Short Stories
He thrust Jim back into the middle of the room and shot
the bolts into place. As he went across the floor to the food
shelf, he passed one hand over his brow and flung off the
beaded sweat. It spattered audibly on the floor. Jim watched
agonizedly as Matt got the mustard-can and a cup and ran for
the sink. He stirred a cupful of mustard and water and drank
it down. Jim had followed him and was reaching with trem-
bling hands for the empty cup. Again Matt shoved him away.
As he mixed a second cupful, he demanded:—
"D'you think one cup'll do for me ? You can wait till I'm
done."
Jim started to totter toward the door, but Matt checked
him.
"If you monkey with that door, I'll twist your neck. Savve?
You can take yours when I'm done. An' if it saves you, I'll twist
your neck, anyway. You ain't got no chance, nowhow. I told
you many times what you'd get if you did me dirt."
But you did me dirt, too," Jim articulated with an effort.
Matt was drinking the second cupful, and did not answer.
The sweat had got into Jim's eyes, and he could scarcely see
his way to the table, where he got a cup for himself. But Matt
was mixing a third cupful, and, as before, thrust him away.
I told you to wait till I was done," Matt growled. "Get outa
my way."
And Jim supported his twitching body by holding on to the
sink, the while he yearned toward the yellowish concoction that
stood for life. It was by sheer will that he stood and clung to the
sink. His flesh strove to double him up and bring him to the
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