Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

of the day, I went to the “Main” street to sketch the old dilapidated stores. While I was here a negro approached one of them, and was about to enter when a little girl came running. “Say Dad wants to know if you’re going to shave him this afternoon and if you are, when will you be over?” “You tell him” was the reply accompanied by a wink to me “That I’ll shave him next week, say about Tuesday or Wednesday”; and –; A crowd of fellows, all dressed up sadly out of keeping with the quaint romantic flavor of the old buildings, came along, discussing a walk they were to take at 2:30. After they dispersed one came running back “Say Ed, got your keys” “Sure” “I just had an accident, broke a shoestring” and amid the rattling of keys “Got any money?” “Sure, got a dime” “These’ll cost you twelve cents” “I’ll just give you a dime” “Twelve cents on Sunday” –; Out of another ramshackle false-front came a tall lanky brown-skinned farmerish looking man; His message to a spruce-looking Negro proclaimed his calling as village postmaster.