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Hurst, Fannie, 1889-1968

"Gaslight Sonatas"

Cigar-stores ain't the
place for you, Jimmie. You seen how only clerking in them was nearly your
ruination--the little gambling-room-in-the-back kind that you pick out.
They ain't cigar-stores; they're only false faces for gambling."
"You know it all, don't you?"
"Oh, I'm dealing it to you straight! There's too many sporty crowds loafing
around those joints for a fellow like you to stand up under. I found you in
one, and as yellow-fingered and as loafing as they come, a new job a week,
a--"
"Yeh, and there was some pep to variety, too."
"Don't throw over, Jimmie, what my getting you out of it to a decent job in
a department store has begun to do for you. And you're making good, too.
Higgins told me to-day, if you don't let your head swell, there won't be a
fellow in the department can stack up his sales-book any higher."
"Aw!"
"Don't throw it all over, Jimmie--and me--for a crop of dyed red hair and a
few dollars to ruin yourself with."
He shot her a look of constantly growing nervousness, his mouth pulled to
an oblique, his glance constantly toward the door.
"Don't keep no date with her to-night, Jimmie.


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