Jem Belter, who "hammered" a typewriter at
Schwab's Brewery, Tom Wetherbee, who was "in a downtown office," Bert
Johnson, who was "out for the Delkoff," and Nick Baumgarten, who having
for some time "beaten" certain streets as assistant salesman for the
same illustrious machine, had been recently elevated to a "territory" of
his own, and was therefore in high spirits.
"Say!" he said. "Let's give him a fine dinner. We can make it between
us. Beefsteak and mushrooms, and potatoes hashed brown. He likes them.
Good old G. S. I shall be right glad to see him. Hope foreign travel has
not given him the swell head."
"Don't believe it's hurt him a bit. His letter didn't sound like it.
Little Georgie ain't a fool," said Jem Belter.
Tom Wetherbee was looking over the letter referred to. It had been
written to the four conjointly, towards the termination of Selden's
visit to Mr. Penzance. The young man was not an ardent or fluent
correspondent; but Tom Wetherbee was chuckling as he read the epistle.
"Say, boys," he said, "this big thing he's keeping back to tell us when
he sees us is all right, but what takes me is old George paying a visit
to a parson. He ain't no Young Men's Christian Association.
Pages:
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705