D'you live around this a-way, young man?"
"No, I'm just going through to Chattanooga."
"Mary," called the man, "bring that light." A woman in the back room
mumbled in response. Tom dreaded the light. In the dusk of the store he
could hide his appearance, but with the lamp they would see how disheveled
and dirty he was. And, if they had heard any rumors of what had happened
during the day, they would suspect him instantly. He looked around at the
door and picked his course between the barrels and boxes which lay strewn
about the floor.
The woman entered with the light. "Well, I declare!" she exclaimed, looking
at Tom. He was, indeed, a strange looking specimen. His face was streaked
with black, for his attempts at rubbing himself clean with his handkerchief
had been unevenly distributed. His black eyelids, as he blinked in the
light, made him grotesque. "What's happened to _you_?" demanded the woman.
"I've been fighting a fire," answered Tom. He was ready to jump for the
door.
"A fire! Where?"
That was encouraging. "Down south of Ringgold," Tom replied. "The bridge
caught on fire from a locomotive."
"Y' don't say so!" exclaimed the man. "Y' don't say so!"
"Jeb!" screeched the woman.
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