The Last Gentleman

highway police wear, though he was only a town deputy.
    â€œThis is Will Barrett, Beans,” said the engineer, holding out his hand. “Mister Ed’s boy.”
    â€œWhat,” said Beans, shoving his glasses onto his forehead. He even took the other’s hand and there was for a split second a chance of peace between them. “What the hell are you doing here?” Beans took from his pocket a small blackjack as soft and worn as skin.
    â€œI’ll explain, but meanwhile there is no reason to hit Breeze.” He knew at once what Beans meant to do.
    â€œAll right, Breeze,” said Beans in a routine voice, not looking at him.
    Sweet Evening Breeze, knowing what was expected of him, doffed his stocking cap and presented the crown of his head. Hardly watching but with a quick outward flick of his wrist, Beans hit Breeze on the forehead with the blackjack. Breeze fell down.
    â€œGoddamn it, Beans,” said the engineer. “That’s no way to act.”
    â€œYou got something to say about it?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhere’s the poontang?” asked Beans, and with a gesture at once fond and conspiratorial—enlisting: him—and contemptuous, he leaned across and snapped his middle finger on the engineer’s fly.
    â€œAugh,” grunted the engineer, bowing slightly and seeming to remember something. Had this happened to him as a boy, getting snapped on the fly? The humiliation was familiar.
    â€œDon’t do that, Beans,” said Ellis Gover, coming between them and shaking his head. “This is a real good old boy.”
    By the time the engineer’s nausea had cleared, Beans had caught sight of Mona in the booth. Without taking his eyes from her, he pulled Ellis close and began to whisper. The engineer had time to straighten himself and to brace his foot in the corner of the jamb and sill of the front door. For once in his life he had time and position and a good shot, and for once things became as clear as they used to be in the old honorable days. He hit Beans in the root of his neck as hard as he ever hit the sandbag in the West Side Y.M.C.A. Beans’s cap and glasses flew off and he sat down on the floor. “Now listen here, Ellis,” said the engineer immediately, turning to the tall, younger policeman. “Yall go ahead,” he told the others casually, waving them over Beans’s outstretched legs and out the front door. “Catch a Bluebird cab at the corner.”
    â€œWait a minute,” said Ellis, but he did not stop them.
    â€œDon’t worry about it, Ellis. They haven’t done anything. They’re leaving town and that’s what you want.”
    â€œBut, shit, man,” said Ellis, who could not take his eyes from the fallen policeman. “You done hit Beans.”
    â€œI know, but look at Breeze,” said the engineer by way of answer, and nodded to the Negro, who was laid out straight as a corpse. Standing next to Ellis, he took him by the elbow just as he used to touch him in a football huddle. Ellis was all-state halfback and the engineer, who was quarterback (not all-state), had called the plays in huddle. Ellis was a bit slow in catching the signals and the engineer used to squeeze him so, just above the elbow.
    â€œYeah, but hailfire, Will.”
    â€œListen, Ellis,” said the engineer, already moving. “You bring charges against me to clear yourself, do you understand? Tell Beans the others got in behind you. You got it?”
    â€œYeah, but—”
    â€œNow give Beans a hand and tell him to come after me, O.K.?” He said this though Beans was still out cold, and giving Ellis a final huddle sort of squeeze and nod, the engineer walked quickly to the back door and out into Heck’s Alley.
    â€œWill,” cried Ellis again, feeling that all was not well. But the other had already crossed the alley to a certain board in a fence which had been eroded into the shape of Illinois and which he knew, now fifteen years later, to swing free on a single nail, was through it and into Miss Mamie Billups’ back yard. Miss Mamie was sitting on her side porch when he stooped to pass under her satsuma tree.
    â€œHow do you do, Miss Mamie,” said the courteous engineer, bowing and putting his tie inside his coat
    â€œWho is that?” called out the old woman sharply. Everyone used to steal her satsumas.
    â€œThis is Will Barrett, Miss