IN VIOLENT TIMES
IN VIOLENT TIMESHe gave me an address on Twenty-Sixth Street. “Sprovis is the name.”
“All right,” I said as stolidly as I could.
“Let them do the unloading. I see there’s a full feedbag in the van; that’ll be a good time to give it to the horse.”
“Yes.”
“They’ll load up another consignment and drive with you to the destination. Take the van back to the livery stable. Here’s money for your supper and carfare back here.”
He thinks of everything, I reflected bitterly. Except that I don’t want to have anything to do with this.
Driving slackly through the almost empty streets my resentment continued to rise, drowning, at least partly, my fear of being for some unfathomable reason stopped by a police officer and apprehended. Why should I be stopped? Why should the Grand A
