"I'll be hully, bloomin' blowed if there wasn't a feller with a
nightshirt on up there in that joint."
The youth was bewildered for a moment, but presently he turned to smile
indulgently at the assassin's humor.
"Oh, you're a d--d liar," he merely said.
Whereupon the assassin began to gesture extravagantly, and take oath by
strange gods. He frantically placed himself at the mercy of remarkable
fates if his tale were not true.
"Yes, he did! I cross m' heart thousan' times!" he protested, and at the
moment his eyes were large with amazement, his mouth wrinkled in
unnatural glee.
"Yessir! A nightshirt! A hully white nightshirt!"
"You lie!"
"No, sir! I hope ter die b'fore I kin git anudder ball if there wasn't a
jay wid a hully, bloomin' white nightshirt!"
His face was filled with the infinite wonder of it. "A hully white
nightshirt," he continually repeated.
The young man saw the dark entrance to a basement restaurant. There was
a sign which read "No mystery about our hash"! and there were other age-
stained and world-battered legends which told him that the place was
within his means. He stopped before it and spoke to the assassin. "I
guess I'll git somethin' t' eat."
At this the assassin, for some reason, appeared to be quite embarrassed.
He gazed at the seductive front of the eating place for a moment. Then
he started slowly up the street.
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