Jack groped his way under and, guided by the glow of Reddy’s pipe, sat down beside him. The quarters were rather cramped, but the cold wind did not reach them and so they were fairly comfortable.
“What you doin’ out here?” Jack demanded.
“Oh,” said Reddy, “I got so tired lookin’ at them bums in there an’ listenin’ to their big mouths, that I jest had t’ git away by myself an’ have a quiet smoke. Did ye ever wash dishes?”
“Oh, once in a while,” Jack answered, laughing, and getting out his pipe to keep Reddy company.
“Well, it’s a mighty poor way t’ earn a livin’,” said the latter. “If it wasn’t fer Allan, I’d a-thrown up the job afore I took it—but they’s goin’ t’ be trouble.”
“There is? When?”
“Most any time. Them fellers can’t do without whiskey any more’n you kin do without air. They’re havin’ a meetin’ about it now.”
“They are? What for?”
“They want t’ go an’ come as they please—between the freight-house an’ them saloons over there. They say they’re bein’ kept prisoners.”
“But that’s all nonsense!”