The door of Henry’s lunchroom opened and
two men came in. They sat down at the counter. “What’s yours?” George asked
them. “I don’t know,” one of the men said. “What do you want to eat,
Al?” “I don’t know,” said Al. “I don’t know what I want to
eat.” Outside it was getting dark. The streetlight came on outside the
window. The two men at the counter read the menu. From the other end of the
counter Nick Adams watched them.He had been talking to George when they came in. “I’ll
have a roast pork tenderloin with apple sauce and mashed potatoes,” the first man said. “It isn’t ready yet.” “What the hell do you put it on
the card for?” “That’s the dinner,” George explained. “You can get
that at six o’clock.” George looked at the clock on the wall behind the
counter. “It’s five o’clock.” “The clock says twenty minutes
past five,” the second man said. “It’s twenty minutes
fast.” “Oh, to hell with the clock,” the first man said. “What have
you got to eat?” “I can give you any kind of sandwiches,” George
said. “You can have ham and eggs,bacon and eggs, liver and bacon, or a
steak.” “Give me chicken croquettes with green peas and cream sauce
and mashed potatoes.” “That’s the dinner.” “Everything we
want’s the dinner, eh? That’s the way you work it.” “I can give you
ham and eggs, bacon and eggs, liver—” “I’ll take ham and eggs,” the
man called Al said. He wore a derby hat and a black-overcoat buttoned across the
chest. His face was small and white and he had tight lips. He wore a silk
muffler and gloves. “Give me bacon and eggs,” said the other man. He was
about the same size as Al. Their faces were different, but they were dressed
like twins. Both wore overcoats too tight for them. They sat leaning forward,
their elbows on the counter. “Got anything to drink?” Al
asked. “Silver beer, bevy, ginger-ale,” George said.
“I mean you got anything to
drink?” “Just those I said.” “This is a hot town,” said
the other. “What do they call it?” “Summit.” “Ever hear
of it?” Al asked his friend. “No,” said the friend. “What do they do
here nights?” Al asked. “They eat the dinner,” his friend said. “They all
come here and eat the big dinner.” “That’s right,” George
said. “So you think that’s right?” Al asked George. “Sure.” “You’re
a pretty bright boy, aren’t you?” “Sure,” said George. “Well,
you’re not,” said the other little man. “Is he, Al?” “He’s dumb,”
said Al. He turned to Nick. “What’s your
name?” “Adams.” “Another bright boy,” Al said. “Ain’t he
a bright boy, Max?” “The town’s full of bright boys,” Max
said.George put the two platters, one of ham and eggs, the other of bacon and
eggs, on the counter. He set down two side dishes of fried potatoes and closed
the wicket into the kitchen. “Which is yours?” he asked Al. “Don’t you
remember?” “Ham and eggs.” “Just a bright boy,” Max said.
He leaned forward and took the ham and eggs. Both men ate with their gloves on.
George watched them eat. “What are
you
looking at?” Max looked at
George. “Nothing.” “The hell you were. You were looking at me.” “Maybe
the boy meant it for a joke, Max,” Al said.George laughed.
“
You
don’t have to laugh,” Max said to him. “You don’t have
to laugh at all, see?’ “All right,” said George. “So he thinks
it’s all right.” Max turned to Al. “He thinks it’s all right. That’s a good
one.” “Oh, he’s a thinker,” Al said. They went on
eating. “What’s the bright boy’s name down the counter?” Al asked
Max. “Hey, bright boy,” Max said to Nick. “You go around on the other side
of the counter with your boy friend.” “What’s the idea?” Nick
asked. “There isn’t any idea.” “You better go around, bright
boy,” Al said. Nick went around behind the counter. “What’s the idea?”
George asked. “None of your damned business,” Al said. “Who’s out in the
kitchen?” “The nigger.” “What do you mean the
nigger?” “The nigger that cooks.” “Tell him to come
in.” “What’s the idea?” “Tell him to come
in.” “Where do you think you are?” “We know damn well
where we are,” the man called Max said. “Do we look silly?” “You
talk silly,” A1 said to him. “What the hell do you argue with this kid for?
Listen,” he said to George, “tell the nigger to come out here.” “What
are you going to do to him?” “Nothing. Use your head, bright boy.
