“Too small in th' hat-band, too big in th' belt. Them republicans better chuck Taft in th' discard an' take up Teddy. There's a live one! There's th' sturdy plow-boy of politics who'd land 'em winner!”
The Nailer came strolling in and pulled up a chair.
“Roosevelt, Jimmy,” said he, “couldn't make th' run. Don't he start th' argument himself, th' time he's elected, sayin' it's his second term an' he'll never go out for th' White House goods again?”
“Shure he did,” coincided the Wop. “An' r-r-right there he give himsilf th' gate. You're right, Nailer; he's barred.”
“Teddy oughtn't to have got off that bluff about not runnin' ag'in,” observed old Jimmy thoughtfully. “He sees it himself now. Th' next day after he makes his crack, a friend of mine, who's down to th' White House, asks him about it; is it for the bleachers,' says my friend, 'or does it go?'
“'Oh, it goes!' says Teddy.
“'Then,' says my friend, 'you'll pardon me, but I don't think it was up to you to say it. It may wind up by puttin' everybody an' everything in Dutch. No sport can know what he'll want to do, or what he ought to do, four years ahead. Bein' pres'dent now, with four years to draw to, you can no more tell whether or no you'll want to repeat than you can tell what you'll want for dinner while you're eatin' lunch. Once I knew a guy who's always ready to swear off whiskey, when he's half full. Used to chase round to th' priest, on his own hunch; to sign th' pledge, every time he gets a bun. Bein' soaked, he feels like he'll never want another drink. After he'd gone without whiskey a couple of days, however, he'd wake up to it that he's been too bigoted. He'd feel that he's taken too narrow a view of th' liquor question, an' commence to see things in their true colors.' That's what my friend told him. And now that Teddy's show-in' signs, I've wondered whether he recalls them warnin' words.”
“W'at'll th' demmycrats do?” asked the Nailer. “Run Willyum Jennin's?”
“They will,” retorted the Wop scornfully, “if they want to get th' hoot. Three toimes has this guy Bryan run—an' always f'r th' end book. D'yez moind, Jimmy, how afther th' Denver Convention lie cha-a-ases down to th' depot to shake ha-a-ands wit' Cha-a-arley Murphy? There's no class to that! Would Washin'ton have done it?—Would Jefferson?”
“How was he hoited be shakin' hands wit' Murphy?”