“Dot monkey?” said Jake. “Vot you talkin’ aboyt! She vouldn’t lishn to me neider, honesht.”
“Say dot you don’ vonted and dot’s ull.”
“Alla right; I’m goin’ to ashk her, but I know it vouldn’t be of naw used.”
“Never min’, you hask ’er foist. You knaw se vouldn’t refuse you!” Joe urged, with a knowing grin.
“Hoy much vill you bet she will refushe shaw?” Jake rejoined with insincere vehemence, as he whipped out a handful of change.
“Vot kin’ foon a man you are! Ulleways like to bet!” said Joe, deprecatingly. ’F cuss it depend mit vot kin’ a mout’ you vill hask, you ’destan’?”
“By gum, Jaw! Vot you take me for? Ven I shay I ashk, I ashk. You knaw I don’ like no monkey beeshnesh. Ven I promish anytink I do it shquare, dot’sh a kin’ a man I am!” And once more protesting his firm conviction that Mamie would disregard his request, he started to prove that she would not.
He had to traverse nearly the entire length of the hall, and, notwithstanding that he was compelled to steer clear of the dancers, he contrived to effect the passage at the swellest of his gaits, which means that he jauntily bobbed and lurched, after the manner of a blacksmith tugging at the bellows, and held up his enormous bullet head as if he were bidding defiance to the whole world. Finally he paused in front of a girl with a superabundance of pitch-black side bangs and with a pert, ill natured, pretty face of the most strikingly Semitic cast in the whole gathering. She looked twenty-three or more, was inclined to plumpness, and her shrewd deep dark eyes gleamed out of a warm gipsy complexion. Jake found her seated in a fatigued attitude on a chair near the piano.
“Good-evenig, Mamie!” he said, bowing with mock gallantry.
“Rats!”