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Updated: May 1, 2025
Counting the chore persons of various sorts and not counting waiters, we had some thirty-eight working in or for our café—all men but the two fat Porto-Rican glass washers and me. Bridget, the dear old soul, came down that first afternoon to see how I was getting along. I had cleaned up spick and span after the Spanish woman—and a mess she always managed to leave.
He'd try things that sane punchers wouldn't go looking for, if sober; in fact, he was so simple you might call him simple-minded and not get took up for malicious slander. So it come to where we seen he wasn't good for anything on this ranch but chore boy. And naturally we needed a chore boy, like we needed everything else.
None of the hospital staff wanted to be with a dying person except me; most hospital staff were unable to confront death any more bravely than those who were dying. So I made it a point of being at the death bed. The doctors and nurses found it extremely unpleasant to have to deal with the preparation of the dead body for the morgue; this chore usually fell to me also. I did not mind dead bodies.
These were all he needed, books and time, and when there was an especially hard knot to untie, Rebecca, as the star scholar of the neighborhood, helped him to untie it. When he was sixteen he longed to go away from Riverboro and be something better than a chore boy.
After that he went more slowly, though he found it hard to make the heavy cart go downhill slowly. It made his arms ache holding it back. Change for a Ten-Dollar Bill Having to drag a heavy cart with a big bag of groceries in it nearly a mile to the shopping center became considerable of a chore even before Jerry was halfway there. "Lemme see," he thought as he bumped the cart down a curb.
Of course, the way I feel is like takin' the top of his head off. But I d' know," he added, "as that would do a great deal of good, either. I presume a woman's got rather of a chore to get along with a man, anyway. We a'n't any of us much to brag on. It's out o' sight, out o' mind, with the best of us, I guess." "It wouldn't be with Jackson it wouldn't be with Mr. Westover."
"But they kain't hide much from Marsh McNutt, when he has his eyes open." Patsy wondered if he could possibly close them. The eyelids seemed to be shy and retiring. "I seen what I seen," continued the little man, glancing impressively at his attentive audience. "I seen Cap'n Wegg livin' without workin', fer he never lifted a hand to do even a chore.
The fat pear was passed round like refreshments, receiving much praise and no harsh criticism; and when it was safely returned to its proud possessor, Ida began her tale in a lively tone. "I waited for MY chore, and it came tumbling down our basement steps one rainy day in the shape of a large dilapidated umbrella with a pair of small boots below it.
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