“Who’s up there, I say? You better tell me ‘fore I have to climb up there and see fer m’self.” Hen peeked through the floorboards of the hayloft and saw their Uncle Ex Newman’s daughter Bertie squinting through her thick glasses. Cousin Bertie was about thirty years old but wouldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.
“It’s just us, Cousin Bertie,” Hen said quietly.
“How’s that? That you, Hen Mosely? Who else’s up there? Come on now, speak up sharp!”
Just my brother Clark and Jay Harvey Tatum.”
“What’n the world you up to? Ain’t today the first day of school this year? I sent my boy Lester, and he ain’t come home yit, so I reckon it’s the right day.”
“We got a late start and was ‘shamed to go in late,” Hen said.
“Well, what’re ye doin’ up there? Seems like I smell smoke.”
At first Hen thought Cousin Bertie was smelling Jay Harvey’s cigar, and then he caught a whiff of burning hay. The cigar! It was about to start a fire where it had landed in the dry hay. Hen ran over and smacked his dinner pail on top to smother it out.
“Come on down from there, you boys!” Cousin Bertie shrilled. “I don’t rightly know where you might s’posed to be, but it ain’t here. Git out’n here ‘fore you gits in trouble.”
The boys climbed down, with Cousin Bertie shaming them on every rung of the ladder. “Jay Harvey Tatum, you look a might sick. What’s the matter with ye?”
“Nothin’, Miss Bertie.”
“You’re green as a gourd, and you smell funny. What you been doin’ up there?”
“I think somethin’ I et made me sick,” Jay Harvey said.
“All the more reason you ought to be sommers else ‘stead of my daddy’s hayloft. Now git goin’ where you’re s’posed to be.”
“Can we have some frash spring water to swaller our bis-kits with?” Clark asked sweetly?”
“Why, shore, honey, all the water youn’s want. Sit over there at the spring and eat yer vittles ‘fore you hit the road. I’ll be checkin’, and y’all best be gone in a half hour.”
When a respectable distance between the boys and Bertie Newman was attained Hen scolded, “Ah, dang it! Jay Harvey, this is all yore fault. If you hadn’t started puking your guts out up there playing like a big man smokin’ a see-gar, we wouldn’t a got caught!”
Jay Harvey made no answer, just stooped at the side of the spring and buried his whole head in the water for a minute. He raised up and shook out his hair, and he did look some better. He felt so much better, in fact, that he helped himself to a delicious drink of Aunt Essie’s buttermilk straight from the jar.
“No harm done’ boys,” Jay Harvey said. “We still got out’n the first day of school this year. Might be my last’n, if I’m lucky.”
“Somebody’s bound to tell on us—we’ve already run into Pa Fain and Cousin Bertie, and it’s untellin’ who else we’ll see ‘fore we git home,” Hen said.
“Well, we’ll worry ‘bout it when it happens,” Clark said. “Right now, let’s eat!”
After a lazy period of almost an hour our weary travelers began their homeward journey. Just as they were about to turn onto Tatum Holler Road Jay Harvey uttered an oath and exclaimed, “I’ll be DAD-BLAMED! If it ain’t Ep Carter, the truant officer, in that there car, I’ll kiss your gran-pappy’s mule’s hine-end! The only thang worse’n him’s the revenooer!”
“Boys, we’re in fer it now!” Hen exclaimed.
“Oh, HECK!” Clark gasped.
The car pulled up alongside the boys. Ep Carter leaned out the window and said, “School out early, boys?”
“Y-y-yessir,” stuttered Jay Harvey.
“Hum. Seems like I just come from there, and the new teacher was just getting’ ready to call the classes back in after noon recess. I think I can get you there in time for the last two or three hours of this first day. Hop in, fellers,” Ep Carter beckoned.

DEAR READER: It appears our three prodigals will get to meet their new teacher after all. Join me in a future article to see how things go with the new teacher. Do the boys stay in school for the full term? Do any of them make it to the second grade? What price do the boys pay for the half day spent in the hayloft? Until next time, a thought from my world of email:

Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft.
Unsurprisingly, it sank, proving once again that
you can’t have your kayak and heat it too.