“'Out o' sight!' I says. 'I'm winner from d' jump; I'm on velvet.'
“'Play ball!' me can'date shouts back to encourage me, I suppose because he's dead on I ain't no Foxy Quiller at d' racket we're at; 'play ball, Chucky, an' don't let 'em fan youse out. When you can't bat d' ball, bunt it,' says me can'date.
“Of course gettin 'd' gay face that way from d' boss gives me confidence, an' as a result it ain't two seconts before I'm all but caught off me base. It's in d' soup innin's an 'd' flunk slams down d' consomme in a tea cup. It's a new one on me for fair! I don't at d' time have me lamps on d' mark 'cross d' way, who I'm understudyin', bein' busy, as I says, slingin 'd' bit of guff I tells of wit' me can'date. An' bein' off me guard, I takes d' soup for tea or some such dope, an' is layin' out to sugar it.
“'Stan' your hand!' says a dub who's organised be me right elbow, an' who's feedin' his face wit' both mits; 'set a brake!' he says. 'That's soup. Did youse t'ink it was booze?'
“After that I fastens to d' old skate across d' table to note where he's at wit' his game. He's doin' his toin on d' consomme wit' a spoon, so I gets a spoon in me hooks, goes to mixin' it up wit 'd' soup as fast as ever, an' follows him out.
“An' say! I'm feelin' dead grateful to this snoozer, see! He was d' ugliest mug I ever meets, at that. Say! he was d' limit for looks, an' don't youse doubt it. As I sizes him up I was t'inking to meself, what a wonder he is! Honest! if I was a lion an' that old party comes into me cage, do youse know what I'd do? Nit; you don't. Well, I'll tip it to youse straight. If any such lookin' monster showed up in me cage, if d' door was open, I'd get out. That's on d' square, I'd simply give him d' cage an' go an' board in d' woods. An' if d' door was locked an' I couldn't get out, I'd t'row a fit from d' scare. Oh! he was a dream! He's one of them t'ings a mark sees after he's been hittin' it up wit 'd' lush for a mont'.
“'But simply because he looks like a murderer,' I reflects, 'that's no reason why he ain't wise. He knows his way t'rough this dinner like a p'liceman does his beat, an' I'll go wit' him.'
“It's a go! When he plays a fork, I plays a fork; when he boards a shave, I'm only a neck behint him. When he shifts his brush an' tucks his little table clot' over his t'ree-sheet, I'm wit' him. I plays nex' to him from soda to hock.
“An' every secont I'm gettin' more confidence in this gezebo, an' more an' more stuck on meself. On d' dead! I was farmer enough to t'ink I'd t'ank him for bein' me guide before I shook d' push an' quit. Say! he'd be a nice old dub for me to be t'ankin 'd' way it toins out. I was a good t'ing to follow him, I don't t'ink.
“If I was onto it early that me old friend across d' table had w'eels an' was wrong in his cocoa, I wouldn't have felt so bad, see! But I'd been playin' him to win, an' followin' his lead for two hours. An' I was so sure I was trottin' in front, that all d' time I was jollyin' meself, an' pattin' meself on d' back, an' tellin' meself I was a corker to be gettin' an even run wit 'd' 400 d' way I was, d' foist time I enter s'ciety. An' of course, lettin' me nut swell that way makes it all d' harder when I gets d' jolt.