We hadn't been in the feed store five minutes when he tore through the door, bouncing along like a little kid going to get candy.
"Morning all, Elmer C Spinsworthy come-a-calling," he said, dropping the big leather satchel. It shook the floor like he'd dropped an anvil.
"Morning, Spinsworthy," the feed store man said, without looking up.
"Would you believe . . . I came upon a store down on the Angle Fork of the Pigeon River a while back; every shelf in the place was lined with matches. Boxes on top of boxes were stacked to the ceiling. Never seen so many matches in my born days."
The short, bald man pranced around and pointed with his little derby hat at the shelves. I thought once he was going to jump over the counter. His Adam's apple bounced up and down inside the button-down collar, which didn't match the shirt at all. The collar was snow white; the shirt was dingy brown. He put me in mind of a little bantam rooster.
"Maybe he sold a lot of matches," the feed store man said.
"Would you believe that's exactly what I said to him? 'You must sell a whale of a lot of matches.'"
"What did he say to that?" the feed store man said.
Spinsworthy slapped his fat thigh with his hat. "He say's to me, 'No, I hardly sell any, but thar's a man comes through here once a month that can sure to hell sell'em.'"
The feed store man turned red as a beet. "Elmer you're the only man in the world windy enough to blow up a fish net like a balloon."
"I'll take a dying oath," Spinsworthy said. "Or, or something like that."
I had heard of this Elmer Spinsworthy fellow all my life, but this was my first time to come face to face with him.
I remembered what Mama said a week ago Friday when she caught my older sisters running their mouths about some people they didn't know. "'There ain't a stranger in this whole wide country. I've traveled all over, and if there is, I ain't never met up with him.' Them's the words of Elmer C Spinsworthy, a well liked man. You-all take that to heart. Quit gabbing about people you've not met."
Spinsworthy wasn't a bit over five feet tall, and his suspenders stretched like banjo strings over the roll of fat around his middle. The thing that stood out the most about him was his head. It seemed way to little for the rest of his body. All in all, I could see why I had heard his name spoke so many times. He sure was somebody you couldn't forget easy.
"He's the last drummer left in these parts," Dad said while we were in the back standing by a stack of hog feed.
"What's a drummer?" I said.
"There used to be plenty of them coming through these mountains. They carried their goods with them and went from house to house. Why, even a hotel down in the county seat was called the Drummer's House."
"What happened to them?"
"They're called salesmen now-a-days. Don't stop nowhere except at stores. They take orders for goods, which get brought by trucks. Put many a drummer out of business--all but Spinsworthy."