Re: The Stowaway/The Diplomat
The train wasn't going anyplace so the stowaway didn't have the knowing to reckon why the swell yanked his hand back as if the rail were a stovetop. The train hadn't been going anyplace for an hour, maybe three and the swell made Charlie think of the kind of society that insisted on fussy dressing and clean behind the ears. Charlie liked being clean right enough but he minded expectation loaded on the breadth of his shoulders by anyone. The swell talked like he'd lost a marble and found it with his tongue, and Charlie wasn't anywhere close to dissuaded or disarmed. He felt like decking the guy, a little. His Ma would box his ears, but his Ma wasn't anywhere near the train and Charlie aimed a look that was withering clear as day at the swell.
"You think that's what that does? No, I don't think a man must. I don't think talking like you've lost your mind or eaten a dictionary is the same as holding cards close. It's a conversation, not a poker game and I'd thrash you at that, sure as blazes is blazes." Charlie spoke confidently, and he assured himself of the cigarette case in his pocket, thumbed along the line of the seam as he dropped his cigarette butt and stubbed it out with the side of his boot.
"You have a real good day with your cards," and he left the baggage car by the door and left the swell to it. Swells took everything a man had, even their spot by the back door.