detective went into the woods a couple of times and then came out. The prisoner had taken the sergeant’s gun and nobody seemed to want to go very far into the woods after him. Finally they started the train to get to a station where they could send for the state constabulary and send out a description of the little man. My father helped them with the sergeant. He washed off the wound, it was between the collarbone and the neck, and sent me to get paper and towels from the washroom and folded them over and made a plug for it and tied it tight in with a sleeve from the sergeant’s shirt. They laid him out as comfortably as they could and my father washed off his face. His head had been banged against the floor of the washroom and he was still unconscious but my father said the wound was not serious. At the station they took him off and the detective took the other prisoner off too. The other prisoner’s face was white and he had a bruised bump on the side of his head. He looked silly when they took him off and seemed anxious to move very fast to do whatever they told him. My father came back in the car from helping them with the sergeant. They had put him in a motor truck that was at the station and were going to drive him to a hospital. The detective was sending wires. We were standing on the platform and the train started and I saw the prisoner standing there, leaning the back of his head against the wall of the station. He was crying.
I felt pretty bad about everything and we went in the smoker. The brakeman had a bucket and a bunch of waste and was mopping up and washing where the blood had been.
“How was he, Doc?” he said to my father.
“I’m not a doctor,” my father said. “But I think he’ll be all right.”
“Two big dicks,” said the brakeman. “And they couldn’t handle that one little shrimp.”
“Did you see him get out the window?”
“Sure,” said the brakeman. “Or I saw him just after he lit on the tracks.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No. Not when I first saw him. How do you think he stabbed him, Doc?”
“He must have jumped up on him from behind,” my father said.
“Wonder where he got the knife?”
“I don’t know,” said my father.
“That other poor boob,” said the brakeman. “He never even tried to make a break.”
“No.”
“That detective gave him his though. Did you see it, Doc?”
“Yes.”
“That poor boob,” the brakeman said. It was damp and clean where he had washed. We went back to our seats in the other car. My father sat and did not say anything and I wondered what he was thinking.
“Well, Jimmy,” he said, after a while.
“Yes.”
“What do you think of it all now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I,” said my father. “Do you feel bad?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. Were you scared?”
“When I saw the blood,” I said. “And when he hit the prisoner.”
“That’s healthy.”
“Were you scared?”
“No,” my father said. “What was the blood like?” I thought a minute.
“It was thick and smooth.”
“Blood is thicker than water,” my father said. “That’s the first proverb you run up against when you lead an active life.”
“It doesn’t mean that,” I said. “It means about family.”
“No,” said my father. “It means just that, but it always surprises you. I remember the first time I found it out.”
“When was that?”
“I felt my shoes full of it. It was very warm and thick. It was just like water in your rubber boots when we go duck hunting except it was warm and thicker and smoother.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, a long time ago,” said my father.
The Porter
WHEN WE WENT TO BED MY FATHER said I might as well sleep in the lower berth because I would want to look out the window early in the morning. He said an upper berth did not make any difference to him and he would come to bed after a while. I undressed and put my clothes in the hammock and put on pajamas and got into bed. I turned off the light and pulled up the window curtain but it was cold if I sat up to look out and lying down in bed I could not see anything. My father took a suitcase out from under my berth, opened it on the bed, took out his pajamas and tossed them up to the upper berth, then he took a book out and the bottle and filled his flask.
“Turn on the light,” I said.
“No,” he said. “I don’t need it. Are you sleepy, Jim?”
“I guess so.”
“Get a good sleep,” he said and closed the suitcase and put it back under the berth.
“Did you put your shoes out?”
“No,” I said. They were in the hammock and I got up to get them but he found them and put them out in the aisle. He shut the curtain.
“Aren’t you going to bed, sir?” the porter asked him.
“No,” my father said. “I’m going to read a while up in the washroom.”
“Yes, sir,” the porter said. It was fine lying between the sheets with the thick blanket pulled up and it all dark and the country dark outside. There was a screen across the lower part of the window that was open and the air came in cold. The green curtain was buttoned tight and the car swayed but felt very solid and was going fast and once in a while you would hear the whistle. I went to sleep and when I woke up I looked out and we were going very slowly and crossing a big river. There were lights shining on the water and the iron framework of a bridge going by the window and my father was getting into the upper berth.
“Are you awake, Jimmy?”
“Yes. Where are we?”
“We’re crossing into Canada now,” he said. “But in the morning we’ll be out of it.”
I looked out of the window to see Canada but all I could see were railway yards and freight cars. We stopped and two men came by with torches and stopped and hit on the wheels with hammers. I could not see anything but the men crouching over by the wheels and opposite us freight cars and I crawled down in bed again.
“Where are we in Canada?” I asked.
“Windsor,” my father said. “Good night, Jim.”
When I woke up in the morning and looked out we were going through fine country that looked like Michigan only with higher hills and the trees were all turning. I got dressed in all but my shoes and reached under the curtain for them. They were shined and I put them on and unbuttoned the curtain and went out in the aisle. The curtains were buttoned all down the aisle and everybody seemed to be still asleep. I went down to the washroom and looked in. The nigger porter was asleep in one corner of the leather cushioned seat. His cap was down over his eyes and his feet were up on one of the chairs. His mouth was open, his head was tipped back and his hands were together in his lap. I went on to the end of the car and looked out but it was drafty and cindery and there was no place to sit down. I went back to the washroom and went in very carefully so as not to wake the porter and sat
