I summarize, as nearly as I can recollect, Buddie's account of the Abraham Myers adventure.
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It was on account of my roping Abraham in, Jennie, that I had to cause you that terrible crying spell at the restaurant. But you will sure forgive me when you come to realize that it is not every afternoon that a fellow comes across a hundred-dollar wad on the floor of Madison Square Garden waiting for some bloke to pick her up.
While Abe and I were watching the poor devils spinning around the track, I slyly pumped out that he is the only son and hope of Jonathan Myers, owner of the knitting-mill that put Myersville on the map. Having once been a hayseed myself, Jennie, I know what pulls strong with them. So, to get a line aboard Abe, I first gave him an hour of soft soap. "Yes, brother, I spent the summer of 1892 up in Squeedunk in your part of the state. It sure is a garden of Eden ....How did this year's potato crop pan out?....And I myself know everything from A to Z about breaking in a colt. I was raised on a farm up in New Hampshire."
After Abe showed he thought I am the best fellow ever and I had found him to be an easy mark, it was time to discuss money. "Money, brother! You have a little and you love it. If only a fellow has money, he can go everywhere and have everything. Wouldn't you like me to show where you can take your money, AND IN THE SHAKE OF A LAMB'S TAIL MAKE MORE MONEY OUT OF IT?"
Abraham right away bit hard. So I dropped the subject for an hour. I didn't want him to smell a
