The huge
arms of the wind were making attempts- mighty, circular, futile- to
embrace the flakes as they sped. A gate-post like a still man with a
blanched face stood aghast amid this profligate fury. In a hearty
voice Scully announced the presence of a blizzard. The guests of the
blue hotel, lighting their pipes, assented with grunts of lazy
masculine contentment. No island of the sea could be exempt in the
degree of this little room with its humming stove. Johnnie, son of
Scully, in a tone which defined his opinion of his ability as a
card-player, challenged the old farmer of both gray and sandy whiskers
to a game of High-Five. The farmer agreed with a contemptuous and
bitter scoff. They sat close to the stove, and squared their knees
under a wide board. The cowboy and the Easterner watched the game with
interest. The Swede remained near the window, aloof, but with a
countenance that showed signs of an inexplicable excitement.
The play of Johnnie and the gray-beard was suddenly ended by another
quarrel. The old man arose while casting a look of heated scorn at his
adversary. He slowly buttoned his coat, and then stalked with fabulous
dignity from the room. In the discreet silence of all other men the
Swede laughed. His laughter rang somehow childish. Men by this time
had begun to look at him askance, as if they wished to inquire what
ailed him.
A new game was formed jocosely.
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