"All right," I said, and shut off my mind for the day.
I usually had bad words and bad looks from "Shorty." Jack calls him "that dirty Wop." Late one afternoon he produced a knife and fingered it suggestively while he talked. So I always watched him with all the eyes I had.
One day we had shoveled in manganese together over a hot ladle, and I noticed that he was in a bad mood. We finished and leaned against the rail.
"Six days more," he said very quietly.
I looked up, surprised at his voice.
"What do you mean?"
"Six days more, this week, me quit this goddam job."
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, —— me lose thirteen pound this job, what the hell!"