“Ten more chains, at five a trip, goes off like circus lem'nade, an' I stows d' long an' beauteous green away in me keck. As d' last one of d' secont ten fades into d' hooks of d' last sucker, I stows d' five he's coughed up for it in me raiment, an' says:
“'An' now, loidies an' gents, we gets down to d' watches!'
“Wit' which bluff I lugs me ticker out an' takes a squint at it.
“'What th' 'ell!' I shouts. 'Here it's half-past t'ree, an' I was to be married at t'ree-fifteen! Hully gee! Excuse me, people, but I must fly to d' side of me beloved, or I'll get d' dead face; also d' frozen mit. I'll see youse dubs next year, if woikin' overtime wit' youse to-day ain't ruined me career.'
“As I'm singin' out d' last, I'm givin' me driver d' office to beat his dogs an' chase, see! An', bein' as he's on, an' is paid extra as his part of d' graft, he soaks d' horses wit' d' whip an' in twenty seconts d' crowd is left behint, an' is busy givin' each other d' laugh. No, there never was no row; no mug was ever mobbed for guyin'. Nit! I always comes away all right, an' youse can figure it, I'm sixty good bones in on d' racket.
“Naturally, youse would like to hear where d' kid breaks into d' play an' how I wins it. I'd ought to have told youse sooner, but, on d' level! when me old patter begins to flow off me tongue, I can't shut down until I've spieled it all.
“But about d' kid. One afternoon I'm goin' on—it's in Joisey City—wit' me Zulu war-paint an' me open carriage, givin 'd' usual mob d' usual jolly. T'ings is runnin' off d' reel like a fish new hooked, an' I'm down to me fift' chain. Just then I hears a woman say:
“'Fly's d' woid, Sallie! Here's your old man, an' he's got his load! He won't do a t'ing to youse! Screw out, Sal! screw out!”
“But Sallie, who's a tattered lookin' soubrette, wit' a kid in her arms, an' who's been standin' dost be one of me hind w'eels, don't get no chanct to skin out, see! There's a drunken hobo—as big an' as strong as a horse—who's right up to her when d' foist skirt puts her on. As she toins, he cops her one in d' neck wit'-out a woid. Down she goes like ninepins! As she lands, d' back of her cocoa don't do a t'ing but t'ump a stone horse-block wit' a whack! As d' blood flies, I'm lookin' down at her. I sees her map fade to a grey w'ite under d' dirt; she bats her lamps onct or twict; an' d' nex' moment I'm on wit'out tellin' that her light is out for good.
“As Sallie does d' fall, d' kid which she's holdin' rolls in d' gutter under d' carriage.