“Good for old man McNiel come at last.”
“Howde do Mr. McNiel?” The bar quiets down.
Gus McNiel waves his stick in the air. “Attaboy fellers, have a good time.... Burke ole man set the company up to a drink on me.” “Dere’s Father Mulvaney wid him too. Good for Father Mulvaney.... He’s a prince that feller is.”
For he’s a jolly good fellow
That nobody can deny ...
Broad backs deferentially hunched follow the slowly pacing group out among the dancers. O the big baboon by the light of the moon is combing his auburn hair. “Wont you dance, please?” The girl turns a white shoulder and walks off.
I am a bachelor and I live all alone
And I work at the weaver’s trade....
Stan finds himself singing at his own face in a mirror. One of his eyebrows is joining his hair, the other’s an eyelash.... “No I’m not bejases I’m a married man.... Fight any man who says I’m not a married man and a citizen of City of New York, County of New York, State of New York....” He’s standing on a chair making a speech, banging his fist into his hand. “Friends Roooomans and countrymen, lend me five bucks.... We come to muzzle Cæsar not to shaaaave him.... According to the Constitution of the City of New York, County of New York, State of New York and duly attested and subscribed before a district attorney according to the provisions of the act of July 13th 1888.... To hell with the Pope.”
“Hey quit dat.” “Fellers lets trow dis guy out.... He aint one o de boys.... Dunno how he got in here. He’s drunk as a pissant.” Stan jumps with his eyes closed into a thicket of fists. He’s slammed in the eye, in the jaw, shoots like out of a gun out into the drizzling cool silent street. Ha ha ha.