Midge tore the letter into a hundred pieces and scattered them over the floor.
“Money, money, money!” he said. “They must think I’m made o’ money. I s’pose the old woman’s after it too.”
He opened his mother’s letter:
dear Michael Connie wonted me to rite and say you must beet the dutchman and he is sur you will and wonted me to say we wont you to rite and tell us about it, but I gess you havent no time to rite or we herd from you long beffore this but I wish you would rite jest a line or 2 boy becaus it wuld be better for Connie then a barl of medisin. It wuld help me to keep things going if you send me money now and then when you can spair it but if you cant send no money try and fine time to rite a letter onley a few lines and it will please Connie. jest think boy he hasent got out of bed in over 3 yrs. Connie says good luck.
“I thought so,” said Midge. “They’re all alike.”
The third letter was from New York. It read:
Hon:—This is the last letter you will get from me before your champ, but I will send you a telegram Saturday, but I can’t say as much in a telegram as in a letter and I am writeing this to let you know I am thinking of you and praying for good luck.
Lick him good hon and don’t wait no longer than you have to and don’t forget to wire me as soon as its over. Give him that little old left of yours on the nose hon and don’t be afraid of spoiling his good looks because he couldn’t be no homlier than he is. But don’t let him spoil my baby’s pretty face. You won’t will you hon.
Well hon I would give anything to be there and see it, but I guess you love Haley better than me or you wouldn’t let him keep me away. But when your champ hon we can do as we please and tell Haley to go to the devil.
Well hon I will send you a telegram Saturday and I almost forgot to tell you I will need some more money, a couple hundred say and you will have to wire it to me as soon as you get this. You will won’t you hon.
I will send you a telegram Saturday and remember hon I am pulling for you.
Well goodbye sweetheart and good luck.
“They’re all alike,” said Midge. “Money, money, money.”
Tommy Haley, shining from his ablutions, came in from the adjoining room.
“Thought you’d be layin’ down,” he said.
“I’m goin’ to,” said Midge, unbuttoning his orange shoes.
“I’ll call you at six and you can eat up here without no bugs to pester you. I got to go down and give them birds their tickets.”
“Did you hear from Goldberg?” asked Midge.
“Didn’t I tell you? Sure; fifteen weeks at five hundred, if we win. And we can get a guarantee o’ twelve thousand, with privileges either in New York or Milwaukee.”
“Who with?”
“Anybody that’ll stand up in front of you. You don’t care who it is, do you?”
“Not me. I’ll make ’em all look like a monkey.”
“Well you better lay down aw’ile.”
“Oh, say, wire two hundred to Grace for me, will you? Right away; the New York address.”
“Two hundred! You just sent her three hundred last Sunday.”
“Well, what the hell do you care?”
“All right, all right. Don’t get sore about it. Anything else?”
“That’s all,” said Midge, and dropped onto the bed.
“And I want the deed done before I come back,” said Grace as she rose from the table. “You won’t fall down on me, will you, hon?”
“Leave it to me,” said Midge. “And don’t spend no more than you have to.”
Grace smiled a farewell and left the café. Midge continued to sip his coffee and read his paper.
They were in Chicago and they were in the middle of Midge’s first week in vaudeville. He had come straight north to reap the rewards of his glorious victory over the broken down Dutchman. A fortnight had been spent in learning his act, which consisted of a gymnastic exhibition and a ten minutes’ monologue on the various excellences of Midge Kelly. And now he was twice daily turning ’em away from the Madison Theater.
His breakfast over and his paper read, Midge sauntered into the lobby and asked for his key. He then beckoned to a bellboy, who had been hoping for that very honor.
“Find Haley, Tommy Haley,” said Midge. “Tell him to come up to my room.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Kelly,” said the boy, and proceeded to break all his former records for diligence.
Midge was looking out of his seventh-story window when Tommy answered the summons.
“What’ll it be?” inquired his manager.
There was a pause before Midge replied.
“Haley,” he said, “twenty-five percent’s a whole lot o’ money.”
“I guess I got it comin’, ain’t I?” said Tommy.
“I don’t see how you figger it. I don’t see where you’re worth it to me.”
“Well,” said Tommy, “I didn’t expect nothin’ like this. I thought you was satisfied with the bargain. I don’t want to beat nobody out o’ nothin’, but I don’t see where you could have got anybody else that would of did all I done for you.”
“Sure, that’s all right,” said the champion. “You done a lot for me in Philly. And you got good money for it, didn’t you?”
“I ain’t makin’ no holler. Still and all, the big money’s still ahead of us yet. And if it hadn’t of been for
