Adams, Nick (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
MEN WITHOUT WOMEN
By
ERNEST HEMINGWAY
BOOKS BY ERNEST HEMINGWAY
MEN WITHOUT WOMEN
THE SUN ALSO RISES
THE TORRENTS OF SPRING
IN OUR TIME
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1927
COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
_Copyright, 1926, by The Little Review Publishing Company_
_Copyright, 1926, by Ernest Walsh and Ethel Moorhead_
_Copyright, 1927, by Republic Publishing Company_
_Copyright, 1927, by Doubleday, Page & Company_
_Copyright, 1927, by Atlantic Monthly Company_
_Copyright, 1927, by The Macaulay Company_
Printed in the United States of America
TO
EVAN SHIPMAN
Some of these stories were first published
in the following periodicals: _The American_
_Caravan_, _The Atlantic Monthly_, _The Little_
_Review_, _The New Republic_, _La Nouvelle_
_Revue Française_, _This Quarter_, _Der Querschnitt_,
_Scribner’s Magazine_, _Transition_.
CONTENTS
THE UNDEFEATED
IN ANOTHER COUNTRY
HILLS LIKE WHITE ELEPHANTS
THE KILLERS
CHE TI DICE LA PATRIA?
FIFTY GRAND
A SIMPLE ENQUIRY
TEN INDIANS
A CANARY FOR ONE
AN ALPINE IDYLL
A PURSUIT RACE
TO-DAY IS FRIDAY
BANAL STORY
NOW I LAY ME
MEN WITHOUT WOMEN
THE UNDEFEATED
MANUEL GARCIA climbed the stairs to Don Miguel Retana’s office. He set
down his suitcase and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Manuel,
standing in the hallway, felt there was some one in the room. He felt it
through the door.
“Retana,” he said, listening.
There was no answer.
He’s there, all right, Manuel thought.
“Retana,” he said and banged the door.
“Who’s there?” said some one in the office.
“Me, Manolo,” Manuel said.
“What do you want?” asked the voice.
“I want to work,” Manuel said.
Something in the door clicked several times and it swung open. Manuel
went in, carrying his suitcase.
A little man sat behind a desk at the far side of the room. Over his
head was a bull’s head, stuffed by a Madrid taxidermist; on the walls
were framed photographs and bull-fight posters.
The little man sat looking at Manuel.
“I thought they’d killed you,” he said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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