“Thim Frinch 're th' great la-a-ads,” commented the Wop, admiringly. “There's a felly on'y this mornin' tellin' me they can cook shnails so's they're almosht good to eat.”
“Tell that bug to guess ag'in, Wop,” said Mollie Squint. “Snails is never good to eat. As far as them French are concerned, however, I go wit' old Jimmy. They're a hot proposition.”
Jack Sirocco had been walking up and down, his manner full of uneasiness.
“What's wrong, Jack?” at last asked old Jimmy, who had observed that proprietor's anxiety.
Sirocco explained that divers gimlet-eyed gentlemen, who he believed were emissaries of an antivice society, had been in the place for hours.
“They only now screwed out,” continued Sirocco. Then, dolefully: “It'd be about my luck, just as I'm beginnin' to get a little piece of change for myself, to have some of them virchoo-toutin' ginks hand me a wallop. I wonder w'at good it does 'em to be always tryin' to knock th' block off somebody. I ain't got nothin' ag'inst virchoo. Vir-choo's all right in its place. But so is vice.”
Old Jimmy's philosophy began manoeuvring for the high ground.
“This vice and virtue thing makes me tired,” he said; “there's too much of it. Also, there's plenty to be said both ways. Th' big trouble wit' them anti-vice dubs is that they're all th' time connin' themselves. They feel moral when it's merely dyspepsia; they think they're virchous when they're only sick. In th' end, too, virchoo always falls down. Virchoo never puts a real crimp in vice yet. Virchoo's a sprinter; an' for one hundred yards it makes vice look like a crab. But vice is a stayer, an' in th' Marathon of events it romps in winner. Virchoo likes a rockin'-chair; vice puts in most of its time on its feet. Virchoo belongs to th' Union; it's for th' eight hour day, with holidays an' Saturday afternoons off. Vice is always willin' to break th' wage schedule, work overtime or do anythin' else to oblige. Virchoo wants two months in th' country every summer; vice never asks for a vacation since th' world begins.”
The Wop loudly cheered old Jimmy's views. Sirocco, however, continued gloomy.
“For,” said the latter with a sigh, “I can feel it that them anti-vice guys has put th' high-sign on me. They'll never rest now until they've got me number.”