De boss, he says: “Well, I wanted a good smoke.”
“Good smoke,” says de chaw, “good smoke, is it ye want?” an' he dives down into his pocket an' brings out his poipe an' terbaccy an' hands it at him.
“Here,” he says, “take me poipe. Tin cints fur a cigar.”
[Original]
Well, what do yer t'ink of dat? 'N he wouldn't put up d' toity. What happened him? Aw, say, forget it. Dere was a collar outside when he landed. Collar? Say, on d'level, you're stuffed. Collar? Why a collar's a cop. Well, dere was a collar outside when he landed, 'n I t'ought he was goin' t' sneeze him. Say, you may be a dead fly mug in de Tenderloin, but you're a peter here. Sneeze him; what does a cop do when he nails a mug, but sneeze him. But he didn't. What did he do to him? Say, forget it. I bet d' chaw ain't sat down since. Say, I thought dey'd need a rattler to move him. Rattler. You gilly, what do they cart a chaw off in when a collar gets tru beltin' him, generally? A rattler is a patrol; dat's what. Well, I thought dey'd need a rattler to take d' chaw off. D' boss he never turned a hair. He tells us to t'row in wit him, 'n we t'rowed in, an' he lights d' herrin' d' chaw didn't pay for. Say, d' boss is d' levelest bloke on de Reservation. Say, he'd stand at a bar 'n blow his brains out wid yer.
What become of the chaw? Aw, say, what become o' last winter's snow? But I know about a week after dis big harp goes into a Chinese laundry for his wash wid anudder harp named Clancy. De Chink dat ust' own de laundry sold it to another Chink, see. Well, in goes dis big harp. His name was Dugan. He t'rows down de ticket for de laundry. De Chink wuz ironing, an' sed:
“No goodie tickie, just now,” and kept on ironing. “Phat's that you say?”
The Chink after a while said: