Nothing doing.
The Governor had called out the Militia in order to prevent a Blot being put upon the Fair Name of the Commonwealth.
With the Selling-Platers turned out to Pasture, the Brace-Box and the
Pinch Wheel lying in the Basement at Central Station, the Pugs going
back to the Foundry and all the Street Lamps being taken in at
Midnight, no wonder Steve was hard pushed to find Innocent Amusement.
He started to hang around a Broker's Office but it was no Fun to bet on a Turn-Up when you couldn't watch the Shuffle. Besides, the Game was Cold and was being fiercely denounced by the Press.
For a Time he kept warm in a Bowling Alley. Drive a Man into a Corner and goad him to Desperation and he will go so far as to Bowl, provided that he lives in a German Neighborhood.
One Evening he went down to see the Walhallas go against the Schwabens, but the Place was Dark.
The Authorities had interfered.
It seemed that the Manufacture of Bowling Balls involved the Destruction of the Hardwood Forests, while the Game itself overtaxed certain Important Muscles ending with "alis," at the same time encouraging Profanity and the use of 5-cent Cigars.
Steve had one Stand-By left to him. He could prop himself up on the Bleachers with a bag of lubricated Pop-Corn between his Knees and hurl insulting Remarks at Honus Wagner, Joe Tinker and Ty Cobb.
When he crawled up in the 50-cent Seats he found the same old Bunch that used to answer Roll Call at the Pool Room, the Sharkey Club, and the Betting Ring.