Horse racing -- Fiction; Thoroughbred horse -- Fiction
"'I was just practisin' one of them quick exits you're always talkin'
about,' I says.
"'All right,' he says. 'Keep on practising till you come to that door!
Follow on down the street till you reach the river and then jump in!'
"'I guess I'm fired--is that it?' I says.
"'You're a good guesser,' says De Mott.
"The chicken has come over by this time.
"'Are you hurt, Blister?' she says.
"'Not a bit, girlie,' I says, 'n' starts to go change my clothes.
"'Wait till I give you an order on the box-office for your money,' says
De Mott.
"'Well, get busy,' I says to him. 'I've stood it around where you are
about as long as is healthy.'
"'What's that?' says the chicken to De Mott. 'You don't mean to tell
me you fired him!'
"'I don't mean to tell you _anything_ that's none of your business,'
says De Mott. 'Go dress for the next act!'
"'Not on your life!' she says. 'You can't fire him; it wasn't _his_
fault! I'll write Banks a _lot_ I know about you!'
"De Mott pulls out his watch.
"'I'll give you just _one minute_ to start for your dressing-room,' he
says to her.
"The chicken knocks the watch out of his hand.
"'_That_ for your old turnip and you, too!' she says.
"'You're fired!' yells De Mott.
"'Oh, no, I ain't!' says the chicken. 'That's my way of breaking a
contract and a watch at the same time. You needn't write an order for
me,' she says. 'I'm overdrawn a week now.'
"When we're leavin', after we gets our street clothes on, De Mott stops
us.
"'There's a way you can both get back,' he says to the chicken.
"'When I sell out,' says she, 'it'll be to a real man for real money,
not to a cheap ham-fat for a forty-dollar job.'
"The chicken won't stay at the hotel where the bunch is that night, so
we both moves over to another. When we pays our bill I have seven
bucks left 'n' she has six.
"'We'll decide what to do in the morning, Blister,' she says. 'I've
got a headache, so I think I'll hit the hay.'
"She goes to her room 'n' I sets 'n' studies how this is goin' to wind
up, till three o'clock.
"We has breakfast together the next mawnin' about noon.
"'Well,' says the chicken, 'I've been up against it before, but this is
tougher than usual. Everybody I know is broke or badly bent.'
"'Same here,' I says.
"'You poor kid!' she says. 'What'll you do?'
"'Don't worry none about me,' I says. 'I can get to New Awlins
somehow--they're racin' down there. But what about you?'
"'If I could get back East,' she says, 'I know a floor-walker at Macy's
who'll stake me to a job till I can get placed.'
"'You stick around here,' I says, when we're through eatin'. 'I'll go
out 'n' give the burg a lookin' over.'
"'I've got that Johnny's phone number,' she says. 'I wonder if he'd
stand for a touch without getting too fresh?'
"I goes to the desk 'n' wigwags the clerk. He's a fair-haired boy with
a alabaster dome.
"'Are they runnin' poolrooms in the village?' I says.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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