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"Sylves'!" screamed both women at once. Chicago! That vast, far-off city that seemed in another world. Chicago! A name to conjure with for wickedness. "W'y, yaas," continued Sylves', "lots of boys I know dere. Henri an' Joseph Lascaud an' Arthur, dey write me what money dey mek' in cigar. I can mek' a livin' too. I can mek' fine cigar. See how I do in New Orleans in de winter."
Chicago was such a wonderful city, said Sylves'. Why, it was always like New Orleans at Mardi Gras with the people. He had seen Joseph Lascaud, and he had a place to work promised him. He was well, but he wanted, oh, so much, to see maman and Louisette. But then, he could wait. Was ever such a wonderful letter?
The train rumbled in on the platform, and two pair of eyes opened wide for the first glimpse of Sylves'. The porter, all officiousness and brass buttons, bustled up to Ma'am Mouton. "This is Mrs. Mouton?" he inquired deferentially. Ma'am Mouton nodded, her heart sinking. "Where is Sylves'?" "He is here, madam." There appeared Joseph Lascaud, then some men bearing Something.
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