'
"'There!' says the guy. 'Your own man's against you.'
"'He's not my man,' says Brown, lookin' at me disgusted.
"'This ain't my funeral,' I says to Brown. ''N' I ain't had a call to
butt in. If you tells me to butt--I butts.'
"'Go to it,' says Brown.
"'Do you throw a crutch in with this one?' I says to the guy.
"'What does he need a crutch for?' he says, givin' me a sour look.
"I takes the hoss by the head, backs him real sudden, 'n' he lifts the
off-rear high 'n' stiff.
"'He's a stringer,' I says.
"Brown gives the guy the laugh.
"'You might get thirty dollars from a Jew pedler for him,' he says.
'He'll make a high-class hunter--for paper, rags and old iron.'
"'How did you know that horse was string-halted so quick?' says Brown to
me when the guy has gone.
"'I told you I can smell a dink,' I says. But I don't tell him what I
sees at the door.
"'I think we could use you and your nose around here,' he says. 'Are you
stuck on Chicago?'
"'Me fur this joint,' I says, lookin' 'round. 'Do I have to get my hair
waved more 'n' twict a week?'
"'We'll waive that in your case,' he says, laughin' at his bum joke.
"'Don't do that again,' I says. 'I've a notion to quit right here.'
"'I'd hate to lose an old employee like you--I'll have to be more
careful,' he says--'n' I'm workin' fur Mr. Brown.
"About a week after this, I'm bringin' a hackney up to the showroom fur
Brown to look at, when a young chap dressed like a shoffer stops me.
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