When O'Reilly made no answer he continued, "It is time we thought
of getting away from here, eh?"
Johnnie was sitting with his face in his hands. Without lifting
his head he inquired: "How are we going to get away? It is easy
enough to get into Matanzas, but--" He shrugged hopelessly.
From where the two sat they could see on the opposite hillside a
section of the ditch and the high barbed-wire fence which girdled
the city and made of it a huge corral. Spaced at regular intervals
along the intrenchments were slow-moving, diminutive figures,
sentries on their well-worn paths.
Jacket brightened at the thought of escape. "Ho! I'll bet we can
find a hole somewhere," said he. "We're not like these others.
They haven't the spirit to try." There was a moment of silence,
and then: "Caramba! You remember those jutias we ate? They were
strong, but I would enjoy the smell of one now. Eh? Another week
of this and we shall be living on garbage like the rest of these
poor people."
Leaving Jacket to take his time, Johnnie completed the climb
alone, meditating upon the boy's words. "The spirit to try!" Where
had his spirit gone, he wondered. Perhaps it had been crushed
beneath the weight of misery he had beheld; surely he had seen
enough. Hourly contact with sickness and misfortune on such a
gigantic scale was enough to chill any one's hopes, and although
his sensibilities had been dulled, his apprehensions had been
quickened hour by hour.
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