The Mud Pile

Apple Crisp Mysteries
"presents"

SUMMER HEAT - Part I

Marcus had what he believe to be the most remarkable day in his life; and while the events
were still fresh in his mind, he put them down on paper as clearly as possible.

Let me say at the outset that his name is Marcus James Wellmaker. Forty years old, in perfect
health, never had a day's illness. By profession he's a sketch artist. His only near relative, a sister,
died five years ago; so he's an independent.

Marcus ate breakfast at nine; and after glancing through the morning paper, he lit his pipe and
proceeded to let his mind wander in the hope that he might chance upon some subject for his pencil.
The room, though door and windows were open, was oppressively hot. Marcus made up his mind that
the coolest and most comfortable place in the neighborhood would be the deep end of the public
swimming pool.

Marcus begin to draw, so intent was he on his work that he left his lunch untouched, only stopping work
when the clock struck four. The final result, for a hurried sketch, was he felt sure, the best thing he
had done. It showed a criminal in the dock immediately after the judge had pronounced sentence. The man
was enormously large. The flesh hung in rolls about his chin; it creased his huge, stumpy neck. He was clean
shaven (perhaps a few days before he must have been clean shaven.) and almost bald. He stood in the dock,
his short clumsy fingers clasping the rail, looking straight in front of him. The feeling that his expression conveyed
was not so much one of horror as of utter, absolute collapse. Marcus rolled up the sketch and without quite
knowing why, placed it in his pocket. Then with the rare sense of happiness which the knowledge of a good thing
well done gives, he left the house.

As Marcus was walking along Main Street and turning into Main Avenue at the bottom of the hill where men
were at work on the road. He had only the vaguest recollection of where he was going. The one thing of which
he was fully conscious was the awful heat that came from the dusty asphalt pavement as an almost palpable wave.
He longed for the thunder promised by the great banks of copper-colored clouds that hung over the western sky.
He must have walked five or six miles, when a small boy roused him from his reverie by asking the time.
It was twenty minutes to seven.

When the small boy left him, he began to take stock of his bearing. He found himself standing before a gate that
led into a yard bordered by a strip of thirsty earth, where there were flowers, purple stock and scarlet geranium.
Above the entrance was a board with the inscription: JOE DOOM........MONUMENTAL MASON WORKER
IN ENGLISH AND ITALIAN MARBLES. From the yard itself came a cherry whistle, the noise of hammer blows,
and the cold sound of steel meeting stone. A sudden impulse made Marcus enter. A man was sitting with his back
toward Marcus, busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. The man turned around as he heard Marcus's steps, and Marcus stopped short.

It was the man that Marcus had been drawing, whose portrait lay in his pocket. The man sat there, sweat pouring
from his scalp, which he wiped with a handkerchief. Though the face was the same, the expression was absolutely
different.

The man greeted Marcus with a smile as if they were old friends, and shook his hand. Marcus said, "I apologize
for my intrusion". "Everything is hot and muggy outside," Marcus said. "This seems an oasis in the wilderness."
The man replied; "It certainly is hot. Take a seat, sir!" He pointed to the end of the gravestone on which he was
at work, and Marcus sat down.

"That's a beautiful piece of stone you've got hold of," Marcus said. The man shook his head.
"In a way it is," he answered. "The surface here is as fine as anything you could wish, but there's a
big flaw at the back, though I don't expect you would ever notice it. I could never make really a good job of
a bit of marble like that. It would be all right in the summer like this; it wouldn't mind the blasted heat. But
wait till winter comes. There's nothing quite like frost to find out the weak points in stone." "Then what's it for?"
Marcus asked. The man burst out laughing.

Click here for Summer Heat Part 2