“What do yer want?”
De mug behind de fence he says: “Toity, toity.”
“What,” says de chaw.
“Toity cents,” says de mug behind de fence.
De chaw he counts.
“Wan, two, t'ree, four 'n a torch is foive. Twenty-foive,” he says.
“Toity, ye chaw,” says de mug behind de fence, reaching fer de convincer.
“Toity hell,” says de chaw. “Foive foives is twenty-foive.”
De boss he says: “I smoke ten cent torches ye know.”
“Phat?” says de chaw. “Tin cints fur a cigar? De ye t'ink I'm a good ting?”