This is a chape hotel, isn't it?"
"You're a smart boy, an' I always said it, Jimmy. Let me open it," and
the old woman, with considerable alacrity, rose to her feet and came to
Jim's side.
"I'll open it myself, mother, that is, I if I had a kay. Haven't you got
one?"
"I have that same. I picked up a bunch of kays in the strate last
week."
She fumbled in her pocket, and drew out half a dozen keys of different
sizes, attached to a steel ring.
"Bully for you, old woman!" said Jim. "Give 'em here."
"Let me open the bag," said Mrs. Malone, persuasively.
"No, you don't," said her dutiful son. "'Tain't none of yours. It's
mine."
"The kays is mine," said his mother, "and I'll kape 'em."
"Give 'em here," said Jim, finding a compromise necessary, "and I'll
give you fifty cents out of what I get"
"That's the way to talk, darlint," said his mother, approvingly. "You
wouldn't have the heart to chate your ould mother out of her share?"
"It's better I did," said Jim; "you'll only get drunk on the money."
"Shure a little drink will do me no harm," said Mrs. Malone.
Meanwhile the young Arab had tried key after key until he found one that
fitted--the bag flew open, and Robert's humble stock of clothing lay
exposed to view. There was a woolen suit, four shirts, half a dozen
collars, some stockings and handkerchiefs.
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