Along with my new feelings had come a sort of vague hope.
I walked out of Dawlin’s place with a hazy notion that I would never go back. Dawlin was evened up with me as to finances—I had my last week’s rake-off in my pocket.
And I may say right here that I never did go back—not to stand up and coax suckers! When I did go back I played Mr. Jeff Dawlin for one!
IX—A GRISLY GAME OF BOWLS
I DID not bother with any of the victualing houses in that low-down locality. I led the Sortwell boys uptown and ushered them into a very fancy restaurant. I could see that their opinion of my greatness was growing all of the time. I could not induce them to touch the bill of fare or even look at it. They gaped in such a frightened way when I mentioned fancy dishes, that I helped to set them at ease by ordering steak and potatoes. They ate to the last scrap, cleaning their plates with morsels of bread, even as grateful pups lick their platters. They confessed that they had not dared to go into an eating-house, and I remembered that first day when I had roamed the streets of the city.
I wanted to ask questions about Levant, but I delayed. Dave Sortwell, the older, opened up the subject, but he did not do it very gracefully.
“I reckon they can’t slur the Sidneys after this, like they have always done past back,” he said. “Here you are, something big down here in the city—and your uncle Deck is first selectman of Levant.”
So my uncle had achieved his political ambition! When I heard that news I had inside me a feeling of apprehension which I could scarcely account for.