The recipient of this equivocal coin looked at it nervelessly. His face had the overwhelmed expression of one who finds he has been led far when he thought himself standing firm. Then, as if in involuntary repudiation, his palm stiffened, his fingers spread, the money glimmered at the point of sliding through them—but Carron, with a clutch of his own, doubled the fingers to a fist.
"Hang on to it," he said reassuringly. "It's what we agreed on, isn't it? It hardly pays you for your trouble." Seeing his argument still hung fire he ended, "I'm afraid it's going to be a dry winter."
The man looked up at the sky, the light of which seemed to whiten the whole landscape, then downward at his worn shoes, then at his hand closed like a fist. Some reaction, physical as well as mental, had begun. His legs, planted in the posture of firmness, trembled, his eyelids twitched; when he spoke his voice sounded uncertain. "Try Rader's," he muttered without raising his eyes, "first turn to the left as you go ahead."
"Rader's, first turn to the left as you go ahead," Carron repeated, and felt amused. It was like a village direction. Here, where long distances led between mountains and immense sky, it sounded too scant. He hesitated, foot on the buggy step, but the aspect of the man on the road warned that fur-
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