“It’s honest truth, laddie. Gee! I gotta hankering for the bright lights myself. I lived in New York once. Some village. And with a million in your wallet ... Ah!”
He gave a long sigh as he reflected upon the quantity of “bright lights” a million would purchase.
“I’d have three houses, a hundred suits, a footman with a powdered wig like I seen in the magazine pictures. I’d have a bath each night in eau-de-Cologne, and go to roost in real silk peejamas. I’d larn to dance, and have a valee to dress me and shave me....”
“Yep,” mused Jim, “and then you’d wake up, Dan. Here, where’s that bill? You talk too much. What in hell is that?”
A terrific hullabaloo came up from below. A roar of laughter and the babble of male voices was mixed with the rumble of wheels and the pistol-like crack of a whip.
“Looks like a celebration,” said Dan.
Jim sauntered to the window. Underneath was Rob’s coach, packed full of miners. They slid from the roof of the vehicle and from inside, 9 and began to fire revolvers and dance around like niggers. Then one of them saw Jim.
“Hi, Colorado Jim, come out of that!” he bawled.
Jim ducked back from the window as a roar came up from below.
“Looks like they’re for giving you a send-off,” said Dan.