"Hello, Ma!... hello, Millie!... well, well, so this is Duncan's kid?...
how big he's grown!"
Landon's fine, even, white teeth gleamed a smile at me.
Granma couldn't say a word ... she just looked at him ... and looked at
him ... and looked at him ... after a long while she began saying his
name over and over again....
"Landon, Landon, Landon,"--holding him close.
Landon began living with us regularly as one of the family. He went to
work in the steel mills, and was energetic and tireless when he worked,
which he did, enough to pay his way and not be a burden on others. He
performed the hardest kinds of labour in the mills.
But often he laid off for long stretches at a time and travelled about
with a wild gang of young men and women, attending dances, drinking,
gambling.
Nothing seemed to hurt him, he was so strong.
At most of the drinking bouts, where the object was to see who could
take down the most beer, Landon would win by drinking all he could
hold, then stepping outside on another pretext ... where he would push
his finger down his throat and spout out all he had drunk. Then he would
go back and drink more.
Sunday afternoons were the big gambling and card-playing times in our
semi-rural neighbourhood.
The "boys" spent the day till dusk in the woods back of Babson's Hill.
They drank and played cards. Landon taught me every card game there was.
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