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Updated: May 27, 2025
Don't you suppose I been around and around quite some? Just because she likes to have a good time and outdresses these dames here is that any reason they should get out their hammers? Ain't she earned some right to a good time, tell me, after being married when she was a silly kid to Two-spot Kenner, the swine and God bless the trigger finger of the man that bumped him off!
Hand over the roll." Young Kenner swore and extended his arm behind Casey. "That leaves me six bits," he growled, as the big man dropped something into his coat pocket. "You might give me back ten, anyway." "Couldn't possibly. I have to have something to square myself with if this leaks out. Just back up, till you can get around my car.
And Jackson, the idiot, has just fired the only real cook in Red Gap. Yes, sir; he's let the coons go. It come out that Waterman had sneaked out that suit of his golf clothes that Kate Kenner wore in the minstrel show, so he fired them both, and now I got to support 'em, because, as long as we're friends here, I don't mind telling you I egged the coon on to do it."
It has more than once been remarked in England that the old-fashioned amateur patron and critic, kenner is dying out, and that his modern substitute must not only choose, but experiment not only admire, but be admired. This spirit, spreading through a nation, will not make it a nation of artists, but will make the nation's artists amateurs.
He wished now that he had taken a look over his shoulder when young Kenner was unloading the car at Smiling Lou's command. He would be better prepared now for possible emergencies. He remembered, with a bit of comfort, that the bootlegger had piled a good deal of stuff upon the ground before Casey first heard the clink of bottles. A grunt of relief signaled his location of a box containing grub.
"The law's merciful as, it can afford to be, and I've got a heart like an ox. Got any jack on yuh?" "I'm just about cleaned, and that's the Gawd's truth. Have a heart, can't yuh? A man's got t' live." "Slip me five hundred, anyway. How much is your load?" "Sixty gallons bottled, most of it. Two kegs in bulk." Young Kenner was proceeding stoically with the unloading.
Casey, still balefully silent, emptied first one pocket and then the other into Kenner's cupped palm. With heavy sarcasm he felt in his watch pocket and produced a nickel slipped there after paying street-car fare. He held it out to young Kenner between his finger and thumb, still gazing straight before him. Young Kenner took it and grinned. "Oh, well you're rich!
Kate Kenner, the guest of honour being his lordship the Earl of Brinstead, "at present visiting in this city. Covers," it added, "would be laid for fourteen." I saw that Cousin Egbert would have been made the ambassador to conduct what must have been a business of some delicacy. Among the members of the North Side set the report occasioned the wildest alarm.
I've hauled hootch all over the country, an' I never yet was dusted off so hard by the law that I didn't come through with a roll uh jack they'd overlooked. "Take this highjackin' to-night, for instance. Look what Smilin' Lou took off'n me! And yet," Kenner turned and grinned impudently at Casey, "don't never think I didn't come out a long jump ahead!
You had all the county officials bluffed into thinking you were the victim of that Black Butte bunch, instead of being in cahoots. That alibi of yours was a bird. Does Kenner, here, know you hit the hootch pretty strong at times? Bootlegging's bad business for a man that laps it up the way you do. Where's that piece of change, Kenner?"
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