"'You cain't do a ding thing for me, Mr. Man,' I ups an' tells him. 'Hain't got nairy business with pikers like you-all. I don't git to Chicago often, but when I do I plays with nothin' but blue chips, an' bets th' limit every whirl.'
"'Wall, what do you want, anyway?' he jerks out.
"'Want to see Mr. Palmer; got some p'rticular business with him,' says I.
"'Sorry, sir,' says he, 'Mr. Palmer ain't around this time of day. Is your business with him private?'
"'I reckon she are private,' says I; 'want to see him an' find out ef I kin git to stay all night in this yere hotel of his'n.'
"An' I reckon about that time that thar smart aleck must o' thought of somethin' powerful funny that'd happened lately, for right thar he broke out laughin' fit to kill his fool self—jest nachally laughed till he like to died.
"When finally he comes to, he up an' says:
"'Why, I sometimes attend to business like that for Mr. Palmer; guess I can fix you. Here, write your name down there.'
"An' he whirls round in front of me a whopper of a big book that 'peared to have a lot other fellers' names in. She shore looked s'spicious to me, an' I says:
"'Now see here, Mr. Man, my name don't draw no big lot of money, but she shorely don't get fastened to any dociments I don't sabe.'