They
converged in the central alley, hundreds of them. In a moment Bob was
caught up in their stream, and borne with them toward the
weather-stained shanty town.
VI
Bob followed this streaming multitude to the large structure that had
earlier been pointed out to him as the boarding house. It was a
commodious affair with a narrow verandah to which led steps picked out
by the sharp caulks of the rivermen's boots. A round stove held the
place of honour in the first room. Benches flanked the walls. At one end
was a table-sink, and tin wash-basins, and roller towels. The men were
splashing and blowing in the plunge-in-all-over fashion of their class.
They emerged slicked down and fresh, their hair plastered wet to their
foreheads. After a moment a fat and motherly woman made an announcement
from a rear room. All trooped out.
The dining room was precisely like those Bob remembered from
recollections of the river camps of his childhood. There were the same
long tables covered with red oilcloth, the same pine benches worn smooth
and shiny, the same thick crockery, and the same huge receptacles
steaming with hearty--and well-cooked--food.
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