“D' little laundry goil gives it out cold, she'll croak if she don't get to see her Billy before he skates off for d' wars. She says she knows he's out to be killed anyhow. D' question wit' her is—what's she goin' to do? Dey won't let her aboard d' boat, an' dey won't let him aboard d' land; now, what's d' soon move for her to make?
“Well, me Rag—who's got a nut on her for cert—says for her to skip down to Washin'ton an' go ag'inst d' Sec'tary himself.
“'Make him a strong talk,' says me Rag; 'give him a reg'lar razzle-dazzle, an' he'll write youse a poiper to them blokes aboard d' boat to let youse see your Billy.'
“'Do youse t'ink for sure he will?' says d' little laundry goil.
“'Why, it's a walkover!' says me Rag. 'If he toins out a hard game, give him d' tearful eye, see! an' cough a sob or two, an' he'll weaken! You can't miss it,' says me ownliest; 'it's easy money.'
“But d' little goil was awful leary of d' play.
“' Washin'ton is so far away,' she says.
“' It's like goin' to Harlem,' says me Rag. 'All youse has to do to go, is to take some sandwidges an' apples to sort o' jolly d' trip, an' then climb onto d' cars an' go. When d' Con. comes t'rough, pass him your pasteboard, see! an' if any of them smooth marks try to make a mash, t'run 'em down an' t'run 'em hard. I'll go over an' do your stunt at d' laundry, so that needn't give youse a scare. An' be d' way! if that lobster I win from d' other day shows up, I'll make a monkey of him ag'in. I didn't spend enough time wit' him on d' occasion of our mix-up, anyway.'
“At last d' little laundry goil makes d' brace of her life. She's so bashful an' timid she can't live; but she's dead stuck on seein' her Billy before he sails away, an' it gives her nerve. As I says, she takes me Rag's steer an' skins out for d' Cap'tal.
“An' what do youse t'ink? D' old mut who's Sec'tary won't chin wit' her. Toins her down cold, he does; gives her d' grand rinky-dink wit'out so much as findin' out what's her racket at all.