" But he took no notice of the
suggestion, and finally asked: "Where's Mr. Daly's name?" "There it is,"
I told him, "on the top of the page." "That's all right," he said,
"that's where he always puts it; but I don't see the 'W' in his name,"
and he eyed me distrustfully. Finally, he asked, "Phwat do yez want to
see Mr. Daly for?" "Business." "Business?" "Yes." It was my only
hope. "Phwat kind--theatres?" that was too much. "No." "What kind of
shows, then?" "Bench-shows." It was risky, but I was desperate.
"Bench--shows, is it--where?" The big man's face changed, and he began to
look interested. "New Haven." "New Haven, it is? Ah, that's going to
be a fine show. I'm glad to see you. Did you see a big dog in the other
room?" "Yes." "How much do you think that dog weighs?" "One hundred
and forty-five pounds." "Look at that, now! He's a good judge of dogs,
and no mistake. He weighs all of one hundred and thirty-eight. Sit down
and shmoke--go on and shmoke your cigar, I'll tell Mr. Daly you are
here." In a few minutes I was on the stage shaking hands with Mr. Daly,
and the big man standing around glowing with satisfaction.
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