Billy walked over to the bed and looked down. “Up-State, ole man,” he says, “you’re a-goin’ back to the Mohawk.”
Up-State left two letters behind him–one fer me and one fer Billy. The doc didn’t show hisn; said it wouldn’t be just profeshnal–yet. But mine he ast me to read to the boss.
“Dear Cupid,” it run, “ast Mister Sewell not to come down too hard on me account of what I’m goin’ to do fer Macie. The little gal says she wants a singin’ chanst more’n anythin’ else. Wal, I’m goin’ to give it to her. You’ll find a’ even five hunderd in green-backs over in Silverstein’s safe. It’s hern. Tell her I want she should use it to go to Noo York on and buck the op’ra game.”
Wal, y’ see, the ole man ’d been right all along–Up-State was sidin’ with Mace. Somehow though, I couldn’t feel hard agin him fer it. I knowed that she’d go–help ’r no help.
But Sewell, he didn’t think like me, and I never seen a man take on the way he done. Crazy mad, he was, swore blue blazes, and said things that didn’t sound so nice when a feller remembered that Up-State was face up and flat on his back fer keeps–and goin’ home in the baggage-car.
I tell you, the boys was nice to me that day. “The little gal won’t fergit y’, Cupid,” they says, and “Never you mind, Cupid, it’ll all come out in the wash.”
I thanked ’em, a-course. But with Macie fixed to go (far’s money went), and without makin’ friends with me, neither, what under the shinin’ sun could chirk me up? Wal, nothin’ could.