"Son, I ain't given to preaching. This is the first time I ever
come to the penitent form, and you put me there yourself--hard.
I've seen a few in my time, and I ain't fastidious so as you can
notice it. But let me tell you right not that I'm worth the
devil alone knows how many millions, and that I'd sure give it
all, right here on the bar, to turn down your hand. Which means
I'd give the whole shooting match just to be back where I was
before I quit sleeping under the stars and come into the hen-coops
of cities to drink cocktails and lift up my feet and ride.
Son, that's that's the matter with me, and that's the way I feel
about it. The game ain't worth the candle. You just take care of
yourself, and roll my advice over once in a while. Good night."
He turned and lurched out of the place, the moral effect of his
utterance largely spoiled by the fact that he was so patently
full while he uttered it.
Still in a daze, Daylight made to his hotel, accomplished his
dinner, and prepared for bed.
"The damned young whippersnapper!" he muttered. "Put my hand
down easy as you please. My hand!"
He held up the offending member and regarded it with stupid
wonder.
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