“So?” droned Mr. Abrams. “Say, young man, would you do it for me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Then, please, you should look at your books und tell me how stood the account on the foist day of last month.”
In a minute or two the bank functionary was back at the ’phone.
“Oh, Mr. Abrams,” he said, “on the first day of last month you had a balance to your credit of $322.25.”
“So!” shouted Mr. Abrams. “Und did I call you up?”
§ 45 Driven Beyond His Strength
There was a down-and-outer, who made a precarious living as a sandwich man. Encased front and back, like a turtle in its shell, between broad boards which bore advertisements for a dairy lunch, he marched the Bowery all day long for wages barely sufficient to keep body and soul together.
One day, as he plodded his weary route, he saw a shining coin lying upon the sidewalk. Instantly he set his foot upon it, and then, stooping with difficulty because of his wooden waistcoat, he clutched it in his eager fingers and raised it to his eyes. His heart inside of him gave a great throb. It was a twenty-dollar gold piece. He was wealthy beyond his wildest ambitions.
Across the street was an excavation for a new building. He hurried thither. Standing on the edge of the digging he unbuckled the straps which bound the squares of planking to him, and, kicking them to pieces with a glad, exultant cry, he flung the shattered emblems of his servitude down into the hole below. Then straightway he departed for the nearest saloon. Stalking in, a triumphant figure even in his tatters, he slapped his precious gold piece down upon the bar and called for a drink of whiskey. It was to have been the first of a long and gorgeous succession of drinks of whiskey.