Such was the man who hit
me in the back.
"Hello, youngster, what's your name?"
Rubbing my lame shoulder, I said, "Well it might be Jones and it might
be Smith, but it ain't, and I don't know what affair it is of yours, any
way."
"Oh! come now, boy, don't get huffy. You've got an honest face and
appear to be in trouble. What is it? Out with it. You're evidently a
tenderfoot and this hell-hole of vice isn't a place for a boy of your
years. What's your name? Come over here at this table and sit down and
tell me."
Something in his bluff hearty manner gave me hope and after sitting
down, I said.
"My name is Martin Bates. I'm a telegraph operator by profession and
blew into this town this morning on my uppers. I can't get work and I
haven't a red cent to my name. It is necessary for me to live, and as I
can sing a little bit, I came in here to see if I could get a job
warbling. I won't beg or steal, and there is no one here I can borrow
from. There's my story. Not a very pleasant one is it?"
"There may have been worse. How long since you've had anything to eat.
Pages:
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314