Bill Haynes was broke, down and out, flat on his uppers, and a stranger to San Francisco. It was drizzling and cold. When is offered a job…
The wind lashed its wet whips from off the bay, and Haynes slouched hungrily by the fragrant doors of chowder houses and meditatively hankered for the kind of self-abasement that permits a fellow to brace a strange bartender for hot whisky.
“An empty stomach has no conscience—an empty stomach has no conscience,” ran with devilish iteration through his head.
“Aw, the hell it hain’t!” Bill Haynes muttered exasperated. And a lone, huddled little figure, neck drawn turtle-fashion into an upturned coat-collar, stopped for an instant and scrutinized the burly Haynes.
Publication date: 11/10/2014
Bill Haynes was broke, down and out, flat on his uppers, and a stranger to San F
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