I swung my cane with one hand and with the other hand in my pocket sifted coins through my fingers. There were not many coins. I needed more in a hurry. It had been impressed on me that in spite of all my pride in my attire I did not look like a “gent”; it was certain that I did not feel like one. Disappointment was curdling pride in me; my clothes had gone back on me. I entertained a sort of a grudge against them. All of a sudden I made up my mind to get back at those garments which had cost me so much money and now repaid me in contentment so niggardly.
“It would be all new business for me. Can I do it, do you suppose?” I asked the man.
“Looks are half the battle. You’ve got capital in your clothes to start with. You don’t look like a souse! The last two I have had on the door pawned their rigs for rum. I’ve got the patter stuff all written out. All you’ve got to do is study it and reel it off like you used to recite pieces in school.”
“What’s the pay?”
Seeing surrender in my face, he winked and crooked his finger in invitation to me to follow him inside. He led me into a narrow little office. He offered a drink and a cigar, and I refused both.
“Gee! Some principles, hey? Now, if you’re a church member I reckon you won’t stand for the lay!”
“I’m devilish far from being a church member,” I told him.
“I don’t like to open up too much till I know a little something about you. Can you tell me?”
I told him enough to make him pretty much at ease.
“Do you know any of the right kind in this locality—the sporting bunch?”