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A few minutes later, filling the truck with soiled clothes for the washer, Joe spied the hotel managers shirt. He knew its mark, and with a sudden glorious consciousness of freedom he threw it on the floor and stamped on it. I wish you was in it, you pig-headed Dutchman! he shouted. In it, an right there where Ive got you! Take that! an that! an that! damn you! Hold me back, somebody! Hold me back! Martin laughed and held him to his work. On Tuesday night the new laundrymen arrived, and the rest of the week was spent breaking them into the routine. Joe sat around and explained his system, but he did no more work. Not a tap, he announced. Not a tap. They can fire me if they want to, but if they do, Ill quit. No more work in mine, thank you kindly. Me for the freight cars an the shade under the trees. Go to it, you slaves! Thats right. Slave an sweat! Slave an sweat! An when youre dead, youll rot the same as me, an whats it matter how you live? eh? Tell me that whats it matter in the long run? On Saturday they drew their pay and came to the parting of the ways. They aint no use in me askin you to change your mind an hit the road with me? Joe asked hopelessly: Martin shook his head. He was standing by his wheel, ready to start. They shook hands, and Joe held on to his for a moment, as he said:- Im goin to see you again, Mart, before you an me die. Thats straight dope. I feel it in my bones. Good-by, Mart, an be good. I like you like hell, you know. He stood, a forlorn figure, in the middle of the road, watching until Martin turned a bend and was gone from sight. Hes a good Indian, that boy, he muttered. A good Indian. Then he plodded down the road himself, to the water tank, where half a dozen empties lay on a side- track waiting for the up freight. |
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