THE Nick Adams STORIES by Ernest Hemingway

side because he had a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver in a shoulder holster under his left armpit. Now, awake, he felt for the gun, looked away from the sun, which hurt his eyes, and went into the kitchen where he dipped up a drink of water from the pail beside the kitchen table. The hired girl was building a fire in the stove and the warden said to her, “What about some breakfast?”
    â€œNo breakfast,” she said. She slept in a cabin out behind the house and had come into the kitchen a half an hour before. The sight of the warden lying on the floor of the screen porch and the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the table had frightened and disgusted her. Then it had made her angry.
    â€œWhat do you mean, no breakfast?” the warden said, still holding the dipper.
    â€œJust that.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œNothing to eat.”
    â€œWhat about coffee?”
    â€œNo coffee.”
    â€œTea?”
    â€œNo tea. No bacon. No corn meal. No salt. No pepper. No coffee. No Borden’s canned cream. No Aunt Jemima buckwheat flour. No nothing.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? There was plenty to eat last night.”
    â€œThere isn’t now. Chipmunks must have carried it away.”
    The warden from down state had gotten up when he heard them talking and had come into the kitchen.
    â€œHow do you feel this morning?” the hired girl asked him.
    The warden ignored the hired girl and said, “What is it, Evans?”
    â€œThat son of a bitch came in here last night and got himself a pack load of grub.”
    â€œDon’t you swear in my kitchen,” the hired girl said.
    â€œCome out here,” the down-state warden said. They both went out on the screen porch and shut the kitchen door.
    â€œWhat does that mean, Evans?” the down-state man pointed at the quart of Old Green River which had less than a quarter left in it. “How skunk-drunk were you?”
    â€œÃ drank the same as you. I sat up by the table—”
    â€œDoing what?”
    â€œWaiting for the goddam Adams boy if he showed.”
    â€œAnd drinking.”
    â€œNot drinking. Then I got up and went in the kitchen and got a drink of water about half past four and I lay down here in front of the door to take it easier.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you lie down in front of the kitchen door?”
    â€œI could see him better from here if he came.”
    â€œSo what happened?”
    â€œHe must have come in the kitchen, through a window maybe, and loaded that stuff.”
    â€œBullshit.”
    â€œWhat were you doing?” the local warden asked.
    â€œI was sleeping the same as you.”
    â€œOkay. Let’s quit fighting about it. That doesn’t do any good.”
    â€œTell that hired girl to come out here.”
    The hired girl came out and the down-state man said to her, “You tell Mrs. Adams we want to speak to her.”
    The hired girl did not say anything but went into the main part of the house, shutting the door after her.
    â€œYou better pick up the full and the empty bottles,” the down-state man said. “There isn’t enough of this to do any good. You want a drink of it?”
    â€œNo thanks. I’ve got to work today.”
    â€œI’ll take one,” the down-state man said, “it hasn’t been shared right.”
    â€œI didn’t drink any of it after you left,” the local warden said doggedly.
    â€œWhy do you keep on with that bullshit?”
    â€œIt isn’t bullshit.”
    The down-state man put the bottle down. “All right,” he said to the hired girl, who had opened and shut the door behind her. “What did she say?”
    â€œShe has a sick headache and she can’t see you. She says you have a warrant. She says for you to search the place if you want to and then go.”
    â€œWhat did she say about the boy?”
    â€œShe hasn’t seen the boy and she doesn’t know anything about