Then, to my relief, the gray gloom lightened, and dawn broke. Never had I
been so glad to see the morning. While dressing I cast gratified glances at
the ragged hole in the window. With the daylight my courage had returned,
and I began to have a sort of pride in my achievement.
"If that fellow had known how I can throw a baseball he'd have been
careful," I thought, a little cockily.
I went down-stairs into the office. The sleepy porter was mopping the
floor. Behind the desk stood a man so large that he made Buell seem small.
He was all shoulders and beard.
"Can I get breakfast?"
"Nobody's got a half-hitch on you, has they?" he replied, jerking a
monstrous thumb over his shoulder toward a door.
I knew the words half-hitch had something to do with a lasso, and I was
rather taken back by the hotel proprietor's remark. The dining-room was
more attractive than anything I had yet seen about the place: the linen was
clean, and the ham and eggs and coffee that were being served to several
rugged men gave forth a savory odor. But either the waiter was blind or he
could not bear, for he paid not the slightest attention to me. I waited,
while trying to figure out the situation. Something was wrong, and,
whatever it was, I guessed that it must be with me. After about an
hour I got my breakfast.
Pages:
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44