"
He arose, swung his bag to his shoulder, and together they left
the bridge, and struck the road leading to Rainbow Bottom. It was
late February. The air was raw,and the walking heavy. Jimmy saw
little around him, and there was little Dannie did not see. To
him, his farm, the river, and the cabins in Rainbow Bottom meant
all there was of life, for all he loved on earth was there. But
loafing in town on rainy days, when Dannie sat with a book;
hearing the talk at Casey's, at the hotel, and on the streets,
had given Jimmy different views of life, and made his lot seem
paltry compared with that of men who had greater possessions. On
days when Jimmy's luck was bad, or when a fever of thirst burned
him, he usually discoursed on some sort of intangible experience
that men had, which he called "seeing life." His rat bag was
unusually light that night, and in a vague way he connected it
with the breaking up of the ice. When the river lay solid he
usually carried home just twice the rats Dannie had, and as he
had patronized Dannie all his life, it fretted Jimmy to be
behind even one day at the traps.
"Be Jasus, I get tired of this!" he said. "Always and foriver the
same thing. I kape goin' this trail so much that I've got a
speakin' acquaintance with meself.
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