“Shay, Mamie, give dot feller a tvisht, vill you?”
“Dot slob again? Joe must tink if you ask me I’ll get scared, ain’t it? Go and tell him he is too fresh,” she said with a contemptuous grimace. Like the majority of the girls of the academy, Mamie’s English was a much nearer approach to a justification of its name than the gibberish spoken by the men.
Jake felt routed; but he put a bold face on it and broke out with studied resentment:
“Vot you kickin’ aboyt, anyhoy? Jaw don’ mean notin’ at ull. If you don’ vonted never min’, an’ dot’sh ull. It don’ cut a figger, shee?” And he feignedly turned to go.
“Look how kvick he gets excited!” she said, surrenderingly.
“I ain’t get ekshitet at ull; but vot’sh de used a makin’ monkey beesnesh?” he retorted with triumphant acerbity.
“You are a monkey you’self,” she returned with a playful pout.
The compliment was acknowledged by one of Jake’s blandest grins.
“An’ you are a monkey from monkey-land,” he said. “Vill you dansh mit dot feller?”
“Rats! Vot vill you give me?”