CHAPTER XV
Flag it, now, and I'll say it for you. Yes, you read about it in the papers, and says you: "Is it all so?" Well, some of it was, and some of it wasn't. But what do you expect? No two of the crowd would tell it the same way, if they was put on the stand the next minute. Here's the way it looked from where I stood, though; and I was some close, wa'n't I?
You see, after I woke up from that last trance, I gets to thinkin' about Sadie, and Miriam, and all them false alarms I've been ringin' in; and, says I to myself: "Shorty, if I couldn't make a better showin' than that, I'd quit the game." So I quits. I chases myself back to town for good, says hello to all the boys, and tells Swifty Joe, if he sees me makin' another move towards the country, to heave a sand bag at me.
Not that there was any loud call for me to tend out so strict on the physical culture game. I'd been kind of easin' up on that lately, and dippin' into outside things; and it was them I needed to keep closer track of. You know I've got a couple of flat houses up on the West side, and if you let them agents run things their own way you'll be makin' almost enough to buy new hall carpets once a year.
Then there was ripe chances I was afraid of missin'. You see, knockin' around so much with the fat wads, I often sees spots where a few dollars could be planted right. Sometimes it's a hunch on the market, and then again it's a straight steer on a slice of foot front that's goin' cheap. I do a lot of dickerin' that way.
Well, I'd just pushed through a deal that leaves me considerable on velvet, and I was feelin' kind of flush and sassy, when Mr. Ogden calls me up, and wants to know if I can make use of a gilt edged bargain.
"Oh, I don't know," says I. "What's it look like?"
"It's The Toreador," says he.
"Sounds good," says I. "How much?"