The Scarlet Plague | Page 3

tended by a
third savage-looking boy. Crouched near him were several wolfish dogs similar to the
one that guarded the goats.
The old man accelerated his pace, sniffing eagerly as he neared the fire.
"Mussels!" he muttered ecstatically. "Mussels! And ain't that a crab, Hoo-Hoo? Ain't that
a crab? My, my, you boys are good to your old grandsire." Hoo-Hoo, who was apparently
of the same age as Edwin, grinned.
"All you want, Granser. I got four."
The old man's palsied eagerness was pitiful. Sitting down in the sand as quickly as his
stiff limbs would let him, he poked a large rock-mussel from out of the coals. The heat
had forced its shells apart, and the meat, salmon-colored, was thoroughly cooked.
Between thumb and forefinger, in trembling haste, he caught the morsel and carried it to
his mouth. But it was too hot, and the next moment was violently ejected. The old man
spluttered with the pain, and tears ran out of his eyes and down his cheeks.
The boys were true savages, possessing only the cruel humor of the savage. To them the
incident was excruciatingly funny, and they burst into loud laughter. Hoo-Hoo danced up
and down, while Edwin rolled gleefully on the ground. The boy with the goats came
running to join in the fun.
"Set 'em to cool, Edwin, set 'em to cool," the old man besought, in the midst of his grief,
making no attempt to wipe away the tears that flowed from his eyes. "And cool a crab,
Edwin, too. You know your grandsire likes crabs."
From the coals arose a great sizzling, which proceeded from the many mussels bursting
open their shells and exuding their moisture. They were large shellfish, running from
three to six inches in length. The boys raked them out with sticks and placed them on a
large piece of driftwood to cool.
"When I was a boy, we did not laugh at our elders; we respected them."
The boys took no notice, and Granser continued to babble an incoherent flow of
complaint and censure. But this time he was more careful, and did not burn his mouth.
All began to eat, using nothing but their hands and making loud mouth-noises and
lip-smackings. The third boy, who was called Hare-Lip, slyly deposited a pinch of sandon
a mussel the the ancient was carrying to his mouth; and when the grit of it bit into the old
fellow's mucous membrane and gums, the laughter was again uproarious. He was
unaware that a joke had been played on him, and spluttered and spat until Edwin,
relenting, gave him a gourd of fresh water with which to wash out his mouth.

"Where's them crabs, Hoo-Hoo?" Edwin demanded. "Granser's set upon having a snack."
Again Granser's eyes burned with greediness as a large crab was handed to him. It was a
shell with legs and all complete, but the meat had long since departed. With shaky fingers
and babblings of anticipation, the old man broke off a leg and found it filled with
emptiness.
"The crabs, Hoo-Hoo?" he wailed. "The crabs?"
"I was foolin', Granser. They ain't no crabs. I never found one."
The boys were overwhelmed with delight at sight of the tears of senile disappointment
that dribbled down the old man's cheeks. Then, unnoticed, Hoo-Hoo replaced the empty
shell with a fresh-cooked crab. Already dismembered, from the cracked legs the white
meat sent forth a small looked down in savory steam. This attracted amazement.
The change of his mood to one of joy was immediate. He snuffled and muttered and
mumbled, making almost a croon of delight, as he began to eat. Of this the boys took
little notice, for it was an accustomed spectacle. Nor did they notice his occasional
exclamations and utterances of phrases which meant nothing to them, as, for instance,
when he smacked his lips and champed his gums while muttering:
"Mayonnaise! Just think--mayonnaise! And it's sixty years since the last was ever made!
Two generations and never a smell of it! Why, in those days it was served in every
restaurant with crab."
When he could eat no more, the old man sighed, wiped his hands on his naked legs, and
gazed out over the sea. With the content of a full stomach, he waxed reminiscent.
"To think of it! I've seen this beach alive with men, women, and children on a pleasant
Sunday. And there weren't any bears to eat them up, either. And right up there on the cliff
was a big restaurant where you could get anything you wanted to eat. Four million people
lived in San Francisco then. And now, in the whole city and county there aren't forty all
told. And out there on the sea were ships and ships always to