I arrived in Saint Louis one evening—just in time to let an old flop-eared Jew take me in to the extent of a hundred dollars for a lot of snide jewelry and a Jim-Crow suit of clothes.
Not caring to hunt sister until morning I went to the Planter's House to put up for the night, and to note the change of twelve years.
After taking a bath and getting into my new rigging, I took a straight shoot for the office to make inquiries about the old boys. I found a long-legged youth behind the counter who, on asking how many of the old hands of twelve years ago were still there, pointed out Jimmy Byron, the kid I had the fight with, behind the cigar and news stand, across the hall. He was very busy at the time dishing out cigars, etc. to the scores of old fat roosters and lean dudes who were hurrying out after having eaten their supper.
The rush was finally over and then I made myself known. He was terribly glad, as well as surprised to see me. We had parted as enemies but now met as friends. He informed me that there wasn't but three, besides himself, of the old outfit left, and those were the old steward, who was now proprietor, "Old" Mike, who was still acting as night watchman, and Cunningham, the fellow who had slapped me and who was still clerk. The latter gentleman I didn't get to shake hands with as he failed to put in an appearance during my stay.
The next morning I struck out to hunt sister. I was armed with an old letter which gave the address, therefore had no trouble in finding her.
She was alone with her three pretty little girls, her husband having gone up town to his place of business—a drug store—when I found her.
The first thing she asked after kissing me, was, where I got my new suit?
Of course I had to acknowledge that I bought them from a Jew on Fourth street.
She then became frantic and wanted to know why in the world I didn't go to Humphry's and get them?
"Who in the dickens is Humphry?" I asked.