Читать книгу The 13th District. A Story of a Candidate онлайн

57 страница из 109

“Reckon not,” Garwood replied. “I’m going over to Pekin in the morning.” He looked at his watch. “Well!” he exclaimed, “it’s nearly supper time, and I haven’t given a thought to what I’m going to say to-night. Will you come have a little drink before supper?”

The boys grinned again, saying they didn’t care if they did, and followed Garwood towards the dingy bar-room, making old jokes about drinking, in the manner of the small town, the citizens of which, because of their stricter moral environment, or perhaps of more officious neighbors, can never indulge in tippling with the freedom of city-bred fellows. Garwood could not escape without a joke at his expense, attempted by some one of the party whose appreciation of hospitality was not refined, and though it made him shudder he had to join in the laugh it provoked. But when he could get away from them at last, he went to the room he had taken, and there, seated on the edge of the bed, he opened the paper and held it in the window to catch the fading light. It had been issued at noon that day, and given an added importance by the word “Extra!” printed in black and urgent type at the head of its page. But below, Garwood read another word, a word that needed no bold type to make it black—“Boodler!”—and then—his own name.