Harry Baggs made a motion to follow with his companion, but no one
moved; there was no visible footing under cover. They stayed out
stolidly in the wet, by an inadequate tree; and whenever chance offered
Harry Baggs repeated his limited songs. A string of the violin broke;
the others grew soggy, limp; the pegs would tighten no more and Janin
was forced to give up his accompanying.
The activities shifted to a shed and barn, where a horse and three sorry
cows and farming implements were sold. Janin and Harry Baggs followed,
but there was no opportunity for further melody; larger sums were here
involved; the concentration of the buyers grew painful. The boy's
throat burned; it was strained, and his voice grew hoarse. Finally he
declared shortly that he was going back to the shelter by the Nursery.
As they tramped over the rutted and muddy road, through a steadily
increasing downpour, Harry Baggs counted the sum they had collected. It
was two dollars and some odd pennies. Janin was closely attentive as
the money passed through the other's fingers. He took it from Baggs'
hand, re-counted it with an unfailing touch, and gave back a half.
The return, even to the younger's tireless being, seemed interminable.
Harry Baggs tramped doggedly, making no effort to avoid the deepening
pools. French Janin struggled at his heels, shifting the violin from
place to place and muttering incoherently.
It was dark when they arrived at the huts; the fires were sodden mats
of black ash; no one was visible.
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