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"Could I 'ave a word with yer, Mr Jones?" he mumbled. "'Ello, Smacker! Just gittin' 'ome, like myself?" said Jonah. "Not much use gittin' 'ome to an empty 'ouse," said Joe, with a doleful whine, "an' I've earned nuthin' this week." "'Ow do yer expect to find work, when the only place yer look fer it is in the bottom of a beer-glass?" said Jonah.
"Faith, I done some divin' without tryin', but 'twas ragged work I pulled a belly smacker every time. I got to tame that hammick o' mine. It throwed me four times hand-running and the only way I could hold it down was to unhook it and lay it on the floor." "Sleep well then?" "I did not.
"If I ran this fortune-telling dump, I'd lift it out of the ten-twent'-thirt' class, to an even smacker maybe two. I'd give 'em a written reading with 'a hunch' in it. They all play hunches down there. Hoss racing, stock market, numbers rackets, and such. They'd play my hunches. If they win, I'd have wide advertisement; if they lose, nothing said.
Jonah went to the door and called Joe, who was listening dismally to the hum of voices raised in argument and the pleasant clink of glasses in the bar, now filled with workmen carrying their bags of tools, their faces covered with the sweat and grime of the day. "Fetch me a cab, Smacker," he said. "My wife's been taken ill. She fainted in the street, and they brought her here to recover."
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