dark.”
“Your aunt ain’t expecting us ’til tomorrow. Might as well take advantage of not having to listen to her naggin’ for a night.”
Squid unfolded a large sheet and tossed it over the back of the wagon, covering the remaining barrels. They could leave the wagon here; no one would be stealing anything with Diggers in town. They walked across the square toward the pub. A sign hung above the door, creaking gently on its rusting hinges: “The Dust Bowl.”
Squid followed Uncle into the common room and was crushed by an avalanche of heat and sound. The room was filled with roaring laughter and yelling. Everyone was trying to be heard over everyone else and the result was a constant escalation in noise that all but drowned out the musicians in the corner. Smoke hung low and thick in the air. The crowd was mostly men drinking large pints of beer, singing, laughing, arguing, or all of the above. It was loud, disorderly and full of people, everything Squid didn’t like. His heart quickened in his chest and he desperately tried to slow his breathing. He wanted to go outside. He gripped his key through his shirt as he followed Uncle to the end of a long wooden table.
A young blonde woman with a bosom that was trying to burst out of her tight white blouse made her way through the crowd toward them.
“What’ll it be?” she asked, looking at them expectantly.
“Beer,” Uncle said. “What have you got?”
“The Cat’s Whiskers, brewed here in town.”
“It doesn’t actually—” started Uncle.
“I don’t think so,” answered the waitress quickly. “And something for the boy?”
“Maybe some milk,” Squid said, looking down at the table.
“It’s beer or water here, I’m afraid. Don’t get awful much call for milk.”
“Water is fine, thank you,” Squid replied.
“Grub?” the girl asked.
“Honeyed ham, some bread and butter and …” Uncle looked into the purse that held their takings for the day. “That’ll do.”
The girl twisted her blonde hair around her index finger.
“A Cat’s Whiskers, water, bread, butter and honeyed ham,” she said.
“Yes,” snapped Uncle.
The girl gave him a poorly concealed dirty look before walking away.
Uncle glanced at Squid. “I don’t want to talk to you, or anyone else,” he said, “so just sit there with your mouth shut and don’t go bringin’ any attention our way.”
Who knew what would have happened if Uncle hadn’t said he wanted to be left alone, Squid thought afterward, but he did say it, and he’d given the universe an idea. At that moment the three Diggers walked through the door. Lieutenant Walter scanned the room, then came and sat next to Uncle.
“Good afternoon, sir, and young Squid.”
“Are you here to try to convince me to let Squid join the Diggers?” asked Uncle. Squid knew this tone of voice; it was the one Uncle used when he’d had enough of dealing with people for one day.
“No, no,” said Walter, “not at all.”
“Good,” said Uncle, “because you ain’t gettin’ him. He’s got too much work to do on the farm.”
The bargirl returned, dropping a pint of Cat’s Whiskers in front of Uncle with a deliberate thud. She placed a smaller mug of water in front of Squid. When the bargirl saw the three Diggers she smiled.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Can I get you something?”
Sergeant Bentley looked her up and down. “You certainly can, little lady,” he said. The bargirl’s cheeks flushed pink and she looked at the floor, biting her lower lip.
“What would you like?” she managed as she swayed from side to side.
“Come and I’ll show you.” Sergeant Bentley pulled the girl onto his lap with enough force that the top button of her straining shirt popped open.
“Oh,” she said, giggling.
“Oi!”
The shout came from another table. A man had stood and was walking over, a large man with tree-trunk arms, a smoke-stained beard and whiskey on his breath. He swayed disjointedly as he
“Your aunt ain’t expecting us ’til tomorrow. Might as well take advantage of not having to listen to her naggin’ for a night.”
Squid unfolded a large sheet and tossed it over the back of the wagon, covering the remaining barrels. They could leave the wagon here; no one would be stealing anything with Diggers in town. They walked across the square toward the pub. A sign hung above the door, creaking gently on its rusting hinges: “The Dust Bowl.”
Squid followed Uncle into the common room and was crushed by an avalanche of heat and sound. The room was filled with roaring laughter and yelling. Everyone was trying to be heard over everyone else and the result was a constant escalation in noise that all but drowned out the musicians in the corner. Smoke hung low and thick in the air. The crowd was mostly men drinking large pints of beer, singing, laughing, arguing, or all of the above. It was loud, disorderly and full of people, everything Squid didn’t like. His heart quickened in his chest and he desperately tried to slow his breathing. He wanted to go outside. He gripped his key through his shirt as he followed Uncle to the end of a long wooden table.
A young blonde woman with a bosom that was trying to burst out of her tight white blouse made her way through the crowd toward them.
“What’ll it be?” she asked, looking at them expectantly.
“Beer,” Uncle said. “What have you got?”
“The Cat’s Whiskers, brewed here in town.”
“It doesn’t actually—” started Uncle.
“I don’t think so,” answered the waitress quickly. “And something for the boy?”
“Maybe some milk,” Squid said, looking down at the table.
“It’s beer or water here, I’m afraid. Don’t get awful much call for milk.”
“Water is fine, thank you,” Squid replied.
“Grub?” the girl asked.
“Honeyed ham, some bread and butter and …” Uncle looked into the purse that held their takings for the day. “That’ll do.”
The girl twisted her blonde hair around her index finger.
“A Cat’s Whiskers, water, bread, butter and honeyed ham,” she said.
“Yes,” snapped Uncle.
The girl gave him a poorly concealed dirty look before walking away.
Uncle glanced at Squid. “I don’t want to talk to you, or anyone else,” he said, “so just sit there with your mouth shut and don’t go bringin’ any attention our way.”
Who knew what would have happened if Uncle hadn’t said he wanted to be left alone, Squid thought afterward, but he did say it, and he’d given the universe an idea. At that moment the three Diggers walked through the door. Lieutenant Walter scanned the room, then came and sat next to Uncle.
“Good afternoon, sir, and young Squid.”
“Are you here to try to convince me to let Squid join the Diggers?” asked Uncle. Squid knew this tone of voice; it was the one Uncle used when he’d had enough of dealing with people for one day.
“No, no,” said Walter, “not at all.”
“Good,” said Uncle, “because you ain’t gettin’ him. He’s got too much work to do on the farm.”
The bargirl returned, dropping a pint of Cat’s Whiskers in front of Uncle with a deliberate thud. She placed a smaller mug of water in front of Squid. When the bargirl saw the three Diggers she smiled.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Can I get you something?”
Sergeant Bentley looked her up and down. “You certainly can, little lady,” he said. The bargirl’s cheeks flushed pink and she looked at the floor, biting her lower lip.
“What would you like?” she managed as she swayed from side to side.
“Come and I’ll show you.” Sergeant Bentley pulled the girl onto his lap with enough force that the top button of her straining shirt popped open.
“Oh,” she said, giggling.
“Oi!”
The shout came from another table. A man had stood and was walking over, a large man with tree-trunk arms, a smoke-stained beard and whiskey on his breath. He swayed disjointedly as he
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