The dog man said he used to know
a George Black years ago in Johnstown, Pa., who was a puddler in
the mills there. Johnny answered, "That's my father. He is manager
of those mills now, and what's more, he can lick any man in Cambria
County, just the same as I can lick any man in New York City." The
last was announced in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard all over
the place. Jim, I got it four times just from the overflow. Now,
you know merely because Johnny's father can lick any man in Cambria
County, is that any reason why I should land out in the middle of
the car track? Not at all.
Along about ten in the evening Bud wanted to keep the seven-o'clock-
dinner date with the heiresses, but the rest of the gang were too
busy. We blew into one of those concert halls over on Eighth Avenue
where they have sand on the floor, red-white-and-blue tissue paper
around the edge of the ceiling, no programme because it costs too
much, and a bum piano for an orchestra. The Professor wore no coat,
but he certainly knew his way around the ivories. A sad-looking,
thin guy, with a four days' growth and a large near-diamond stud,
came out and announced that the next turn was the feature of the
evening--the winsome Sisters Montclair, who would sing a lovely
waltz ballad written expressly for them, entitled, "The Check
Was Forged--He Had Went Too Far.
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