
One particular chilly Saturday afternoon,
Bobby had a great run, piling his wagon sky high with more than half a dozen
crates! When he arrived at the bottom of the Smith’s Roseberry Place driveway,
the old man was standing on the front porch, a newly lit stogy perched between
his lips, waving and yelling “That ‘a boy! Good job!” Bobby struggled to pull
the wagon up the slippery driveway gasping “Ummm, Mr. Smith, can I help you
carry these down to the basement sir?”
Old Man Smith stopped, pulled the stogy out
of his mouth, squinted and with a curious semi-frown asked “Why would we want
to do that son?”
“Well, I was thinkin’ I could help you to
set up your theatre seats. Ya’ know, I have experience.” Bobby squirmed shyly
as he glanced back at the wagon full of crates.
Now as it turns out, Mr. Smith knew all
about Bobby’s previous home-theatre venture. A smile grew on his face, he
started to chuckle, then as usual, he bent over at the waist coughing, hacking,
belly laughing, and trying to talk all at the same time. “Why Bobby, that sure
is a terrific idea, but the Misses would be pretty damn upset if all you
rascals started tromping through her beautiful house to watch movies! Common;
I’m gonna’ show you to make real money!”
As is turned out, Old Man Smith had a green
house out back where he grew celery in the crates, harvested them, and then
sold them to the local general store, as well as at the St. Thomas farmer’s
market when it was open for the season.
Bobby, on the other hand, realized he wasn’t
very interested in growing celery, and definitely had no inclination to garden whatsoever.
He did help stack the crates in the Smith yard, collected his wages and went
straight to the five-and-dime where he bought a handful of black balls, then strolled
home, contemplating ways to get into show biz.
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