The same summer as the demise of Ol’ Snort, Buster decided he needed to make money. 

The depression had a tight financial grip on us all. Companies did not have enough money to hire workers. Jobs in the city were already over-filled. 

Layoffs were all too common. Buster’s father tried to find something on the railroad for him, but new hires were rare.

“You know…”

There was that phrase again. 

“I’ll bet I could use my bike and deliver stuff around town. Like the kids do in New York City!” 

I didn’t point out the problem with comparing a clustered, heavily populated city like New York to a spread-out farming community like ours.

Buster rubbed the seat of his bike. It had parts from every bicycle manufactured at the time. Stubby Minkle at the machine shop even welded on the frame to make it last. 

It was a present for Buster when he turned eleven.

The innertubes were a series of many patches. The inside of the rubber tires had spots where Buster had glued the rubber shut to prevent holes. 

Most kids those days repaired their own bicycles. Buster had become a very resourceful repairman, even if some of the parts came from baby carriages, tricycles, chain saws, and pumps.

Buster visited the businesses in town that needed a deliveryman. He ended up convincing the drug store, the grocery store, Doc Floog, O’Grady’s butcher shop, and Miller’s dairy to consider his service. 

Gas for automobiles had become difficult to acquire. To Buster’s credit, it seemed cost effective, certainly cheaper, for a kid to take a prescription on his bike across town rather than driving it out.

Buster began his delivery business right away. He completed three deliveries the first week. 

He was paid by the businesses and tipped by the people receiving the items. The tips were usually in the form of a cold drink or something to eat, but hey—he had a business.

After the third week, Buster was doing a couple deliveries per day.

Some were as far as nine miles outside of the city. He made the deliveries regardless of how far they were.

His plan was going well until the pharmacy gave him a bag to deliver to Hopkins farm. It was about six miles outside of town. 

Karl Hopkins, a local pig farmer, had a sow that needed laxatives. The pills the pharmacy provided were strengthened for livestock.

Karl’s wife, Betty, had been under a doctor’s care for weight loss. She had started taking amphetamines to control her appetite. 

Using diet pills for obesity was popular in the 1930s. Few people in the town knew of Betty’s efforts to decrease her girth. 

Buster felt it was good luck that he could deliver Betty’s pills and the pig’s pills on the same day. 

Buster picked up the bag of laxatives and amphetamines around two in the afternoon. Then he peddled out to Hopkins farm. 

The day was unusually hot. When he reached the four-mile mark, he stopped at a bridge over the creek. 

The cool water was too attractive for him to ignore. Wearing only his underwear, Buster sat in the cool creek water and enjoyed the shade under the bridge.

The bags were still on the back of his bike.

Unfortunately, the dogs from Miller’s dairy, Blue and Yeller, found the bike while Buster soaked. The chocolaty covering on the laxative was too hard for Blue to resist.

For unknown reasons, Yeller devoured the colorful diet pills. They scampered home before Buster returned.