Mr. Bob

M«g Norma Young Mr. Bob by Betty J. Clarke Mr. Bob. That's what they called rum. He died in '39 and had lived all of his sixty-three years in Buffalo Trace, the asparagus bed of Mason county. He wasn't a great man or even important for that matter. I guess the two most important things he ever did were to father twelve children and to make money. He had three boys, James, Carl, and William, not in the order of birth, and nine daughters : Frances, Lenora, Ann Preston, Susie, Ellen, Mary Cameron, Sky, Nancy, and Marjorie. The one thing they had in common was that they were all pretty, except Susie and Ellen, and they were more beautiful than pretty. Mama used to say that the only reason people ever came to see her was to see the new baby or to find out if she were pregnant again. Well, as I was saying, Mr. Bob really couldn't be called important. He was High Sheriff of Mason county for twentyfive years, and everyone said he was the best one they ever had. He was a tall straight man with heavy black hair and commanding brown eyes. As far as I know he had very little trouble while he was sheriff. They say he expected respect and got it. He had a red mare he called Polly, and 54 early every morning he'd get Meat (Meat was the colored man no one can remember not being around. When anyone inquired about him, the children would answer, "Oh, he's always been here." Wherever Mr. Bob went, he went.) to saddle her, and he'd ride into Buffalo Trace to see how things were. At that time Buffalo Trace had five saloons and two hotels. It's funny how he never drank for twenty-five years, and right after he went out of office, he started and drank enough to make up for all the years he did without. I don't know how he did it, but he could make more money when he was drinking than most men could make sober. On one of these occasions, he went in to George Disher's store. It was cold, and several of the old timers were in the back sitting around the coal stove when he got there. Jim Watson looked up when the door opened, and he recognized right away that Mr. Bob was drinking . "Hey Andy, here's Bob. We'll ask him what he thinks about the sheep market. Darned if I'm not ready to sell out. With prices falling everyday, we won't even make the feed out of them." "Damned cold out," Mr. Bob said as he slammed the door and scrapped a chair across the floor to the stove. "Just talking about the sheep situation, Mr. Bob," Andy said. "How do you feel about it?" "Pretty bad I'd say, but I'm not so sure Td sell out," Mr. Bob replied as he settled himself in the cane-bottom chair and propped his feet up on the wood box. "I'm for selling," Jim stated. "How about you Andy? If we put it off, they'll keep going down and 111 be broke." "If that's the way you feel, Jim, "?? buy them. What's your price?" Mr. Bob asked. The deal was settled then and there, and Mr. Bob was called the damndest fool going by most of the sheep raisers in the community. It turned out, though, that they were the fools, not Mr. Bob, because prices went up about a week later. There were other times and other deals not so successful, but Mr. Bob was a man of his word. Once he gave it, he never went back on it; and he never apologized for anything he did. His philosophy was, "You live your life and I'll live mine." And that's what he practiced. As I said before, he took up drinking and worked hard at it, just like everything else he did. I remember hearing that one day he came home drunk and chased Mama and all twelve children up to...