Blister waved to a waiter and I saw there was to be no more.
"Did you ever see her again?" I inquired.
"Now you're askin' questions," said Blister.
TRÈS JOLIE
The hot inky odors of a newspaper plant took me by the throat during my progress in the whiny elevator to the third floor.
Before attacking the day's editorial I tried to decide whether it was the nerve flicking clash of the linotypes, the pecking chatter of the typewriters, or the jarring rumble of the big cylinder presses that was taking the life out of my work. I was impartial in this, but gave it up.
And then a letter was dropped on the desk before me, and I recognized in the penciled address upon the envelope the unformed hand of Blister Jones.
"Dear Friend," the letter began, and somehow the ache behind my eyes died out as I read. 'I guess you are thinking me dead by this time on account of not hearing from me sooner in answer to yours. Well, this is to show you I am alive and kicking. I guess you have read how good the mare is doing. She is a good mare, as good as her dam. I had some mean luck with her at Nashville by her going lame for me, so she could not start in the big stake, but she is O. K. now. I note what you said about being sick. That is tough. Why don't you come to Louisville and see the mare run in the derby. If you would only bet, I can give you a steer that would put you right and pay all your expenses. Well, this is all for the present.
"Resp.
"Blister Jones.
"P. S. Now, be sure to come as I want you to see the mare. She is sure a good mare."