Coal miners -- United States -- Fiction; Coal mines and mining -- United States -- Fiction; Labor movement -- United States -- Fiction
Hal looked about him at this Dago home. It was a tome in keeping with
its pretty occupant. There were lace curtains in the windows, even
shinier and whiter than at the Rafferties; there was an incredibly
bright-coloured rug on the floor, and bright coloured pictures of Mount
Vesuvius and of Garibaldi on the walls. Also there was a cabinet with
many interesting treasures to look at--a bit of coral and a conch-shell,
a shark’s tooth and an Indian arrow-head, and a stuffed linnet with a
glass cover over him. A while back Hal would not have thought of such
things as especially stimulating to the imagination; but that was before
he had begun to spend five-sixths of his waking hours in the bowels of
the earth.
He ate supper, a real Dago supper; the spaghetti proved to be real Dago
spaghetti, smoking hot, with tomato sauce and a rich flavour of
meat-juice. And all through the meal Hal smacked his lips and grinned at
Little Jerry, who smacked his lips and grinned back. It was all so
different from feeding at Reminitsky’s pig-trough, that Hal thought he
had never had such a good supper in his life before. As for Mr. and Mrs.
Jerry, they were so proud of their wonderful kid, who could swear in
English as good as a real American, that they were in the seventh
heaven.
When the meal was over, Hal leaned back and exclaimed, just as he had at
the Rafferties’, “Lord, how I wish I could board here!”
He saw his host look at his wife. “All right,” said he. “You come here.
I board you. Hey, Rosa?”
“Sure,” said Rosa.
Hal looked at them, astonished. “You’re sure they’ll let you?” he asked.
“Let me? Who stop me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Reminitsky. You might get into trouble.”
Jerry grinned. “I no fraid,” said he. “Got friends here. Carmino my
cousin. You know Carmino?”
“No,” said Hal.
“Pit-boss in Number One. He stand by me. Old Reminitsky go hang! You
come here, I give you bunk in that room, give you good grub. What you
pay Reminitsky?”
“Twenty-seven a month.”
“All right, you pay me twenty-seven, you get everything good. Can’t get
much stuff here, but Rosa good cook, she fix it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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