Dob didn't have to be a Wizard for the Devil, why, he could be a Wizard for the Good Lord. Like a Living Commandment. A spellbinder for Jesus: that sure would addle some sinners. Wasn't little Dobber Magee the butt of their horseplay ever since he and the kids that goaded him were big enough to waddle? They were seeds of Satan alright, damned and didn't know it. Nonny had told him so and she would tell him what scripture to hurl at those Boyetts and Van Smittles too if she wasn't six years dead and playing harpsichord for the one-and-only Christ Lord Jesus. Folks around Cayuga Ridge were always spooking him about how he tended to walk badly and dribble when he ate until he just didn't eat around any of them anymore. What fussed him the most was when kids and some that hadn't been kids for a long time would poke fun at his wandering eye. The left one, this was the lazy pupil that vexed them; the one that sometimes made him look cross-eyed when it wasn't looking out the window for itself, paying no attention to the rest of his lumpen face. They shouldn't make jokes about his eye. Once--the only time he had been to school--Dob spent two days in grade three of Mrs. Marston's class, but only because the old constable, Newt the Noble Jackson, had come up Coffin Holler and sat on Nonny's porch and told her how little Dobber had to go to school, it being the next thing to a law. Nonny said all she was concerned with was the laws of Holy writ and Old Newt's soul salvation, but she let him go anyway. They were the longest two days of Dob's life, what with having to wear shoes and even the girls laughing at him because he couldn't stand up and do his ciphers. His Nonny taught him what Bible words he needed to know, but those ciphers were just evil cat-scratchings as far as he could tell, and his failure to make sense of them must surely have been due, largely, to his wandering eye, the way Dob saw it. What could a peck of satan's seeds know about telling twos from sevens with a wandering eye. Fortunately, his dear Nonny wasn't here to see the ridicule he had borne this morning. It would put a crack in her heart, not to mention the notion that he had lain with an Injun girl and even stooped to marry her. But it seemed he'd gone astray in so many ways since Nonny's death that a few more wouldn't matter; besides he could always repent. Didn't Jesus save the thieves on the cross from hellfire? Hellfire if He didn't. Down to the wire and they repented yeah boy and, hanging up there on Golgotha, that sweet Jesus gave them both early parole. It made Dob feel good, knowing he was better off than any common sneak thief, dog-dang it. He was plucking another splinter from his rump, perplexing on why Toodlem might fool with toilet water, when Dob spied Fritzy the drummer coming up the road with his carpetbag. The drummer already wore a grin and waved an open buttermilk bottle, dowdy in that round crazy-twill suit of his. "Hidy dooo," the drummer hailed as Dob got to his feet. The drummer stopped but Dob could not speak for a moment. "Dobber, ahm surprised at you lad, kitty got your tongue? Huh? This bitch of a sun git to your head?" "Uh....naaaw..." Dobber Magee didn't feel so good. There was a queer, sickening knot growing inside his throat; it made him feel strange and outside himself somehow. He couldn't believe this dog-dang drummer could stand here grinning with his milk moustache, grinning with such holy powers in his hand. This queer sensation Dob felt, it smelled like rose toilet water. "Take it easy, beau..." Fritzy put a touch on Dob's shoulder. The drummer's buttermilk bottle spake, saying GOSPELTIME MILK - "Sweetest O'er The Land". "Awwww....uh...goin up ter visit, see some folks?" "That's right. That's it Dob. You know I never miss a run through Coffin Holler or Tutweiller's Snoot. But that new Pontiac o'mine, she don't do so well on these rough grades. Thought I'd park it outside the Livery while I walk off the rest, just like I've always done." "Sure did take a shine t'yer magic bag." "It ain't a magic bag, Dobber, it's Master Loki's Magic Kit in the bag." Dob had a sudden vision of Toodlem's baby money hidden in that blue jar. "I--I got me ten dollar." "Do tell. Marvelous. Ten dollars you say. That would be more than enough, yes...hmmm, maybe I should let you take a second gander at the merchandise before you commit yourself." As Fritzy set down his satchel, he bent to open it and Dob clouted him on the dome, then swiveled around behind and locked the red-faced drummer in a shoulder hold, wrenching, yanking, until he heard the drummer yodel and his neck snap. Buttermilk and glass fell smashing. Dob let go as Fritzy slumped into a heap alongside the bag. Looking around, he found a heavy stick and whacked the drummer's skull a couple of licks for good measure.
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