I see him now rising
on his elbow and transfixing the two of us with long, prophetic
forefinger:--
"The secret of my success," he said, impressively, "I lay to--"
We never found out to what he laid it, for we both burst out laughing,
and Crafts, after a passing look of surprise, joined in. But that
finger prophesied truly. His pluck won the day, and won it fairly.
They were two good comrades in a tight place. I shouldn't want any
better.
Running around was only working off steam, of which we had plenty.
The long rides, on Harlem assignments, in horse-cars with straw
in the bottom that didn't keep our feet from freezing until all
feeling in them was gone, were worse, a good deal. At the mere
thought of them I fall to nursing my toes for reminiscent pangs.
However, I had at least enough to eat. At the downtown Delmonico's
and the other swell restaurants through the windows of which I had
so often gazed with hungry eyes, I now sometimes sat at big spreads
and public dinners, never without thinking of the old days and the
poor fellows who might then be having my hard luck.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151