"Naturally."
Well, yes, naturally. What do political rights and wrongs matter to them?
"After a while," my informant went on, "if he manages well, he is let a little bit into the inner ring. He gets a bit of money dropped to him here and another bit there. That makes a difference to him. He begins to do himself pretty well, and he likes it."
Most men do. These "bits of money," however they come, bring very pleasant things with them. That is the same everywhere.
"After a while—I don't say this is exactly what happens every time, but it's something like this. After a while he goes uptown and dines at one of the swagger restaurants, just to see what it's like. He is a bit out of it at first, but he goes again. He sees people there and he picks up their names. They are people with very impressive names, names he's been hearing all his life and associating with millions and automobiles and diamonds. It gives him rather a pleasant feeling to find himself sitting at the next table and hearing the voices of these men; seeing the women with their jewels, and smelling the scent off their clothes. You know the sort of thing."
I could guess. I have, in my time, dined at restaurants of the kind, though not often enough to get to know the looks of their native millionaires.
"Then some night or other one of these men steps across to our man's table and talks to him. He's as friendly as the devil. He introduces him to one or two others, and perhaps to some women; but women don't come much into business over here. Well, the poor fellow is a little bit above himself, and no wonder. He's never been anything before but just a 'Mick,' and never expected to be anything else."
Here I had to interrupt.
"A Mick?" I said.
"An Irishman. That's what we generally call Irishmen."