Read THE Nick Adams STORIES for Free Online Page A

too,” Peroxide said.
    â€œThis is true, true, true, and you know it. Not just made up and I know exactly what he said to me.”
    â€œWhat did he say?” Peroxide asked, complacently.
    Alice was crying so she could hardly speak from shaking so.
    â€œHe said, ‘You’re a lovely piece, Alice.’ That’s exactly what he said.”
    â€œI,t’s a lie,” Peroxide said.
    â€œIt’s true,” Alice said. “That’s truly what he said.”
    â€œIt’s a lie,” Peroxide said proudly.
    â€œNo, it’s true, true, true, to Jesus and Mary true.”
    â€œSteve couldn’t have said that. It wasn’t the way he talked,” Peroxide said happily.
    â€œIt’s true,” Alice said in her nice voice. “And it doesn’t make any difference to me whether you believe it or not.” She wasn’t crying any more and she was calm.
    â€œIt would be impossible for Steve to have said that,” Peroxide declared.
    â€œHe said it,” Alice said and smiled. “And I remember when he said it and I was a lovely piece then exactly as he said, and right now I’m a better piece than you, you dried-up old hotwater bottle.”
    â€œYou can’t insult me,” said Peroxide. “You big mountain of pus. I have my memories.”
    â€œNo,” Alice said in that sweet lovely voice, “you haven’t got any real memories except having your tubes out and when you started C. and M. Everything else you just read in the papers. I’m clean and you know it and men like me, even though I’m big, and you know it, and I never lie and you know it.”
    â€œLeave me with my memories,” Peroxide said. “With my true, wonderful memories.”
    Alice looked at her and then at us and her face lost that hurt look and she smiled and she had about the prettiest face I ever saw. She had a pretty face and a nice smooth skin and a lovely voice and she was nice all right and really friendly. But, my God, she was big. She was as big as three women. Tom saw me looking at her and he said, “Come on. Let’s go.”
    â€œGood-by,” said Alice. She certainly had a nice voice.
    â€œGood-by,” I said.
    â€œWhich way are you boys going?” asked the cook.
    â€œThe other way from you,” Tom told him.

The Battler
    Nick stood up. He was all right. He looked up the track at the lights of the caboose going out of sight around a curve. There was water on both sides of the track, then tamarack swamp.
    He felt of his knee. The pants were torn and the skin was barked. His hands were scraped and there were sand and cinders driven up under his nails. He went over to the edge of the track, down the little slope to the water and washed his hands. He washed them carefully in the cold water, getting the dirt out from the nails. He squatted down and bathed his knee.
    That lousy crut of a brakeman. He would get him some day. He would know him again. That was a fine way to act.
    â€œCome here, kid,” he said. “I got something for you.”
    He had fallen for it. What a lousy kid thing to have done. They would never suck him in that way again.
    â€œCome here, kid, I got something for you.” Then
wham
and he lit on his hands and knees beside the track.
    Nick rubbed his eye. There was a big bump coming up. He would have a black eye, all right. It ached already. That son of a crutting brakeman.
    He touched the bump over his eye with his fingers. Oh, well, it was only a black eye. That was all he had gotten outof it. Cheap at the price. He wished he could see it. Could not see it looking into the water, though. It was dark and he was a long way off from anywhere. He wiped his hands on his trousers and stood up, then climbed the embankment to the rails.
    He started up the track. It was well ballasted and made easy walking, sand and gravel packed between the ties, solid walking. The smooth roadbed like a causeway