trousers that disappeared when they come to the bottom of her Mother Hubbard. This here garment was a thing without no neck or sleeves that begin bulgin’ at the top and spread out gradual all the way down, like a croquette. To top her off, she had a jockey cap; and—believe me—I’d of played her mount acrost the board. They was plenty o’ class in the field with her, but nothin’ that approached her speed. Later on I seen her several times round the hotel, wearin’ somethin’ near the same outfit, without the jockey cap and with longer croquettes.
We set there in the sand till people begun to get up and leave. Then we trailed along back o’ them to the Breakers’ porch, where they was music to dance and stuff to inhale.
“We’ll grab a table,” I says to the Missus. “I’m dyin’ o’ thirst.”
But I was allowed to keep on dyin’.
“I can serve you somethin’ soft,” says the waiter.
“I’ll bet you can’t!” I says.
“You ain’t got no locker here?” he says.
“What do you mean—locker?” I ast him.
“It’s the locker liquor law,” he says. “We can serve you a drink if you own your own bottles.”
“I’d just as soon own a bottle,” I says. “I’ll become the proprietor of a bottle o’ beer.”
“It’ll take three or four hours to get it for you,” he says, “and you’d have to order it through the order desk. If you’re stoppin’ at one o’ the hotels and want a drink once in a w’ile, you better get busy and put in an order.”