A dozen bottles might be concealed
there, like the faces in a picture-puzzle, and it would take a
housecleaning to disclose them all. But Ford, when he knew that no
bottle had been left in sight, began turning over the bags and looking
behind the boxes.
He must have been "growing warm" when he stood wondering whether it was
worth while to look into the flour-bin, for Mose gave an inarticulate
snarl and pounced on him from behind. The weight of him sent Ford down
on all fours and kept him there for a space, and even after he was up he
found himself quite busy. Mose was a husky individual, with no infirmity
of the arms and fists, even if he did have a stiff leg, and drunkenness
frequently flares and fades in a man like a candle guttering in the
wind. Besides, Mose was fighting to save his whisky.
Still, Ford had not sent all of Sunset into its cellars, figuratively
speaking, for nothing; and while a man may feel more enthusiasm for
fighting when under the influence of the stuff that cheers sometimes and
never fails to inebriate, the added incentive does not necessarily mean
also added muscular development or more weight behind the punch.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186