What did you sign there?"
"BY," I answered. I thought he looked queer, but we continued our talk,
and finally I told him of my wordy war with a man in New York, who
signed "SY," and remarked that I was going over to 195 Broadway, and
size him up some day. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, got up from
his chair, and, stretching his six feet two of anatomy to its full
length said:
"Well, old chap, I'm fagged. I'm going to bed. You'd better get a good
sleep and be thoroughly rested in the morning, because you'll need all
your strength. I'm the man that signed 'SY' in the New York office, and
I'm ready to take that licking."
[Illustration: "He looked at me ... then catching me by the collar...."]
Did I lick him? Not much, I couldn't have licked one side of him, and we
were the best of chums during my stay in the city.
CHAPTER XII
HOW A SMART OPERATOR WAS SQUELCHED--THE GALVESTON FLOOD
A little while after this "Stub" Hanigan, another operator, invited Dick
and me to go down to a chop house with him for lunch, and we accepted. I
say chop house when in reality it was one of those numerous little
hotels that abound all over New York where one can get a good meal for
very little money.
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