As he came to the door of the first hut, a man who was tapping out his pipe there, hailed him:
“Hello, sport! where in hell do you come from?”
“Over the mountain.”
“Mountain, hell! Are you looking for a job?”
“No.”
“Doing it for a bet, then?”
“No. Trying to rejoin my ship.”
“Hell!” the man said. “Here, boys, here’s a son of a gun come across the mountain, trying to rejoin his ship. Come in, son, and have one on the house.”
* * * * *
At noon the next day Sard was in San Agostino, washed, shaven, fed, reclad, and with money in his pocket. He walked in the crowded street, listening to speech, hearing the bells. Shops were full of food, drink, shoes and clothes; women were looking into shops; work was going on; men with places in life were filling them.