er
Dillon don't know the difference, so what's the odds? Anyway, they're
what 'Loyshy brought for presents, and I'll bet they're the only pair
west of Sixth-avenue.

XX

THE CASE OF RUSTY QUINN

Say, I ain't one of the kind to go around makin' a noise like a pickle,
just because I don't happen to have the same talents that's been handed
out to others. About all I got to show is a couple of punch
distributors that's more or less educated, and a block that's set on
some solid. Not much to get chesty over; but the combination has kept
me from askin' for benefit performances, and as a rule I'm satisfied.

There's times, though, when I wish--say, don't go givin' me the hee-haw
on this--when I wish I could sing. Ah, I don't mean bein' no grand
opera tenor, with a throat that has to be kept in cotton battin' and a
reputation that needs chloride of lime. What would suit me would be
just a plain, every day la-la-la outfit of pipes, that I could turn
loose on coon songs when I was alone, or out with a bunch in the
moonlight. I'd like to be able to come in on a chorus now and then,
without havin' the rest of the crowd turn on me and call for the hook.

What music I've got is the ingrowin' kind. When anybody starts up a
real lively tune I can feel it throbbin' and bumpin' away in my head,
like a blowfly in a milk bottle; but if ever I try uncorkin' one of my
warbles, the people on the next block call in the children, and the
truck drivers begin huntin' for the dry axle.

Now look at what bein' musical did for Rusty Quinn. Who's Rusty?
Well, he ain't much of anybody. I used to wonder, when I'd see him
kickin' around under foot in different places, how it was he had the
nerve to go on livin'. Useless! He appeared about as much good to the
world as a pair of boxin' gloves would be to the armless wonder.

First I saw of Rusty was five or six years back, when he was hangin'
around my trainin' camp. He was a long, slab sided, loose jointed,
freckled up kid then, always wearin' a silly, good natured grin on his
homely face. About all the good you could say of Rusty was that he
could play the mouth organ, and be good natured, no matter how hard he
was up against it.

If there was anything else he could do well, no one ever found it out,
though he tried plenty of things. And he always had some great scheme
rattlin' round in his nut, something that was goin' to win him the big
stake. But it was a new scheme eve