Beta Book

In the midst of these remains a
red-headed Yankee of forty, smoking a Pittsburg stogie, sat
tilted back in a kitchen chair, reading the Boston _American_.
Mr. Wrenn delivered M. Baraieff's letter and stood waiting,
holding his suit-case, ready to skip out and go aboard a
cattle-boat immediately.
The shipping-agent glanced through the letter, then snapped:
"Bryff's crazy. Always sends 'em too early. Wrenn, you ought
to come to me first. What j'yuh go to that Jew first for? Here
he goes and sends you a day late--or couple days too early. 'F
you'd got here last night I could 've sent you off this morning
on a Dominion Line boat. All I got now is a Leyland boat that
starts from Portland Saturday. Le's see; this is Wednesday.
Thursday, Friday--you'll have to wait three days. Now you want
me to fix you up, don't you? I might not be able to get you off
till a week from now, but you'd like to get off on a good boat
Saturday instead, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes; I _would_. I--"
"Well, I'll try to fix it.


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