“Sure! this weddin' was a good t'ing; what youse might call d' real t'ing; an' it's a spark to a rhinestone it toins out all hunk for d' folks involved. Who's d' two gezebos who gets nex' to each other? D' groom is d' boss gunner of one of our war boats, an 'd' skirt is d' cash goil in d' anti-Chink laundry on Great Jones street.
“An' say! that little skirt's a wonder, an' don't youse forget it! She's good any day for any old t'ing I've got; an' all she's got to do is just rap, an' she takes it, see! It was me Rag sees d' goil foist one time when she's down be d' laundry puttin' in me t'ree-sheets for their weekly dose of suds.
“Is me Rag an' me married? Say! I likes that, I don't t'ink! Youse is gettin' fanciful in your cupolo. 4 Be me little Bundle an' me married?' says you. Well, I should kiss a pig! Youse can take me tip for it, if we ain't man an' wife be d' longest system d' Cat'lic Choich could play—for me Rag told d' father who 'fficiates that we're out for d' limit—then all I got to stutter is there ain't a mug who's married in d' entire city of Noo York.
“Cert! we're married!” Chucky went on after cheering himself with the tankard which the barkeeper placed before him. “If youse had let your lamps repose on this horseshoe scar over d' bridge of me smeller, youse would have tumbled to d' fac wit'out astin'.
“How do I win it? I'm comin' up d' stairs like a sucker, just followin' a difference of opinion between me an' me loidy (I soaked her a little one, an' that's for fair! to show her she's off her trolley about d' subject in dispoote), when she cuts loose d' coal bucket at me. Say! she spoiled me map for a mont'.
“But to get back to d' little laundry goil. Me Rag, as I says, was in this tub-joint where d' goil woikswit' me linen one day; an' just as she chases in, a fresh stiff who's standin' there t'run some raw bluff at d' little laundry goil she couldn't stand for, see! an' she puts up a damp eye an' does d' weep act.
“This little laundry goil is one of them meek, harmless people—rabbits is bull-terriers to 'em—an' so when me onliest own beholds d' tears come chasin down her nose at d' remarks of this fly guy, she chucks me shirts in d' corner an' mounts him in a hully secont.
“An' say! me Rag can scrap, an' that's no dream! I don't want none of it. When she an' me has carried d' conversation to d' point where she takes out her hairpins, an' gives her mane to d' breeze, that's me cue to cork. Youse can't get another rise out of me after that: I knows her.
“Well! me Rag lights into this hobo who's got gay wit 'd' little goil, an' when she takes her hooks out of his make-up, an' he goes surgin' into d' street, honest! he looks like he's been fightin' a dog. Some lovers of true sport who's there an' payin' attention to d' mill, says this galoot wasn't in it wit' me Rag. She has him on d' blink from d' jump; she win in a loiter.
“Takin' her part that way makes d' little laundry goil confidenshul wit' me Rag. It's about two weeks later when she sprints over an' tells Missus Chuck (she makes her promise to lay dead about it, too, but still she passes d' woid to me)—she tells me Rag, as I'm sayin', that she's in trouble. Her steady, she says, is one of d' top notch gunners of one of our big boats; he's d' main squeeze in histurrent, see! an' way up in d' paint. His boat's been layin' at d' Navy Yard, an' now he's ordered to sail for Cuba in a week an' help straighten up d' Dagoes we're havin' d' recent run in wit'. Meanwhiles, she says, dey won't let her beloved have shore leave; an' neither dey won't stand for her to come aboard an' see him. There youse be! a case of dead sep'ration between two lovin' hearts.