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"What? What?" he replied without stopping, the brush still flapping about like a bird trying to escape. "You've got it all over the walls, Ike, both sides of the doorway." "Blast! Drat-er-ody (whatever that meant). How did that get there?" "I don't know, Ike. Did it jump off the door, do you think?" "How much paper's left?" he asked, ignoring the sarcasm. "Not enough!" "Let's hope he's got a couple o' rolls left," he said, and rushed out.
Despite the best
of intentions, mishaps seemed to follow him around. They were a regular topic of
conversation at our local, but never in Ike's company. He would hold the matter
against your account, and come to collect when you least expected. I've heard it
said Most mornings, Ike would take me along in his van to the local timber yard. Every time he made out a cheque at the counter, he would complain that they were 'on the pricey side'. One morning I asked, "If they're pricey, why do you go there? Wouldn't it be cheaper to go somewhere else?" "Not really," he replied, "it pays for my roofing jobs." "How do you mean, 'pays' for them?" I asked. "Well, you know the slates I tell you to pick up every time I leave you with the van while I go over to their timber yard?" "Yeah…?" "Well I don't book 'em in," he said, with the crafty smile of a naughty little boy. This incident showed a side to Ike's character I had not been aware of. In fact, for all his lack of skill as a builder, it was probably his cunning that secured continuous work, and why men with greater skill were working for him rather than the other way around. The ways he used to gain people's trust were as smooth as silk, and the scales were always weighted in his favour, especially when it came to favours he was owed.
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