“I won’t say ‘no,’” Gay promptly acquiesced.
But Rocket was serving drink to Jim Thorpe at one of the little poker tables on the far side of the room, and the butcher had to wait.
“How much are you givin’?” Smallbones inquired cautiously of Gay.
He was still worrying over the forthcoming demand on his charity. Gay Promptly puffed himself up.
“Wal,” he said, with some dignity. “Y’see she’s got six kiddies, each smaller nor the other. They mustn’t starve for sure. Guess I’m givin’ twenty-fi’ dollars.”
“Wot?” almost shrieked the disgusted Smallbones.
“Yes,” said the butcher-undertaker coldly. “An’ I ain’t no trust magnate.”
“That’s right up to you, Smallbones,” remarked Abe, passing his friend Gay his drink. “You’ll natcherly give fifty.”
But Abe’s ponderous levity was too much for Smallbones.