What would we do to a nigger?” George opened the slit that Opened back
into the kitchen. “Sam,” he called. “Come inhere a minute.” The door to
the kitchen opened and the nigger came in. “What was it?” he asked. The two men
at the counter took a look at him. “All right, nigger. You stand right
there,” Al said.Sam, the nigger, standing in his apron, looked at the two men
sitting at the counter. “Yes,sir,” he said. Al got down from his
stool. “I’m going back to the kitchen with the nigger and bright boy,” he
said. “Go on back to
“I don’t like it,” said the cook. “I don’t like
any of it at all” “Listen,” George said to Nick. “You better go see
Ole Anderson.” “All right.” “You better not have anything
to do with it at all,” Sam, the cook, said. “You better stay way out of
it.” “Don’t go if you don’t want to,” George said. “Mixing up
in this ain’t going to get you anywhere,” the cook said. “You stay out of
it.” “I’ll go see him,” Nick said to George. “Where does he
live?” The cook turned away. “Little boys always know what they want
to do,” he said. “He lives up at Hirsch’s rooming-house,” George said to
Nick. “I’ll go up there.” Outside the arc-light shone through the
bare branches of a tree. Nick walked up the street beside the car-tracks and
turned at the next arc-light down a side-street. Three houses up the street was
Hirsch’s rooming-house. Nick walked up the two steps and pushed the bell. A
woman came to the door. “Is Ole Anderson here?” “Do you want to
see him?” “Yes, if he’s in.” Nick followed the woman up a
flight of stairs and back to the end of a corridor. She knocked on the
door. “Who is it?” “It’s somebody to see you, Mr. Anderson,”
the woman said. “It’s Nick Adams.” “Come in.” Nick opened
the door and went into the room. Ole Anderson was lying on the bed with all his
clothes on. He had been a heavyweight prizefighter and he was too long for the
bed.He lay with his head on two pillows. He did not look at Nick. “What
was it?” he asked. “I was up at Henry’s,” Nick said, “and two fellows came
in and tied up me and the cook,and they said they were going to kill
you.” It sounded silly when he said it. Ole Anderson said
nothing. “They put us out in the kitchen,” Nick went on. “They were going
to shoot you when you came in to supper.”
Ole Anderson looked at the wall and did not say
anything. “George thought I better come and tell you about
it.” “There isn’t anything I can do about it,” Ole Anderson
said. “I’ll tell you what they were like.” “I don’t want to
know what they were like,” Ole Anderson said. He looked at the
wall. “Thanks for coming to tell me about it.” “That’s all
right.” Nick looked at the big man lying on the bed. “Don’t you want
me to go and see the police?” “No,” Ole Anderson said. “That wouldn’t
do any good.” “Isn’t there something I could do?” “No.
There ain’t anything to do.” “Maybe it was just a
bluff.” “No. It ain’t just a bluff.” Ole Anderson rolled over
toward the wall. “The only thing is,” he said, talking toward the wall, “I
just can’t make up my mind to go out. I been here all day.” “Couldn’t
you get out of town?” “No,” Ole Anderson said. “I’m through with all
that running around.” He looked at the wall. “There ain’t anything to
do now.” “Couldn’t you fix it up some way?” “No. I got in
wrong.” He talked in the same flat voice. “There ain’t anything to do. After
awhile I’ll make up my mind to go out.” “I better go back and see
George,” Nick said. “So long,” said Ole Anderson. He did not look toward
Nick. “Thanks for coming around.” Nick went out. As he shut the door he
saw Ole Anderson with all his clothes on, lying on the bed looking at the
wall. “He’s been in his room all day,” the landlady said downstairs. “I
guess he don’t feel well. I said to him: ‘Mr. Anderson, you ought to go out and
take a walk on a nice fall day like this,’ but he didn’t feel like
it.” “He doesn’t want to go out.”
“I’m sorry he don’t feel well,” the woman said.
“He’s an awfully nice man. He was in the ring, you know.” “I know
it.” “You’d never know it except from the way his face is,” the
woman said.They stood talking just inside the street door. “He’s just as
gentle.” “Well, good night, Mrs. Hirsch,’ Nick said. “I’m not
Mrs. Hirsch,” the woman said. “She owns the place. I just look after it for her.I’m
Mrs. Bell.” “Well, good night, Mrs. Bell,” Nick said. “Good
night,” the woman said.Nick walked up the dark street to the corner under the
arc-light, and then along the car-tracks to Henry’s eating-house. George was
inside, back of the counter. “Did you see Ole?” “Yes,” said
Nick. “He’s in his room and he won’t go out.” The cook opened the door
from the kitchen when he heard Nick’s voice. “I don’t even listen to it,”
he said and shut the door. “Did you tell him about it?” George
asked. “Sure. I told him but he knows what it’s all
about.” “What’s he going to
do?” “Nothing.” “They’ll kill him.” “I guess
they will.” “He must have got mixed up in something in
Chicago.” “I guess so,” said Nick. “It’s a hell of a
thing!” “It’s an awful thing,” Nick said.They did not say anything.
George reached down for a towel and wiped the counter. “I wonder what he
did?” Nick said. “Double-crossed somebody. That’s what they kill them
for.” “I’m going to get out of this town,” Nick said. “Yes,”
said George. “That’s a good thing to do.”
“I can’t stand to think about him waiting in the
room and knowing he’s going to get it. It’s too damned
awful.” “Well,” said George, “you better not think about it.”
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