U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [25]
Somebody tal in blue was speaking to him. He tried to raise his head but he was too sleepy.
"Hey, bo, you better not let the station agent find you," said a voice he'd been hearing before through his sleep. Fainy opened his eyes and sat up. "Jeez, I thought you were a cop."
A squareshouldered young man in blue denim shirt and overal s was standing over him.
"I thought I'd better wake you up, station agent's so friggin' tough in this dump."
"Thanks." Fainy stretched his legs. His feet were so swol en he could hardly stand on them. "Gol y, I'm stiff."
"Say, if we each had a quarter I know a dump where we could get a bul y breakfast."
"I gotta dol ar an' a half," said Fainy slowly. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his back to the warm stove looking careful y at the other boy's square bul jawed face and blue eyes.
"Where are you from?"
"I'm from Duluth . . . I'm on the bum more or less. Where are you from?"
"Gol y, I wish I knew. I had a job til last night."
"Resigned?"
"Say, suppose we go eat that breakfast."
"That's slick. I didn't eat yesterday. . . . My name's George Hal . . . The fel ers cal me Ike. I ain't exactly on the bum, you know. I want to see the world."
"I guess I'm going to have to see the world now," said
-59-Fainy. "My name's McCreary. I'm from Chi. But I was born back east in Middletown, Connecticut."
As they opened the screen door of the railroad men's boarding house down the road they were met by a smel of ham and coffee and roachpowder. A horsetoothed blonde woman with a rusty voice set places for them.
"Where do you boys work? I don't remember seein'
you before."
"I worked down to the sawmil ," said Ike.
"Sawmil shet down two weeks ago because the super-intendent blew out his brains."
"Don't I know it?"
"Maybe you boys better pay in advance."
"I got the money," said Fainy, waving a dol ar bil in her face.
"Wel , if you got the money I guess you'l pay al right," said the waitress, showing her long yel ow teeth in a smile.
"Sure, peaches and cream, we'l pay like mil ionaires," said Ike. They fil ed up on coffee and hominy and ham and eggs and big heavy white bakingpowder biscuits, and by the end of breakfast they had gotten to laughing so hard over Fainy's stories of Doc Bingham's life and loves that the waitress asked them if they'd been drinking. Ike kidded her into bringing them each another cup of coffee without extra charge. Then he fished up two mashed ciga-rettes from the pocket of his overal s. "Have a coffin nail, Mac?"
"You can't smoke here," said the waitress. "The missus won't'stand for smokin'."
"Al right, bright eyes, we'l skidoo."
"How far are you goin'?"
"Wel , I'm headed for Duluth myself. That's where my folks are . . ." "So you're from Duluth, are you?"
-60-"Wel , what's the big joke about Duluth?" "It's no joke, it's a misfortune."
"You don't think you can kid me, do you?" " 'Tain't worth my while, sweetheart." The waitress tittered as she cleared off the table. She had big red hands and thick nails white from kitchenwork.
"Hey, got any noospapers? I want somethin' to read waitin' for the train." "I'l get you some. The missus takes the American from Chicago." "Gee, I ain't seen a paper in three weeks." "I like to read the paper, too," said Mac. "I like to know what's goin' on in the world."
"A lot of lies most of it . . . al owned by the in-terests."
"Hearst's on the side of the people."
"I don't trust him any more'n the rest of 'em."
"Ever read The Appeal to Reason? "
"Say, are you a Socialist?"
"Sure; I had a job in my uncle's printin' shop til the big interests put him outa business because he took the side of the strikers."
"Gee, that's swel . . . put it there . . . me, too. . . . Say, Mac, this is a big day for me . . . I don't often meet a guy thinks like I do."
They went out with a rol of newspapers and sat