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The work did it, eh? Joe queried. Martin refused to discuss the matter. Its fair hell, I know, the other went on, but I kind of hate to see you come off the wagon, Mart. Well, heres how! Martin drank on silently, biting out his orders and invitations and awing the barkeeper, an effeminate country youngster with watery blue eyes and hair parted in the middle. Its something scandalous the way they work us poor devils, Joe was remarking. If I didnt bowl up, Id break loose an burn down the shebang. My bowlin up is all that saves em, I can tell you that. But Martin made no answer. A few more drinks, and in his brain he felt the maggots of intoxication beginning to crawl. Ah, it was living, the first breath of life he had breathed in three weeks. His dreams came back to him. Fancy came out of the darkened room and lured him on, a thing of flaming brightness. His mirror of vision was silver-clear, a flashing, dazzling palimpsest of imagery. Wonder and beauty walked with him, hand in hand, and all power was his. He tried to tell it to Joe, but Joe had visions of his own, infallible schemes whereby he would escape the slavery of laundry-work and become himself the owner of a great steam laundry. I tell yeh, Mart, they wont be no kids workin in my laundry not on yer life. An they wont be no workin a livin soul after six P.M. You hear me talk! Theyll be machinery enough an hands enough to do it all in decent workin hours, an Mart, shelp me, Ill make yeh superintendent of the shebang the whole of it, all of it. Now heres the scheme. I get on the water-wagon an save my money for two years save an then But Martin turned away, leaving him to tell it to the barkeeper, until that worthy was called away to furnish drinks to two farmers who, coming in, accepted Martins invitation. Martin dispensed royal largess, inviting everybody up, farm-hands, a stableman, and the gardeners assistant from the hotel, the barkeeper, and the furtive hobo who slid in like a shadow and like a shadow hovered at the end of the bar. |
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