Frank climbed out of the bus and headed towards home in the icy drizzle. It was a cold February day, so he turned his collar up and pulled his cap down to keep the weather out of his eyes. He quickly walked around to the back, took off his shoes, and entered the rowhouse. The aroma of a savory vegetable stew – with a scant hint of beef bone broth – filled the room. He was late, and everyone else had finished supper. Frank grabbed a bowl and served himself some stew, and then he sat at the table and finished it off quickly. He washed the bowl and spoon and headed into the front room, where Da was reading the paper.
“Any chance there’s an opening at the mine, Da?”
“An’ how come de ye ask, Frank? Golf clubs no fer ye?”
“I haven’t gotten a raise in salary ever, Da. It’s been over a year, and all I hear is business isn’t good. Couldn’t be so bad, seeing that I need to stay late more than not.”
“Wull thair may be, Frank. Yer brothers Jimmy an’ Jock hae been talkin’ aboot bein’ aff tae America.”
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