Claire Boltwood, of Brooklyn Heights, went through the shanty streets of

Pellago, Montana, at one A.M. carrying a sandwich in a paper bag which

had recently been used for salted peanuts, and a red rubber hot-water

bag filled with water at the Alaska Café. At the Tavern she hastened

past the office door. She made her father eat his sandwich; she teased

him and laughed at him till the hot-water bag had relieved his

chill-pinched back; she kissed him boisterously, and started for her own

room, at the far end of the hall.

The lights were off. She had to feel her way, and she hesitated at the

door of her room before she entered. She imagined voices, creeping

footsteps, people watching her from a distance. She flung into the

room, and when the kindled lamp showed her familiar traveling bag, she

felt safer. But once she was in bed, with the sheet down as far as

possible over the loathly red comforter, the quiet rustled and snapped

about her, and she could not relax. Sinking into sleep seemed slipping

into danger, and a dozen times she started awake.

But only slowly did she admit to herself that she actually did hear a

fumbling, hear the knob of her door turning.

"W-who's there?"

"It's me, lady. The landlord. Brought you the hot water."

"Thanks so much, but I don't need it now."

"Got something else for you. Come to the door. Don't want to holler and

wake ev'body up."

At the door she said timorously, "Nothing else I want, thank you.

D-don't bother me."

"Why, I've brought you up a sandwich, girlie, all nice and hot, and a

nip of something to take the chill off."

"I don't want it, I tell you!"

"Be a sport now! You use Pete right, and he'll use you right. Shame to

see a lady like you not gettin' no service here. Open the door. Dandy

sandwich!" The knob rattled again. She said nothing. The heel of her

palm pressed against the door till the molding ate into it. The man was

snorting: "I ain't going to all this trouble and then throw away a good sandwich.

You asked me----"

"M-must I s-shout?"

"S-shout your fool head off!" He kicked the door. "Good friends of mine,

'long this end of the hall. Aw, listen. Just teasing. I'm not going to

rob you, little honey bird. Laws, you could have a million dollars, and

old Pete wouldn't take two-bits. I just get so darn lonely in this hick

town. Like to chat to live ones from the big burg. I'm a city fella

myself--Spokane and Cheyenne and everything."

In her bare feet, Claire had run across the room, looked desperately out

of the window. Could she climb out, reach her friend of the Alaska Café?

If she had to---Then she grinned. The world was rose-colored and hung with tinkling

bells. "I love even that Pinky person!" she said. In the yard of the

hotel, beside her Gomez, was a Teal bug, and two men were sleeping in

blankets on the ground.




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