“Ok men, I need to proceed to the stump,” said Paul after snagging one more piece of licorice.
As he headed down the walk Wooster called after him, still grinning, “Give ‘em hell boy!” Paul waved a hand without turning.
Ronnie looked at Wooster and said, “My mom says you shouldn’t say bad words Mr. McDowel.”
Wooster nodded and said, “That’s right. I’m sorry Ronnie.”
Ronnie looked at him and said, “Ok.” He then fixed his attention back on Paul and the formidable stump.
The trunk now was but three feet high. Paul figured he could cut a ring around the base in the ground and chop any roots running out from the tree. Then digging a hole around the tree, he could get to the tap root about a foot underground and chop it off. His main implements for this process were going to be one square head spade, one pointed spade, and a hatchet. He mumbled to himself about having a stone ax out here next. Wooster and Ronnie didn’t hear that one.
Loreen came out of the garage just as Paul was beginning to dig the hole around the tree. She glanced across the street and saw Ronnie sitting with Wooster and she shouted, “Hey Ronnie! Are you visiting?” She saw Ronnie sitting with Wooster often.
Ronnie waved back at her and shouted, “Yes! We’re having licorice!” He waggled the remaining half of his last piece at her to prove it.
Loreen shouted back, “Great!” Then she turned to Paul and said, “This is coming right along.” She’d brought a cup of coffee to him, and she handed it over. Working in a nursery she had done plenty of work with trees. But Paul never expected her to do the work at home. He figured it would be overkill to have to do your job at home and at work too. She always argued that he handled their investments and that was his line of work. But he just put his foot down and said, “Well, you handle a lot with the kids too, so it won’t hurt me to do this little bit.” She let him, but wished he’d let her just have some employees at her store do the work. After all, she was the boss. Loreen thought that it was Paul’s upbringing that made him want to handle the yard work. His dad had always done so, or had his boys do it. And they just expected to do it at their own houses. Even if they were not experts. She let it be after a while.
As Paul drank his coffee he said to her, “I think this will go pretty quick.”
Loreen eyed his little hatchet and the spades. She giggled and said, “We’ll see.”
Paul looked at her with mock indignation in his eyes. He said, “Be gone woman! I can see your doubt!” He slapped her butt and pushed her away.
Ronnie giggled and said, “He smacked her bottom, Mr. McDowel.”
Wooster said, “Yep, he sure did. She must have gotten fresh, huh?” He grinned at Ronnie.
Ronnie answered, “My dad does that when I’m really bad. Not very often though. He says I’m a good boy.”
Wooster nodded and said, “That you are Ronnie.” They both went silent then.
Loreen laughed and took Paul’s cup when he finished. She left him to his work and went in to do her chores.
Paul dug the hole down around the tree. He exposed a number of roots and realized he could cut many just by driving the spade through them. Some of the larger ones he had to get down on his knees and cut with the hatchet though. That was difficult at times because he found he could not get a good swing with the little thing. He also saw that he was dulling it quickly every time he smacked it into the dirt trying to cut a root.
He also found that for a little tree, it sure had some good sized roots! He finally ended up using a hand trowel to scoop dirt from around roots. Then he’d whack at them, then dig, then whack. It was tedious! Soon Wooster and Ronnie could hear, “C’mon you stupid root!” and, “Arrrrg!” coming from Paul as he kneeled by the tree.
Ronnie turned to Wooster and said, “It sounds like Mr. Compton is having trouble again.”
Wooster wasn’t really paying attention just then to the stump. He was watching a small flock of starlings circling down the block. They wouldn’t land here with he and Ronnie on the porch. They savaged Mrs. Baker’s yard instead. At least it looked that way. They flew over her house and disappeared. Wooster knew she had a nice garden in the back yard. The starlings may not get all they want at once, but they were tenacious. You had to watch them. What they couldn’t get one day, they’d come back for on another.
Ronnie slipped from his chair, reached over to Wooster and tugged on his arm. He repeated, “I think Mr. Compton is having trouble again.”
Wooster returned from his mental rabbit trail and smiled at Ronnie. Then, hearing another grunt from Paul he said, “It sure does!”
Paul was getting hot, and dirty, and mad. The roots of a tree were nothing like the trunk and branches. They were springy and elastic. They didn’t cut so much as chip. They seemed to bounce the blade of the hatchet off rather than split under it. After an hour of grubbing around he had gotten perhaps three quarters the way around the tree. That left a large root on one side, and the tap root itself. He groaned as he got to his feet, his face and upper body covered with dirt. He put his hand on the trunk to lean against it and found that it swayed back a little. Perhaps he could loosen the dirt around the remaining roots by rocking the stump back and forth some. He set his other hand on it and pushed. Then he pulled. The trunk rocked almost not at all.
Wooster watched as Paul tried to push and pull the trunk. He said to Ronnie, “Maybe Mr. Compton is gonna pull the trunk out by hand.”
Ronnie looked with wide eyes as though thinking of spider man hefting a truck up or something. He got back into his chair and renewed his surveillance of Mr. Compton’s work.
Paul decided that he’d have to get down and cut those last roots some to get the tree out. He sighed and once again kneeled in the dirt. He worked his hands down and started scooping dirt from around the tap root. He probably wasn’t going to be able to swing his hatchet at it, but he had a little hand saw too. He could maybe slide that in next to it. As he worked he noticed little white dots coming out with the dirt he was scooping. He was pondering what they were when the first ant bit him. He jerked his hand back and blurted, “Ouch!” It was a second before another bit, and another. Paul jerked back away from the tree and began to slap at his forearms, trying to knock any more ants from his flesh. The white dots were apparently eggs.
Wooster watched Paul bound back away from the tree and he wondered what was up.
Ronnie said, “What’s he doing? It looks like he’s dancing.”
Wooster answered, “I don’t know. Maybe he found some bugs.”
Ronnie yelled out, “What’re you doing Mr. Compton!”
Paul looked up and laughed when he realized how he must look. He shouted back to Ronnie, “Beating off wild ants!”
Wooster laughed and shouted, “You get ‘em Paul! You teach ‘em!”
Paul gave Wooster a stern look and yelled, “Never you mind, old man!” They both grinned at one another.
Ronnie said, “Mr. Compton said you were old.”
Wooster replied, “Yeah, and I am. But he was just funnin’ with me. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
Ronnie nodded and said, “Yeah, you are old I guess.” He sat back down and kept on watching.
Having beaten the ants off himself, Paul went into his garage and got a can of Raid. Like all men he applied Raid with the motto, “The more Raid, the more dead bugs!” He enveloped the hole around the tree with a dizzying mist of Raid, undoubtedly drowning most of the ants long before the insecticide could take effect and kill them the way it was intended. He stepped back from the killer haze, coughing and sneezing himself.
Wooster