“'Roses has thorns,' goes on Dinky, still holdin' his lamps on Jimmy in d' same queer way; 'you don't want roses, Jimmy; you just t'inks you want roses! Be a square bloke, Jimmy; be yourself an' take voylets!'
“An' I'm damned!” declares Chucky, “if Jimmy don't begin to look like a whipped kid, an' d' foist t'ing I knows, he welches on roses, grabs off a bunch of voylets big enough to make a salad, an' goes chasin' home to Annie. Me Rag is there when Jimmy pours in.
“Say! It's d' finish of d' blonde! She ain't in it! Me rag, on d' quiet, gives Annie d' chin-chin of her existence, an' shows her Jimmy ain't gettin' a square deal. An' Annie—who, for all she's nutty about d' kid, is a dead wise fowl just d' same—takes a tumble, an' from that time she makes d' bettin' even money on* bot 'd' young-one an' Jimmy. D' last time I sees Jimmy he stops to tell me that Annie's a peach, an' d' kid's a wonder. An' he's lookin' like a nine-times winner himself. Now don't youse call that a romance for Dinky Pete to get onto Jimmy's game so quick, an' stickin' to him till he takes d' voylet steer? Ain't it a romance? Well! I should kiss a pig!”
CRIB OR COFFIN?
I
YOUNG Jones stood in the telegraph office—the one at Twenty-third Street and Broadway. There was an air of triumph about Jones, an atmosphere of insolent sagacity, which might belong to one who, by some sudden, skilful sleight had caught a starling. Yet Jones's victory was in nowise uncommon. Others had achieved it many a time and oft. It was simply a baby; young Jones had become a papa, and it was this that gave him those frills which we have chronicled. The presence of young Jones in the telegraph office might be explained by looking over his shoulder. This is the message he wrote:
New York City, Dec. 8, '99.
Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps,