Let's go where we kin git a real
drink--and then we'll have a look at a show."
The "real drink" was followed by another. When Brevoort suggested a
third, Pete shook his head. "It's all right, if you want to hit it,
Ed--but it's takin' a big chanct. Somethin' might slip. 'T ain't the
drinkin'--but it's the drinkin' right now."
"Reckon you 're right," concurred Brevoort. "But I ain't had a drink
for so long--let's go see that show."
They crowded into a cheap and odoriferous nickel theater, and
straightway Pete forgot where he was and all about who he was in
watching the amazing offerings of the screen. The comedy feature
puzzled him. He thought that he was expected to laugh--folks all round
him were laughing--but the unreality of the performance left him
staring curiously at the final tangle of a comedy which struggled to be
funny to the bitter end. His attention was keen for the next picture,
a Western drama, entitled "The Battle of the Border," which ran swiftly
to lurid climax after climax, until even Pete's unsophisticated mind
doubted that any hero could have the astounding ability to get out of
tight places as did the cowboy hero of this picture.
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