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At first I thought he was a spieler, and afterwards I thought that he was a mug. He used to say that a man had to do it these times; that he was honest once and a fool, and was robbed and starved in consequences by his friends and relations; but now he intended to take all that he could get.
So when we stopped for dinner and for supper and for bed, each time this brazen-lunged spieler stood forth and reiterated the main points of the discourse "for the hareem," as Doughty would say, whose account of the attitude of the Arabs to their women often reminds me of the Alaskan Indians. It was interesting, but I should have preferred to edit the recapitulation.
The next thing we run across was a show of trained horses. They had a trick mule outside to attract the crowds, and the spieler says the man, woman, or child what can stay on the mule's back one minute gets a dollar and a free ticket to the show. So we watched a few minutes and saw quite a few fellows try, and the mule threw every one before the minute was up.
And she's pretty, and young-looking, and a regular swell. Len says their home is one of the kind where the rubberneck auto stops while the spieler tells the crowd who lives there, and how he made his money. But they haven't any kids, Len told me. He's crazy about 'em. But his wife don't want any. I wish you could have seen Len's face when he was talking about it."
They finally got cleaned up and we all went back to Birmingham, where the strike was over. "Show us that spieler," they said, "who told us the wage system was the worst kind of slavery. If daily wages is slavery, God grant that they never set us free again." The hard times I have been describing were in the early nineties. The year before there had been a financial crash.
So, us to the midway, and we ain't more than half in when we runs across the wild beast show. There's a cage on the platform in front of the show, with a pretty fierce lookin' lion in it, and the spieler he's telling the folks how this lion has eaten four or five people, and he ain't never been sub-dued.
Daily, when he annoyed her while he was drunk. But sobered up, he seemed to wish to make amends." "Oh, Lord!" My friend's mouth gaped. "Amends? Yep. That's his nature. Might call it mendin' his pocket and his lip. And you don't yet savvy that your 'lady' 's Montoyo's wife his woman, anyhow?" "Montoyo? Who's Montoyo?" "The monte thrower. That same spieler who trimmed us," he rapped impatiently.
How about that feed? and Boggsie waved his hand like a Tuesday evening spieler and said, 'I have provided for that, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Brown, my cousin, invites you all down to her home in Palo Alto for a little refreshment. Everyone is welcome. "I had to pick my fat friend up. Boggsie's getting out of the whole thing without spending a bean knocked him cold. But he got his wind later.
But I, Rupert Killam, have at last discovered the true hiding place of that secret hoard." Can you beat that for a batty conversation to be handed across the table, right on Broadway at high noon? But say, take it from me, this Rupert party is some convincin' spieler.
"And are you still working at Grinder Brothers'?" "No. I got tired of slavin' there for next to nothing. I got sick of my step-father waitin' outside for me on pay-day, with a dirty, drunken, spieler pal of his waitin' round the corner for him. There wasn't nothin' in it. It got to be too rough altogether.... Blast Grinders!" "And what are you doing now?" "Sellin' papers.
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