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Show 20 "Pick him up and carry him," Weitz ordered. "Throw him over your shoulders." "He weighs two hundred pounds!" Weitz's eyes narrowed as though he were examining Karl for the first time that day. "How old are you?" he asked. "Sixteen." "What's your birth date?" "November twentieth, eighteen ninety -- f..five," Karl stammered. Weitz's lip curled. "When you come back tomorrow, bring your birth certificate. Now get that thick Mick out of here. And when he can hear again, tell him he's fired, too." "Jame's not a Mick," Karl muttered. "He was born in America." Then Weitz's words struck him. "Fired...too? You mean I'm fired?" "Why, no." Weitz didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "You'll have your job back whenever you bring the birth certificate that proves you're sixteen." He turned and stomped off, yelling, "Come on, Dutch, quit your bellyaching." Karl felt like he'd been hit in his middle with the same billet that had felled Jame. He'd lost his job! After less than a day, he'd lost it. And all because of Jame's foolish practical joke. He pinched Jame's hard, to make him come awake, resisting the urge to punch Jame in the nose for making him lose his job. "Move over, kid. Let me help you." Big John Reilly hauled Jame to his feet, but Jame's legs curled like wilted lettuce. "Stick your arm under his shoulder, Karl," Big John said. "I'll get him |