"That's something like.... Let's
see; yes, sir, by golly, right up there between the Met. Tower
and the _Times_--good old Souvenir Company office. Jiminy! `One
Dollar to Albany'--something _like_ a sign, that is--good old
dollar! To thunder with their darn shillings. Home!... Gee!
there's where I used to moon on a wharf!... Gosh! the old town
looks good."
And all this was his to conquer, for friendship's sake.
He went to a hotel. While he had to go back to the Zapps', of
course, he did not wish, by meeting those old friends, to spoil
his first day. No, it was cheerfuler to stand at a window of
his cheap hotel on Seventh Avenue, watching the "good old
American crowd"--Germans, Irishmen, Italians, and Jews. He
went to the Nickelorion and grasped the hand of the ticket-taker,
the Brass-button Man, ejaculating: "How are you? Well,
how's things going with the old show?... I been away couple
of months."
"Fine and dandy! Been away, uh? Well, it's good to get back to
the old town, heh? Summer hotel?"
"Unk?"
"Why, you're the waiter at Pat Maloney's, ain't you?"
Next morning Mr.
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