“Big Florrie runs on like that, using diplomacy, an' two weeks later Brady's thumpin' a beat.”
“Ye're r-r-right, Jimmy,” said the Wop, after a pause which smelled of wisdom; “I agrees wit' yez. Morgan, Perkins, Schwab an' thim rich omadauns is th' bum lot. Now I think av it, too, Fatty Walsh minchons that wor-r-rd diplom'cy to me long ago. Yez knew Fatty, Jimmy?”
“Fatty an' me was twins.”
“Fatty's th' foine la-a-ad; on'y now he's dead—Mary resht him! Th' time I'm in th' Tombs for bouncin' th' brick off th' head av that Orangeman, who's whistlin' th' Battle av th' Boyne to see how long I can shtand it, Fatty's th' warden; an' say, he made th' place home to me. He's talkin', Fatty is, wan day about Mayor Hughey Grant, an' it's then he shpeaks av diplom'cy. He says Hughey didn't have anny.”
“Don't you believe it!” interrupted old Jimmy; “Fatty had Hughey down wrong. When it comes to diplomacy, Hughey could suck an egg an' never chip th' shell.”
“It's a special case loike. Fatty's dishtrict, d'yez see, has nothin' in it but Eyetalians. Wan day they'r makin' ready to cilibrate somethin'. Fatty's in it, av course, bein' leader, an' he chases down to th' City Hall an' wins out a permit for th' Dago parade.”
“What's Hughey got to do with that?”
“Lishten! It shtrikes Hughey, him bein' Mayor, it'll be th' dead wise play, when Fatty marches by wit' his Guineas, to give them th' gay, encouragin' face. Hughey thinks Fatty an' his pushcart la-a-ads is cilibratin' some Dago Saint Patrick's day, d'yez see. It's there Fatty claims that Hughey shows no diplom'cy; he'd ought to have ashked.”
“Asked what?”
“I'm comin' to it. Fatty knows nothin' about phwat's on Hughey's chest. His first tip is when he sees Hughey, an' th' balance av th' Tammany administration cocked up in a hand-me-down grandstand they've faked together in City Hall Park. Fatty pipes 'em, as he an' his Black Hand bunch comes rowlin' along down Broadway, an' th' sight av that grandshtand full av harps, Hughey at th' head, almosht gives him heart failure.