The Spenders - A Tale of the Third Generation by Harry Leon Wilson
page 99 of 465 (21%)
page 99 of 465 (21%)
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Chink was jest settin' down another like it. Now you know how that
Monte Cristo carried on after he'd proved up. Well, I got into his class, all right. I walked in past a counter where the Chink had crullers and gingerbread and a lot of low-grade stuff like that, and I set down to a little table with this here marble oil-cloth on it. "'Bring her back,' I says, kind of tremblin', and pointin' to the window. "The Chink pattered up and come back with a little slab of it on a tin plate. I jest let it set there. "'Bring it all,' I says; 'I want the hull ball of wax.' "'Six doll's,' he says, kind of cautious. "I pulled out my buckskin pouch. 'Bring her back and take it out of that,' I says--'when I get through,' I says. "He grinned and hurried back with it. Well, son, nothing had ever tasted so good to me, and I ain't say'n' that wa'n't the biggest worth of all my money't I ever got. I'd been trainin' fur that cake fur twenty odd year, and proddin' my imagination up fur the last ten weeks. "I et that all, and I et another one with jelly, and a bunch of little round ones with frostin' and raisins, and a bottle of brandied peaches, and about a dozen cream puffs, and half a lemon pie with frostin' on top, and four or five Charlotte rushes. The Chink had learned to make 'em all in 'Frisco. |
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