Thar's the copper mines, the Bird Cafe Op'ry House, the Red Light,
the O. K. Restauraw, the Dance Hall, the New York Store an' sim'lar
hives of commerce. Which ondoubted the barkeeps is the hardest
worked folks in camp, an' yet none of 'em ever goes on the warpath
for shorter hours or longer pay, so far as I has notice. Barkeeps
that a-way is a light-hearted band an' cheerful onder their burdens.
Once when Old Monte brings the stage in late because of some boggin'
down he does over at a quicksand ford in the foothills, a shorthorn
who arrives with him as a passenger comes edgin' into the Red Light.
Bein' it's four o'clock in the mornin', the tenderfoot seems amazed
at sech activities as faro-bank, an' high-ball, said devices bein'
in full career; to say nothin' of the Dance Hall, which 'Temple of
Mirth,' as Hamilton who is proprietor tharof names it, is whoopin'
it up across the street.
"'Ain't you open rather late?' says the shorthorn. His tones is
apol'getic an' no offence is took.
"That's one of them gratefyin' things about the Southwest. That
temperate region don't go pirootin' 'round strivin' to run its brand
onto things as insults where none ain't meant. The Southwest ropes
only at the intention.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25