Arizona republican., 1905-04-22


 over. yer don't know old John. I took the pyper before the words was feerly art of Ter martin, an in 'arf an our was pullin' Ikey Behn's door-bell. When e seen me, e grinned like a cat in a cream jug, an e arsked me into the li'bry like I was a rich uncle just 'ome from the dimOnd fields.
 Mar, yer might thing I was a-goin' to try to sell i'm the pyper on me own account, leavin' i'm to think that Becky was gettin' the price of it, an me percentage. Not much I want: not on your blessed life I was too clever for thet! I've seen real toffs be- fore an I knew Ikey for best clarss when I piped i'm off. So I tipped i'm off the stryte story, leavin' nothink art to speak of. an e listens affable. I 'ands i'm over the license at the end.
 Wen ed stuck the pyper in a can dle andy. an lighted big cigar with it. offerink the syme an a drink to me. e says. as cool as a pig before Christmas, says e: Mar, me man, wot dyer want for yer trouble? Yer done m a fyvor, an no dart abart thet!"
 No trouble, at all," I says. I'm proud to oblige such a perfeck gentle man as you be-" an with that I picks up me at an walks toward the door.
 "Wyte a bit" e says. I'll see if I ain't gort dollar on me-" an 'e smiles cordial. But e watches my fyce sharp. too, us I seen in the lookin' glarss. Then e goes to a writin' desk an looks in a dror. 'If happen yer don't want any O this yerself. yer can give it to 1 Becky" e says. an e seals up a packet an gives 1t to me like e was the bloomin Prince O Wyles. Sure, @ was ! tot clean darn to is boot legs, 1 give | yer my word
 | When I gort out O doors an opened ! the packet. I near fynted awe They was a wad O hundreds as come to a cool four tharsand dollars. I walked back on the bloomin' hatmosphere. ! l come into Bottle Myers. just as ! Big Becky was a singin' Sweet Wy ! lets" in long w'ite baby rig 'an bunnit as big as a 'ogs'ead. Lord. old Myer did myke a guy O thet wo- man somethink awful Wen she come off, was wytin' in the dressin' room | for 'er.
 '"My Lawd. Jock" she says. wen she seen me. ''yer didn't give up the pyper, did yer? Yer knew I was on'y foolin'. didn't yer? Don't sye yer let key get a hold of it. IL was good for a hundred to me any dye needed the money, if I wanted to give it to the ] pypers."
 ! Well, thet myde me sick. though I'd l expected as much. I was thet dis gusted thet she couldn't stand by 'er word for our thet I couldn't 'elp sy- ! in, An low abart Miss wolfstein. as was friend to yer. wen all the other women in tarn went back on yer, l N~.-- yer. don't yer?"
 Right then I seen abart as pluclky a ! fight between good an bad worked art on 'er fyce. as I ever seen in the ring London prize rules to a finish. An if you1l believe 1t. gents the big woman's s gratitude to the Wolfstein gal come art on top, an the stingy part of 'er was knocked art flat.
 ] It were q tough battle, though, I give yer my word. before I got the de- cision. She bit 'er lip till the blood ] come through the rouge, standin' there a great whoopin' big mountain O flesh with baby clothes an a pink sash on an a wig an bunnit like a bloomin' | Drury Lane Christmas Pantymine. | just stood an looked at 'er. I'm blowed if she didn't git almost pretty for 'alf a mo. wen she says:
 I'm glad yer did give it up. Jock: I'm glad. mar it's all over. But the five | hundred would ave saved me life, for old Bottle Meyer as give me the sack 1 today. an I don't know wotlI become O me-
 Wot did I do? I done wot the dirt fest sneak in the Pen would a did. an 'anded 'er the envelope an split the pile with 'er.
 Coffee John fetched a deep sigh. ] We'll gents. thet's were I got my start ] The wad didn't larst long for I was green an unused to money. but I syved art enough to set me up ere an
 ere I am yet. I never seen Big Becky sinct.
 Mar you see wot a man might 'ap- ! pen to stryke in a tarn lik this. Every bloomin' dye they's somebody up an ] somebody darn. I started withart a penny, an I pulled art a small but helegant fortune in weeks time. So can any man.
 Gents. l give you this stryte: Life in San Francisco is a bloomin' fayry tyle if a man knows is wye abart. an a bloke can bloomin' well blyme is own liver if e carn't find bit O ev- erythink ere e wants. from the Cali forny gal, to the Frisco flea. witch is a bleedin cousin to the Old Nick is self!
 An mar, T want to eggspress some think of wot I thinks O you buns. As fur as l see every one O yer is 'ard cyse, 'avin' indulged in wot yer might call questingable practices. withart yet bein', so to speak. of the criminal class. It don't go to myke man par ! ticklerly prard O 'umanity to keep a dime restaurant; 'owever, ewing knows wot I'd do if I couldn't sometimes in dulge in the bloomin' glow of 'ope. Vango. I allar you'll be a bad 'un, and l don't expeck to make a Sunday school superintendent O yer. Coffin uses such lengwidge as mykes a man
 wonder if e ain't bloomin' street fal1ir on a 'arf 'oliday, so I gives i'm up frankly an freely an simply opes lc hec-t ..E.r Ic. L..--