Complete Short Stories Of Ernest Hemingway, The

“Come on up to the smoker,” he said and I followed him through the car and into the next one ahead. We sat down in a seat, my father inside next to the window. It was dirty in the smoker and the black leather on the seats had been burned by cinders.

“Look at the seats opposite us,” my father said to me without looking toward them. Opposite us two men sat side by side. The man on the inside was looking out the window and his right wrist was handcuffed to the left wrist of the man who sat beside him. In the seat ahead of them were two other men. I could only see their backs but they sat the same way. The two men who sat on the aisle were talking.

“In a day coach,” the man opposite us said. The man who sat in front of him spoke without turning around.

“Well why didn’t we take the night train?”

“Did you want to sleep with these?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“It’s more comfortable this way.”

“The hell it’s comfortable.”

The man who was looking out of the window looked at us and winked. He was a little man and he wore a cap. There was a bandage around his head under the cap. The man he was handcuffed to wore a cap also but his neck was thick, he was dressed in a blue suit and he wore a cap as though it was only for travelling.

The two men on the next seat were about the same size and build but the one on the aisle had the thicker neck.

“How about something to smoke, Jack?” the man who had winked said to my father over the shoulder of the man he was handcuffed to. The thick-necked man turned and looked at my father and me. The man who had winked smiled. My father took out a package of cigarettes.

“You want to give him a cigarette?” asked the guard. My father reached the package across the aisle.

“I’ll give it to him,” said the guard. He took the package in his free hand, squeezed it, put it in his handcuffed hand and holding it there took out a cigarette with his free hand and gave it to the man beside him. The man next to the window smiled at us and the guard lit the cigarette for him.

“You’re awfully sweet to me,” he said to the guard.

The guard reached the package of cigarettes back across the aisle.

“Have one,” my father said.

“No thanks. I’m chewing.”

“Making a long trip?”

“Chicago.”

“So are we.”

“It’s a fine town,” the little man next to the window said. “I was there once.”

“I’ll say you were,” the guard said. “I’ll say you were.”

We moved up and sat in the seat directly opposite them. The guard in front looked around. The man with him looked down at the floor.

“What’s the trouble,” asked my father.

“These gentlemen are wanted for murder.”

The man next to the window winked at me.

“Keep it clean,” he said. “We’re all gentlemen here.”

“Who was killed?” asked my father.

“An Italian,” said the guard.

“Who?” asked the little man very brightly.

“An Italian,” the guard repeated to my father.

“Who killed him?” asked the little man looking at the sergeant and opening his eyes wide.

“You’re pretty funny,” the guard said.

“No sir,” the little man said. “I just asked you, Sergeant, who killed this Italian.”

“He killed this Italian,” the prisoner on the front seat said looking toward the detective. “He killed this Italian with his bow and arrow.”

“Cut it out,” said the detective.

“Sergeant,” the little man said. “I did not kill this Italian. I would not kill an Italian. I do not know an Italian.”

“Write it down and use it against him,” the prisoner on the front seat said. “Everything he says will be used against him. He did not kill this Italian.”

“Sergeant,” asked the little man, “who did kill this Italian?”

“You did,” said the detective.

“Sergeant,” said the little man. “That is a falsehood. I did not kill this Italian. I refuse to repeat it. I did not kill this Italian.”

“Everything he says must be used against him,” said the other prisoner. “Sergeant, why did you kill this Italian?”

“It was an error, Sergeant,” the little prisoner said. “It was a grave error. You should never have killed this Italian.”

“Or that Italian,” the other prisoner said.

“Shut to hell up the both of you,” said the sergeant. “They’re dope heads,” he said to my father. “They’re crazy as bed bugs.”

“Bed bugs?” said the little man, his voice rising. “There are no bed bugs on me, Sergeant.”

“He comes from a long line of English earls,” said the other prisoner. “Ask the senator there,” he nodded at my father.

“Ask the little man there,” said the first prisoner. “He’s just George Washington’s age. He cannot tell a lie.”

“Speak up, boy,” the big prisoner stared at me.

“Cut it out,” the guard said.

“Yes, Sergeant,” said the little prisoner. “Make him cut it out. He’s got no right to bring in the little lad.”

“I was a boy myself once,” the big prisoner said.

“Shut your goddam mouth,” the guard said.

“That’s right, Sergeant,” began the little prisoner.

“Shut your goddam mouth.” The little prisoner winked at me.

“Maybe we better go back to the other car,” my father said to me. “See you later,” he said to the two detectives.