[Jerome, A Poor Man by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman]@TWC D-Link book
Jerome, A Poor Man

CHAPTER XV
6/20

"Why," asked old Peter Thomas, toiling tobaccoless in the town fields--"why couldn't the town have give me work, an' paid me what I airned, an' let me keep my house, instead of sendin' of me here ?" Sometimes he propounded the question, his sharp old eyes twinkling out of a pitiful gloom of bewilderment, to the Overseer: "Say, Mr.
Simms, what ye s'pose the object of it is?
Here I be, workin' jest as hard for what's give as for what I used to airn." But he never got any satisfaction, and his mind never relaxed to ease, until in some way he got a bit of tobacco.

Old Peter Thomas, none of whose forebears had ever been on the town, who had had in his youth one of the prettiest and sweetest girls in the village to wife, toiling hard with his stiff old muscles for no gain of independence, his mind burdened with his unanswered question, would almost at times have sold his soul for tobacco.

Nearly all he had was given him by Ozias Lamb, who sometimes crammed a wedge of tobacco into his hand, with a hard and furtive thrust and surly glance aloof, when he jostled him on the road or at the village store.

Old Peter used to loaf about the store, whenever he could steal away from the poorhouse, on the chance of Ozias and tobacco.

Ozias was dearly fond of tobacco himself, but little enough he got, with this hungry old pensioner lying in wait.
He always yielded up his little newly bought morsel of luxury to Peter, and went home to his shoes without it; however, nobody knew.
"Don't ye speak on't," he charged Peter, and he eschewed fiercely to himself all kindly motives in his giving, considering rather that he was himself robbed by the great wrong of the existing order of things.
Jerome, who had seen his uncle cram tobacco into old Peter's hand, used sometimes to leave the path on his way to school, when he saw the delving old figure in the ploughed field, and discovered, even at a distance, that his jaws were still and his brow knotted, run up to him, and proffer as a substitute for the beloved weed a generous piece of spruce-gum.


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