“Don't youse bet on it,” declared the Dropper loftily. “There's nothin' in that high society stuff. A smart guy like me could learn his way t'rough in a week.”
“Could he?” said the Nailer, and his tones were tones of derision.
“That's w'at I says!” replied the Dropper. Then, heatedly: “W'y, do you geeks think I've never been north of Fourteenth Street? Youse make me tired, Nailer. While you was up-th'-river, for toinin' off that loft in Chambers Street, don't I go to a shindy at th' Demmycrat Club in honor of Sen'tor Depew? There was loidies there—th' real thing, too. An' wasn't I another time at th' Charlie Murphy dinner? Talk of high society!—if that ain't high society, what is?”
Having squelched the Nailer, the Dropper proceeded more moderately.
“I remember th' scare that's t'run into me at the Depew racket. I've been put up ag'inst some hot propositions, but if ever I'm faded it's then when, for th' foist time, I lamps a full-blown dame in evenin' dress. On th' dead, I felt like yellin' 'Police!'”
“Phwat was it scared yez, Dropper?” asked the Wop.
“It ain't that I'm so scared as rattled. There's too much free-board to them evenin' dresses.”
“An' the Charlie Murphy banquet,” said Pretty Agnes, wistfully. “Didn't yez get cold feet?”
“Naw, I don't git cold feet. I admits I falls down, I don't try to sidestep that; but it wasn't my fault. Do it over again, an' I'd go t'rough wit' bells on.”
“How did youse fall down?”