И проиграли бой

           "Youliveherealone,Mr.Anderson?"

           "MyboyAlcomesoutandsleeps.He’saprettygoodboy."Fromapaperbagtheoldmantookoutahandfulofcarefullycutpinesplintersandlaidtheminthestove,andontopheplacedafewlittlescrapsofpitchwood,andontopofthose,threeroundpiecesofseasonedapplewood.Itwassowellanddeftlydonethatthefireflaredupwhenheappliedamatch.Thestovecricked,andaburstofheatcamefromit.Heputonacoffee-potandmeasuredgroundcoffeeintoit.Fromabaghetooktwoeggshellsanddroppedthemintothepot.

           MacandJimsatatakitchentablecoveredwithnewyellowoilcloth.Andersonfinishedhisworkatthestove.Hecameover,satprimlydown,puthistwohandsonthetable;theylaystill,evenasgooddogsdowhentheywanttobeoff."Now,whatisit,McLeod?"

           AlookofperplexitylayonMac’smuscularface."Mr.Anderson,"hesaidhesitatingly,"Ihaven’tgotahellofalotofcards.Ioughttoplay’emhardandgetthevalueoutof’em.ButIdon’tseemtowantto.IthinkI’lllay’emdown.Iftheytakethepot,O.K.Iftheydon’t,there’snomoredeal."

           "Well,lay’emthen,McLeod."

           "It’slikethis.Bytomorrowacoupleofthousandmenwillbeonstrike,andtheapplepickingwillstop."

           Anderson’shandsseemedtosniff,tostiffen,andthentoliestillagain.

           Macwenton,"Thereasonforthestrikeisthispay-cut.Nowtheowners’llruninscabs,andthere’llbetrouble.Butthere’sabunchofmengoingout,enoughtopickettheValley.D’yougetthepicture?"