BLACK OIL
&
SOULS TO WIN
By James O. Henry
" I t’s a stinking place, Pa, and I don’t like it.” Nineteen-year-old Lyman Stewart had said his piece. He could see hurt amazement in his father’s eyes. The lad swallowed hard. There seemed to be a lump in his throat. The elder Stewart didn’t say a word. Just looked. In a way that hurt. Lyman shifted his weight from foot to foot. Then a torrent of words fairly poured from his
lips. "Pa, you know I want to do what’s right. I respect you, sir. But I just can’t go on working for you. A tannery’s an interesting place for a boy of 11 . I felt big learning my pa’s trade, even if the other kids joked and said I smelled like a stack of spoiled cowhides. But I’m a man now.” He shifted his weight again and swallowed hard. I got $125 saved up. I can get a interest in
The King's Business/February 1958
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