I wuz standin' on de corner las' New Year's eve, an' de mob wuz cumin' down in droves, like a bunch uv gorillas—lafin', singin', hollerin' an' blowin' dere horns. Everybody had a happy feelin' an' a glad smile, an' dey wuz goin' t'ru de Reservation ez if dey wuz doin' a cake walk wid chow chop suey an' mushrooms fer a prize. Nuttin' wuz botherin' dem, an' dey wuz grabbin' dere bundles an' singin' “W'en Katie an' I Wuz Coinin' T'ru de Rye,” ez if dat wuz all dey had on der minds. Dey didn't care nuttin' fer us blokes, 'cause we are only a side show fer such as dem. An' me standin' dere alone widout a drink in me sistem, an' no wun ter cum along an' say: “Happy New Year, Chuck.”
But, say, old pal, ain't dat alwuz de way? Ain't it a case uv laff an' de world laffs wid yer?
Well, I takes a slow walk down de lane, w'ich wuz like a looney factory wid dat mob pushin' t'ru, an' I wuz feelin' ez if I didn't have a frien' in de world, w'en I meets Peg Dillin wid a can. She wuz goin' ter Barney's fer er pint an' her New Year's bottle. She stops me in front uv Hung Fan Low's store, an' sez: “Hello, Chuck.”
“Hello, Peg,” sez I. “Wot's der word?”
“All ter de bad,” sez she, “all ter de bad.” She begin shufflin' her feet on de sidewalk and changin' de growler from one hand ter de odder. She acted like she had sumthin' on her mind, an' wuz afraid ter let go. I wuz on dat dere wuz sumthin' de matter an' I begin ter scratch me nut an' wuz t'nkin' ter meself, “Will I, or will I not?” Yer know how a bloke feels w'en he sees a gal down-hearted like dat—he don't want ter touch her troubles. But dis wuz a case w'ere I had ter dig in an' find out who wuz who, an' wot wuz wot. So I gets me gall tergedder an' puts me hand on her shoulder, an' sez:
“Say, Peg, on de level—give it ter me straight—wot makes yer look like a dead one? Yer don't want ter be like dat on New Year's eve, or yer won't be ripe w'en de summer cums agin.”
She gives a kind uv little shiver, just ez if she had er kind uv a chill, an' sez:
“Well, I tell yer how it is, Chuck. Poor Kitty Mock Shue is layed flat on her back, an' down an' out wid de gallopin' con, an' de doctor sez she ain't got much time ter fix up de insoorance papers.”
Say, cull, she wuz just like a guy wot had got a wallop on de jaw an' wuz half out. She went inter Barney's an' got her pint, an' w'en she cum out, she sez:
“Chuck, Kitty wants ter see yer about sumthin'. Cum on up ter de house. Mock Shue won't mind—he likes yer ever since he went ter de t'eatre an' saw yer on de stage wid de bunch.” An' so I digs up wid her ter see Kitty.