"Dutch," says I, "you ain't a-goin' to make it through to Lane's
Landing if you don't pull your freight," and I drags the darn fool
out and starts him off.

When I came in she was huddled onto a goods box, shaking and sobbing
like any woman, while the boys sat around and champed their bits and
stomped.

"Take me away, Billy," she says. "For God's sake take me away before
she sees me." She slid down to the floor and cried something awful.
Gents, that was sure the real distress, nothing soft and sloppy, but
hard, wrenchy, deep ones, like you hear at a melodrayma. 'Twas only
back in '99 that I seen an awful crying match, though both of the
ladies had been drinking, so I felt like I was useder to emotion than
the balance of the boys, and it was up to me to take a holt.

"Madam," says I, and somehow the word didn't seem out of place any
more--"Madam, why do you want to avoid this party?"

"Take me away," she says. "It's my daughter. She's going to find me
this way, all rough and immodest and made fun of. But that's the
worst you can say, isn't it? I'm a square woman--you know I am,
don't you, boys?" and she looked at us fierce and pleadin'.

"Sure," says Joe. "We'll boost you with the girl all right."

"She thinks her father's dead, but he isn't--he ran away with a show
woman--a year after we were married. I never told her about it, and
I've tried to make a little lady of her."