now meant nothing, and might
even tempt her, in her vulgar pique, to reveal her rebuff of him. He
raised his eyes mechanically, and looked gloomily across the dark waste
and distant bay to the opposite shore. But the fog had already hidden
the glow of the city's lights, and, thickening around the horizon,
seemed to be slowly hemming him in with the dreary rancho. In his
present frame of mind there was a certain fatefulness in this that
precluded his once free agency, and to that extent relieved and absolved
HIM of any choice. He reached the dormitory and its turned-down lights
in a state of tired and dull uncertainty, for which sleep seemed to
offer the only relief. He rolled himself in his blankets with an animal
instinct of comfort and shut his eyes, but their sense appeared to
open upon Nelly Woodridge as she stood looking down upon him from the
platform. Even through the dull pain of his bruised susceptibilities he
was conscious of a strange satisfaction he had not felt before. He fell
asleep at last, to waken only to the sunlight streaming through the
curtainless windows on his face. To his surprise the long shed was empty
and deserted, except for a single Chinaman who was sweeping the floor at
the farther end. As Reddy started up, the man turned and approached him
with a characteristic, vague, and patient smile.

"All lity, John, you sleepee heap! Mistel Woodlidge he say you no go
wolkee field allee same Mellikan man. You stoppee inside housee allee
same ME. Shabbee? You come to glubbee [grub] now" (pointing to the
distant dining-shed), "and then you washee dish."

The full extent of his new degradation flashed upon Reddy with this
added insult of his brother menial's implicit equality. He understood
it all. He had been detached from the field-workers and was to come to
a later breakfast, perhaps the broken victuals of the first repast,
and wash the dishes. He remembered his new bargain. Very well! he
would refuse positively, take his dismissal, and leave that morning! He
hurriedly dressed himself, and followed the Chinaman into the open air.

The fog still hung upon the distant bay and hid the opposite point. But
the sun shone with dry Californian brilliancy over the league-long field
around him, revealing every detail of the rancho with sharp, matter of
fact directness, and without the least illusion of distance or romance.
The rough, unplaned, unpainted walls of the dinner-shed stood out
clearly before him;