Texas by the Tail

time.'

'I'd say you should,' she said firmly. 'If you can't win, you shouldn't play. But if you're so good, why-?'

He told her why briefly, giving her a glimpse of his bankroll by way of documentation. The reaction was not the one he had expected.

'So you were lying to me!' Her eyes flashed fire. 'You sat right there and told me you'd got drunk and lost your job, and didn't even have enough to-'

'Why, no, I didn't. I didn't say anything.'

'You did too! Just the same as! I tried to be nice, and you made a fool out of me!'

Mitch asked her if she wanted him to find another seat, and she tossed her head with a 'Humph!' That was the way with liars, she said. First they lied to you, and then they ran.

'I could give you a job, Red,' he persisted. 'You'd make a great deal of money, and-'

'You hush up! I know the kind of job you'd give me!'

'No, really…'

'Hush!'

Mitch hushed. The train grew very cold with the coming of night, and he lowered the windows around them. Then, shrugging down in the seat, he tried to pull his coat across his chest.

Red primly opened her suitcase. Making a production out of it, she took out a bulky something and began tucking it around her. At last, settled back cozily, she shot a haughty glance at Mitch.

'You see?' she said. 'You could be warm too if you hadn't lied to me.'

'That's all right,' Mitch said. 'You need your blanket for yourself.'

'Blanket? This is my coat, darn you!'

She flounced around in the seat, turning her back to him. There was a long moment of offended silence, and then she faced around to him, laughing.

'I guess it does look like a blanket, doesn't it? Here, come on and get under it.'

Of necessity, they had to move close together, almost face to face. The lights dimmed and went out, and there was only the Ozark moonlight drifting through the windows, and Red said it was almost like being in bed, wasn't it?

'Well, yes and no,' Mitch said. And Red gave him a reproving pinch.

'Mitch… did you mean it about the job?'

'Yes.'

'It's, uh, kind of dishonest, isn't it?'

He shrugged. 'It depends on your viewpoint, I guess.'

'And-and you really think I could do it?'

'I think so.' He hesitated carefully. 'I could be wrong, but sizing people up is a big part of my business, and you seem to fit the bill. In any event you'd have to work very hard with me, get a lot of training before you were ready.'

'Naturally,' she nodded. 'You have to work hard if you want to get any place in this world. Uh- about how much would I make, Mitch?'

'Twenty-five per cent of the take, after expenses. That could be a thousand or more a week, but there are a lot of weeks when you don't work.'

She had one more question to ask, but she fumbled around it. She was afraid, she said, that he might get the wrong idea about her.

'I think I know what you have in mind,' Mitch said. 'The answer is no, not as far as I'm concerned. Those relationships can and do develop, but-'

'Hush!' she said, strangely cross. 'I'm nineteen years old, for goodness sake! You don't have to spell everything out like I was some little kid.'

'Sorry. What was it you wanted to ask?'

She told him, adding that he probably thought it was none of her business. Mitch said that he didn't think anything of the kind. She had every right to know if they were going to be working together, and he was more than glad to tell her.

Behind the deliberate words, his mind raced. He wanted to tell her the truth-but what was the truth? He hadn't heard from Teddy in years. Probably she had divorced him, or perhaps some public-spirited citizen had killed her. It hadn't mattered until now. Now it mattered a great deal.

If he wanted this redhead, and, his disclaimer to the contrary, he did want her, all the way, work and play, he could give her only one answer. He knew it-sensed it-just as he knew-sensed the potential treasure of her body and face and mind.

'No,' he said, 'I'm not married. I was married, and I have a small son in boarding school, but my wife is dead.'

'Well, all right, then,' Red said. 'Now, you put your arms around me-no, this way, silly!-and we'll be real nice and warm.'

'Just like we were in bed?'

'Hush,' she said. 'I'll let you know when I want you to get fresh with me.'

In their penthouse bedroom, Red raised her arms to permit the removal of the housecoat, then, head bowed submissively, eyes half- closed, she went to the bed and spread herself upon it.

Mitch began flinging off his clothes. He had disposed of two shoes, one sock and a necktie when the door chimes sounded.

5

The youth entering hotel work may follow one of several courses. Since he is surrounded by many temptations in the form of women, drink and opportunities to steal, he is very often fired. But if he is able to behave himself (or to cover up his misbehavior), he normally has little trouble in (1) advancing to a responsible position, (2) not advancing- remaining a uniformed menial, or (3) using his hotel contacts to get good non-hotel employment.

Strangely-strangely on the surface, that is-most youths do the second thing.

The hotel boy, you see, is ageless. As long as he is reasonably able-bodied, he is a 'boy' at sixty- five just as he was at sixteen when he began his career as a page, valet or bellhop. Throughout the years his earnings remain about the same; he is making no more at the end than he was at the beginning. Contrariwise, however, he is making as much at the beginning. And to exchange his handsome tip-earned income for one of the low-pay jobs through which he must climb to the top is very hard for a youth to do.

Still, quite a few do make the exchange. They are repelled by the specter of themselves as uniformed grandpas. Or some interested executive takes them in hand, ordering them to get with it or get out. Or they are afflicted with late growth, suddenly finding themselves too large for the role of flunky. In any event, and for one reason or another, many of the young men Mitch had worked with as a bellboy had risen to highly responsible positions.

Foresightedly, and simply out of liking, he had helped them along the privation path to the top. Now, with rare exceptions, they were ready to help him: out of liking and gratitude; out of practical considerations-who is ever beyond the need of a safe buck? (and with a smooth character like Mitch it was always safe); out of the hotel man's contempt for the genus chump. And any non-professional gambler who gambles is considered a chump.

Inevitably, he will be taken. So why shouldn't a friend do the taking?

Mitch flung open the door. On the threshold stood a plump, rosy-cheeked man in striped trousers and morning coat. Grinning almost to his thinly-haired scalp, he held out his arms.

'Mitch, you sweet bastard! I just discovered that you'd checked in!'

Mitch let out a groan of feigned dismay. 'Turk! God save us all, it's Turk!' He dragged the plump