"I won't go," he cried. "No, if I gotta tell the conductor I'm under five
I better stay home. I don't wanna go. He'll know I'm 'leven going on
twelve."
"All right, all right," sighed Sammy's father. "But you see," he added,
turning to Mishkin, "it ain't on account of wanting to have a minyon that
my son has such high ideas."
SOCIABLE GAMBLERS
"Yes, it do interfere with their game," said Bill Cochran, the deputy
sheriff from Tom Freeman's office. He cut himself a slice of chewing
tobacco and glanced meditatively out of the window of the Dearborn Street
bastile. Whereat he repeated with gentle emphasis, "It do."
A long rain was leaning against the walls of the county jail. A dismal
yellowish gloom drifted up and down the street. Deputy Cochran, with an
effort, detached his eye from the lugubrious scene of the rain and the
day-dark and spoke up brightly.
"But at that," said he, "I don't think their being doomed for to hang can
be held entirely responsible for their losing. You see, I've made quite a
study of the game o' rhummy, not to mention pinochle and other such games
of chance, and if I do say so myself I doubt there's the man in Chicago,
doomed for to hang or otherwise, who would find me an easy mark.
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