Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

“He! – Its [sic] a she – don’t you know Ofie?”; From his ensuing remarks about “Ofie”, I gathered she was the train’s most notorious prostitute. ; “Ofie” herself appeared later, fortunately just as I was starting to pack up my things. She was like an apparition – tall, thin, with a great pile of hideous henna hair, dark shadows under her eyes, cigarette hanging loosely in her mouth –; The engineer started to “kid” her; to which she replied in kind, with much florid profanity. Before she could look at my picture, he eyed her, hugged her, and then they conversed in low tones for a few seconds. ; She fell in love with my sketch, and to my great embarrassment, wanted to buy it! Nothing I could say would dampen her ardor, – she kept coaxing, and getting closer & closer so that I could smell her breath, which was accentuated with cheap liquor: Finally she asked permission to show it to her “Mom” – which I granted, not without some qualms. But she returned with it in a few moments, and after coaxing some more, she left me in peace. ; I soon was on my way, headed for home. By now it was after six o’clock, the sun low in the west, but still shining clear and hot, above the blue-hazed hills. ; I drove at a good speed as far as a few miles below Eldred, when a misty bank of clouds appeared.