Rose read it out loud t' me, whilst I helt the kid. It wasn't a long letter, but, somehow, I never could recollect afterwards just the exac' words that was in it. I drawed, though, that Mace was havin' a _way_-up time. She was seein' all the shows, she said, meetin' slathers of folks, and had a room with a nice, sorta middle-aged lady, in a place where a lot of young fellers and gals hung out t' study all kinds of fool business. Some of 'em she liked, and some she didn't. Some took her fer a greeney, and some was fresh. But she was learnin' a pile--and 'd heerd Susy's Band! "Is that all?" I ast when Rose was done. "Yas, Cupid." "Nothin' about me?" "No." "Does she give her _ad_dress?" "Just Gen'ral Deliv'ry." "Thank y', Rose." "Stay t' dinner, Cupid. I'm goin' t' have chicken fricassee." But I didn't feel like eatin'. I put the kid down and come away. I made towards Dutchy's--pretty blue, I was, a-course. "Cupid," I says, "bad luck runs in you' fambly like the wooden laig." But, mind y', I wasn't goin' with the idear of boozin' up, _no,_ ma'am. _I_ figger that if a gal's worth stewin' over any, she's a hull lot _too_ good fer a man that gits _drunk_. I went 'cause I knowed the boys was there; and them days the boys was _mighty_ nice to me. Wal, this day, I'm powerful glad I went. If I hadn't, it's likely I'd never 'a' got that bully _po_-sition, 'r played Cupid again (without knowin' it)--and so got the one chanst I was a-prayin' fer. Now, this is what happened: I'd just got inside Dutchy's, and was a-standin' behind Buckshot Milliken, watchin' him bluff the station-agent with two little pair, when I heerd Hairoil a-talkin' to hisself, kinda. "Dear me suz!" he says (he was peerin' acrosst the street towards the deepot), "what blamed funny things I see when I ain't got no gun!" A-course, we all stampeded over and took a squint. "Wal, when did _that_ blow in?" says Bill Rawson. And, "Say! ketch me whilst I faint!" goes on one of the Lazy X boys, making believe as if he was weak in the laigs. The rest of just haw-hawed. A young feller we'd never seen afore was comin' cater-corners from the station. He was a slim-Jim, sorta salla complected, jaw clean scraped, and he had on a pair of them tony pinchbug spectacles. He was rigged out fit t' kill--grey store clothes, dicer same colour as the suit, sky-blue shirt, socks tatooed green, and gloves. He passed clost, not lookin' our _di_rection, and made fer the Arnaz rest'rant. Just as he got right in front of it, he come short and begun readin' the sign that's over the door-- Meals 25c Start in and It's a Habit You cain't Quit. Then we seen him grin like he was _turrible_ tickled, and take out a piece of paper t' set somethin' down. Next, in he slides. We all dropped back and lined up again. "Not a sewin'-machine agent, 'r he'd 'a' wore a duster," says Hairoil.