Читать книгу Wild Honey онлайн

8 страница из 35

An interesting life it had been at Penny's Pit. Interesting men they were there too, of types I had never known before. There was one who spread mustard instead of butter on his bread, a man with the brightest eyes I ever saw. There was the buffoon of the camp, who was always mountebanking when the boss was near, having discovered that his fooling amused the boss. "The King's fool!" I heard a man called Hank mutter one day, after a rather obsequious exhibition of clowning followed by the guffaws of that potentate of the gang. There was a little Cockney navvy, who had saved up enough money in England to emigrate, very ignorant and gentle. He asked us one day if we knew "that beautiful song 'Break the news to Mother,'" and told us it brought tears to his eyes when he heard it in a hall in Seattle. Hank, overhearing that announcement, turned his head and looked at him curiously, interested, and as if with pity. That little navvy simply could not pronounce the name of our nearest town, which was Savona's. It used to be called Savona's Ferry in the early days—a ferry across Thompson River being owned then by one called Savona. To-day the maps have it as Savona; but in our time it was in the transition stage of Savona's, though most people dropped out the apostrophe. To the little Cockney it was always Sevenoaks. He tried to say Savona's but Sevenoaks persisted, Savona's beyond him.