"Sure, sure!" said Mr. Jastrow. "How much you to the good, little one?"
"I've about eleven hundred dollars with my bank-books and pig."
"'Leven hundred! Well, whatta you know about that? Say, Big Tent, better lemme double your money for you!"
"Aw, you go on, Mr. Jastrow! Ain't you the torment, too?"
"Say, gal, next time I get the misery you can hold my hand as long as your little heart desires. 'Leven hundred to the good! Good night! Get down off my shoulder, you little flea, you. I got to turn in here and take a drink on the strength of that! 'Leven hundred to the good! Good night!"
"Oh, Mr. Jastrow, in your state! In your state alcohol's poison. Mr.
Jastrow—please—you mustn't!"
"Blow me, too, Jas! Aw, say—have a heart; blow me to a bracer, too!"
"No, no, Mr. Jastrow, don't take the Baron. The little fellow can't stand alcohol. His baroness don't want it. Anyways, it's against the rules—please—"
"You stay and take the lady home, flea. See the lady home like a gentleman. 'Leven hundred to the good! Say, I'd see a lady as far as the devil on that. Good night!"
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