Snooks. The Buzzard Islands. Property of the country of Irish Poland. Garden spots. Flowery paradises ina middle of the Atlantic. Rainbow Islandsa milk an’ honey, palms an’ pines, smellin’ with good-smellin’ woods and high-priced spices. Fulla animals with million buck skins and with birds that’s got feathers that the hat dives on Fifth Avenue would go nuts about. The folks in ee islands—swell-lookin’, husky, square, rich, one hunerd per cent Buzzardites.
Jerry [startled]. You mean Buzzards?
Snooks. One hunerd per cent Buzzardites, crazy about their island, butter, milk, live stock, wives, and industries.
Jerry [fascinated]. Sounds sort of pretty, don’t it?
Snooks. Pretty? Say, it’s smooth! Now here’s my proposition, an’ take it from me, it’s the real stuff. [Impressively.] The country of Irish Poland wants to sell you the Buzzard Islands—cheap.
Jerry [impressed]. You’re willing to sell ’em, eh?
Snooks. Listen. I’ll be fair with you. [I regret to say that at this point he leans close to Jerry, removes the latter’s stick pin and places it in his own tie.] I’ve handed you the swellest proposition ever laid before a President since Andrew Jackson bought the population of Ireland from Great Britain.
Jerry. Yeah?
Snooks [intently]. Take it from me, Pres, and snap it up—dead cheap.
Jerry. You’re sure it’s a good——