“I ain't feelin' gay,” he remarked; “an' at that, if youse was to ast me, I couldn't tell youse why.”
As though a thought had been suggested, he arose and started for the door.
“I won't be away ten minutes,” he said.
Slimmy looked curiously at Whitey Dutch.
“He's chased off to one of them fortune-tellers,” said Whitey.
“Do youse take any stock in them ginks who claims they can skin a deck of cards, or cock their eye into a teacup, an' then put you next to everyt'ing that'll happen to you in a year?”
Slimmy aimed this at me.
Upon my assurance, given with emphasis, that I attached no weight to so-called seers and fortunetellers, he was so magnanimous as to indorse my position.
“They're a bunch of cheap bunks,” he declared. “I've gone ag'inst 'em time an' time, an' there's nothin' in it. One of 'em gives me his woid—after me comin' across wit' fifty cents—th' time Belfast Danny's in trouble, that Danny'll be toined out all right. Two days later Danny gets settled for five years.”
“Ike's stuck on 'em,” remarked Whitey.