"
"'Leven hundred! Well, whatta you know about that? Say, Big Tent, better
lemme double your money for you!"
"Aw, you go on, Mr. Jastrow! Ain't you the torment, too?"
"Say, gal, next time I get the misery you can hold my hand as long as
your little heart desires. 'Leven hundred to the good! Good night! Get
down off my shoulder, you little flea, you. I got to turn in here and
take a drink on the strength of that! 'Leven hundred to the good!
Good night!"
"Oh, Mr. Jastrow, in your state! In your state alcohol's poison. Mr.
Jastrow--please--you mustn't!"
"Blow me, too, Jas! Aw, say--have a heart; blow me to a bracer, too!"
"No, no, Mr. Jastrow, don't take the Baron. The little fellow can't
stand alcohol. His baroness don't want it. Anyways, it's against the
rules--please--"
"You stay and take the lady home, flea. See the lady home like a
gentleman. 'Leven hundred to the good! Say, I'd see a lady as far as the
devil on that. Good night!"
* * * * *
At Mrs. Bostum's boarding-house, one of a row of the stare-faced
packing-cases of the summer city, bathing-suits drying and kicking over
veranda rails, a late quiet had fallen, only one window showing yellowly
in the peak of its top story.
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