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 yelled, “Atta boy Paul!”
Paul yelled back, “I think they have one designed for old men too!”
Wooster chuckled for a good few minutes over that. That Paul was a quick one. That’s for sure!
When the dust had settled over the killing zone, Paul kneeled back in and started to scoop the rest of the dirt out. He pursed his lips and nodded in satisfaction at the carnage he had reaped on his tormentors. Another line from Shakespeare drifted through his head, “Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!” In this case the “Can of war.”
With enough room, he sawed away at the tap root until it was almost cut through. Then he worked away on the other main root that was left. He hoped the stump would break off now. He whistled over to Ronnie and Wooster and yelled, “Watch me now men!” Then he put his hands to the trunk to get an idea of how it felt. He pushed and it moved a good deal. He set both hands to it, firmed his shoulders and flung his body hard against the stump. It gave the slightest resistance, and then suddenly snapped back away from him and crashed to the ground. Paul never saw it coming. He hurled after the trunk and tumble to the ground on top of it in a dirty heap.
Ronnie bolted from his rocker and shrieked at the top of his lungs, “All right Mr. Compton!”
Wooster heard him and laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair. Then he too stood and began to applaud.
When Paul finally sorted himself out, and stood, both Ronnie and Wooster were laughing all out and clapping. Wooster called out between guffaws, “Well done Paul! You showed it!” It wasn’t just teasing. He really was glad Paul accomplished his task.
Ronnie clapped hard and kept saying, “You did it Mr. Compton. You did it!” Something had definitely tickled him about the tree-cutting affair.
Paul began to laugh himself, and again took some bows.
Loreen came out of the garage, hearing the noise and started giggling at the sight of Wooster the eighty year old and little Ronnie Waldron standing together clapping and laughing while Paul took bows next to his hole and broken tree. She began to clap along with them as though some monumental task had been achieved. She thought to herself, “What a bunch of goof balls I live with!” And she grinned all the more.
Paul chopped the last vestiges of the roots away and pulled the stump over to the pile of branches he had made earlier. He cleaned up his tools and washed up at the utility sink. He then headed over to Wooster’s porch. As he once again
