Read Online THE Nick Adams STORIES by Ernest Hemingway - Free Book Online Page A

ain’t just a bluff.”
    Ole Andreson rolled over toward the wall.
    â€œThe only thing is,” he said, talking toward the wall, “I just can’t make up my mind to go out. I been in here all day.”
    â€œCouldn’t you get out of town?”
    â€œNo,” Ole Andreson said. “I’m through with all that running around.”
    He looked at the wall.
    â€œThere ain’t anything to do now.”
    â€œCouldn’t you fix it up some way?”
    â€œNo. I got in wrong.” He talked in the same flat voice. “There ain’t anything to do. After a while I’ll make up my mind to go out.”
    â€œI better go back and see George,” Nick said.
    â€œSo long” said Ole Andreson. He did not look toward Nick. “Thanks for coming around.”
    Nick went out. As he shut the door he saw Ole Andreson with all his clothes on, lying on the bed looking at the wall.
    â€œHe’s been in his room all day,” the landlady said downstairs. “I guess he don’t feel well. I said to him: ‘Mr. Andreson, you ought to go out and take a walk on a nice fall day like this,’ but he didn’t feel like it.”
    â€œHe doesn’t want to go out.”
    â€œI’m sorry he don’t feel well,” the woman said. “He’s an awfully nice man. He was in the ring, you know.”
    â€œI know it.”
    â€œYou’d never know it except from the way his face is,” the woman said. They stood talking just inside the street door. “He’s just as gentle.”
    â€œWell, good night, Mrs. Hirsch,” Nick said.
    â€œI’m not Mrs. Hirsch,” the woman said. “She owns the place. I just look after it for her. I’m Mrs. Bell.”
    â€œWell, good night, Mrs. Bell,” Nick said.
    â€œGood night,” the woman said.
    Nick walked up the dark street to the corner under the arc light, and then along the car tracks to Henry’s eating house. George was inside, back of the counter.
    â€œDid you see Ole?”
    â€œYes,” said Nick. “He’s in his room and he won’t go out.”
    The cook opened the door from the kitchen when he heard Nick’s voice.
    â€œI don’t even listen to it,” he said and shut the door.
    â€œDid you tell him about it?” George asked.
    â€œSure. I told him but he knows what it’s all about.”
    â€œWhat’s he going to do?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œThey’ll kill him.”
    â€œI guess they will.”
    â€œHe must have got mixed up in something in Chicago.”
    â€œI guess so,” said Nick.
    â€œIt’s a hell of a thing.”
    â€œIt’s an awful thing,” Nick said.
    They did not say anything. George reached down for a towel and wiped the counter.
    â€œI wonder what he did?” Nick said.
    â€œDouble-crossed somebody. That’s what they kill them for.”
    â€œI’m going to get out of this town,” Nick said.
    â€œYes,” said George. “That’s a good thing to do.”
    â€œI can’t stand to think about him waiting in the room and knowing he’s going to get it. It’s too damned awful.”
    â€œWell,” said George, “you better not think about it.”

The Last Good Country
    â€œNickie,” his sister said to him. “Listen to me, Nickie.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear it.”
    He was watching the bottom of the spring where the sand rose in small spurts with the bubbling water. There was a tin cup on a forked stick that was stuck in the gravel by the spring and Nick Adams looked at it and at the water rising and then flowing clear in its gravel bed beside the road.
    He could see both ways on the road and he looked up the hill and then down to the dock and the lake, the wooded point across the bay and the open lake beyond where there were white caps running. His back was against a big cedar tree and behind him there