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"
Sure
,
we
’
re
selling
something
,
but
it
’
s
a
new
product
.
"
His
tone
seemed
to
reassure
Anderson
.
"
Why
’
n
’
t
you
come
into
the
kitchen
and
have
a
cup
of
coffee
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
mind
,
"
said
Mac
.
The
kitchen
was
like
the
rest
of
the
place
,
painted
,
scrubbed
,
swept
.
The
nickel
trimmings
on
the
stove
shone
so
that
it
seemed
wet
.
"
You
live
here
alone
,
Mr
.
Anderson
?
"
"
My
boy
Al
comes
out
and
sleeps
.
He
’
s
a
pretty
good
boy
.
"
From
a
paper
bag
the
old
man
took
out
a
handful
of
carefully
cut
pine
splinters
and
laid
them
in
the
stove
,
and
on
top
he
placed
a
few
little
scraps
of
pitchwood
,
and
on
top
of
those
,
three
round
pieces
of
seasoned
apple
wood
.
It
was
so
well
and
deftly
done
that
the
fire
flared
up
when
he
applied
a
match
.
The
stove
cricked
,
and
a
burst
of
heat
came
from
it
.
He
put
on
a
coffee
-
pot
and
measured
ground
coffee
into
it
.
From
a
bag
he
took
two
egg
shells
and
dropped
them
into
the
pot
.
Mac
and
Jim
sat
at
a
kitchen
table
covered
with
new
yellow
oilcloth
.
Anderson
finished
his
work
at
the
stove
.
He
came
over
,
sat
primly
down
,
put
his
two
hands
on
the
table
;
they
lay
still
,
even
as
good
dogs
do
when
they
want
to
be
off
.
"
Now
,
what
is
it
,
McLeod
?
"
A
look
of
perplexity
lay
on
Mac
’
s
muscular
face
.
"
Mr
.
Anderson
,
"
he
said
hesitatingly
,
"
I
haven
’
t
got
a
hell
of
a
lot
of
cards
.
I
ought
to
play
’
em
hard
and
get
the
value
out
of
’
em
.
But
I
don
’
t
seem
to
want
to
.
I
think
I
’
ll
lay
’
em
down
.
If
they
take
the
pot
,
O
.
K
.
If
they
don
’
t
,
there
’
s
no
more
deal
.
"
"
Well
,
lay
’
em
then
,
McLeod
.
"
"
It
’
s
like
this
.
By
tomorrow
a
couple
of
thousand
men
will
be
on
strike
,
and
the
apple
picking
will
stop
.
"
