Nevertheless, the
old farmer, stationary, invincible in his chair near the warmest
part of the stove, turned his face from the sawdust box frequently and
addressed a glowing commonplace to the strangers. Usually he was
answered in short but adequate sentences by either the cowboy or the
Easterner. The Swede said nothing. He seemed to be occupied in
making furtive estimates of each man in the room. One might have
thought that he had the sense of silly suspicion which comes to guilt.
He resembled a badly frightened man.
Later, at dinner, he spoke a little, addressing his conversation
entirely to Scully. He volunteered that he had come from New York,
where for ten years he had worked as a tailor. These facts seems to
strike Scully as fascinating, and afterward he volunteered that he had
lived at Romper for fourteen years. The Swede asked about the crops
and the price of labor. He seemed barely to listen to Scully's
extended replies. His eyes continued to rove from man to man.
Finally, with a laugh and a wink, he said that some of these Western
communities were very dangerous; and after his statement he
straightened his legs under the table, tilted his head, and laughed
again, loudly. It was plain that the demonstration had no meaning to
the others. They looked at him wondering and in silence.
II
As the men trooped heavily back into the front room, the two
little windows presented views of a turmoiling sea of snow.
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