I ust to hang out in a joint in Chinatown. It wuz a gin mill, and de bloke dat run it, he ust to deal in bum booze and dat class of prize-fighters. We ust to call him de manager, see.
Well, dis bloke I'm telling yuz about; de manager? Yes. Well, dis bloke ust to get all de fights for de bunch, see, and he'd pick out one of de bunch and say to him:
“Say, how much do you weigh?”
De nuckle-pusher he'd look at himself in de glass and say:
“Oh, about 180.”
Den dis bloke, de manager, he'd trow his oyster on de nuckle-pusher and say:
“You're too heavy. I want a mug about 118.”
Den he'd go in de back room and he'd weigh up de bunch dat would be sleepin' on de chairs, an' he'd shake de chairs and wake de talent, you know, de nuckle-pushers.
“Aw. w'ot are yer talkin' about? If dere's enny fite in a bloke, it's got to come out, just like de measles.”