roosters began to crow and the dogs began barking all over Mexican town. At last the sun came up and turned the desert and the ’dobe town red in a minute. I began to shake the man on the bed. Waking men who didn’t want to get up was part of my job, and I didn’t let up on him until I had him on his feet.
“Hello, kid, come to call me?”
I told him I’d come to call him to a Harvey House breakfast. “You owe me a good one. I brought you home last night.”
“Sure, I’m glad to have company. Wait till I wash up a bit.” He took his soap and towel and comb and went out into the patio, a neat little sanded square with flowers and vines all around, and washed at the trough under the pump. Then he called me to come and pump water on his head. After he’d stood the gush of cold water for a few seconds, he straightened up with his teeth chattering.
“That ought to get the whisky out of a fellow’s head, oughtn’t it? Felt good, Tom.” Presently he began feeling his side pockets. “Was I dreaming something, or did I take a string of jackpots last night?”
“The money’s in your grip,” I told him. “You don’t deserve it, for you were too drunk to take care of it. I had to come after you and pick it up out of the mud.”
“All right. I’ll go halvers. Easy come, easy go.”
I told him I didn’t want anything off him but breakfast, and I wanted that pretty soon.
“Go easy, son. I’ve got to change my shirt. This one’s wet.”
“It’s worse than wet. You oughtn’t to go up town without changing. You’re a stranger here, and it makes a bad impression.”