I'm Levi McGinnis
The alderman! The alderman!
I'm Levi McGinnis
The alderman so gay.
Or some equally nonsensical and jingling lines, after which he dances a few steps and hurriedly exits. As he is going off at one side his partner comes on at the opposite side with another armful of "chestnuts"—as they call worn-out gags, in the show business. The partner is known as Solomon O'Toole. He is dressed in square-cut frock coat, high vest, and short pantaloons, has a squatty, white, square-top, stiff hat, side-whiskers,—"Galway sluggers" or "Carolinas" they are usually called,—carries a cane, and altogether from the expression of his face seems a quiet and harmless fellow. His tongue is broguey but clear, and he speaks with a rapidity which suggests that he is either ashamed of what he is saying or is afraid he will forget some part of it. He says:—
"Now, I'm a man can shtand a joak, but whin I go into a barber shop on Sunday mornin' and the colored barber pins a newspaper under me chin an' hands me a towel to read, its goin' a little too far. [Laughter.] But whin a man goes out in the mornin', these days, there's no knowin' whether or not he'll come back ag'in at night. The other day I went to see a friend o' moine named John Gilligan, who lives at Newton Stuart, about tin moile from Poketown, on the Hog an' Hominy Road, an' he tuck me to hear a South Caroliny pr'acher who was pr'achin' an eloquint sarmin. Everything wint all roight until the pr'acher sez, sez he, "When God med the fust man he stud him up ag'inst a fince to dhry!" I hollered out, "Who med the fince?" an' be heavens, they bounced me on the impulse av the momint. [Laughter.] But az I sed afore, whin a man goes out in the mornin' he never knows what's goin' to happen. The other mornin' I wint over to the Grand Paycific Hotel—I go there every mornin'; there's a friend av mine boardin' there be the waik, an' whin he laves town I go over an' ate his males for him; but I wint over there th' other mornin' an' picked up a paper an' I read an arteckle headed 'The Chinaise Must Go.' Now, be heavens, I don't want the fellow that's got my three shurrts to go until I git 'em back from him ag'in. [Laughter.] A friend av moine named Gilligan bought a goat the other day, an' he goes about the shtreets atin' eysthercans an' knockin' the childher over in the gutter. He butted over a little nagur b'y th' other mornin', and whin Gilligan was taken to coort he summoned me as a witness for the prosecution. Whin I tuck the witness shtand the judge axed me what me name waz, an' I sed Michael Mahoney; an' he axed me what war me nationality, whin be way av a joak I sez, sez I, 'I-talyan,' an' be heavens, he gev me six months for perjuree. [Laughter.] I wint into a salune th' other day; some av the b'ys war settin' around a table playin' cassinoe, an' whin they saw me come in, one av 'em sez, sez he, 'Luck out for the Mick, or he'll swipe up all the lunch!' [Laughter.] I've got a b'y that the Chicago base-ball club used for a foul flag on rainy days. [Smiles.] They threw a ball to him th' other day an' hit him in th' eye; I tuck him to an occulist who tuck the eye out an' laid it on a table; be heavens, a cat kem along an' swallied the eye. [Smiles.] The docthor tould me to kum around next day, an' I tuck the b'y wid me. The occulist had cut out wan av his cat's eyes, an' he puts it into the b'ys head. [Audible smiles.] Now the b'ys doin' fust rate, only whin he goes to bed at noight wan eye stez open an' keeps roamin' around fur rats. [Laughter.] Gilligan has got two b'ys. Wan av thim hasn' spint a cint fur two year; he'll be out (of prison) in October. [Laughter.] The other b'y will make his mark in the world; in fact he med his mark on me the other noight. He put a tack on a chair with the belligerint ind to'rds me, an' whin I wint to sit down I got up ag'in very suddintly. I don't care how ould a man is, or how tired he is, whin he sits down on the belligerint ind av a tack he is bound to assoom agility an' youthfulness. [Laughter.] It may be but a momentary assumption, but the agility is always there. The other mornin' I intered a friend's salune. There war grape shkins on the flure, an' I sez to him, 'How do ye do, Mr. Cassidy? I see you had a party last night.' 'What makes you think so?' sez he. 'Because I see the grape shkins on the flure,' sez I. 'Thim's not grape shkins,' sez he; 'thim's eyes. Some of the b'ys hed a fight here lasht noight an' you're now surveyin' the battle-field.' [Laughter.] But I was expectin' a friend av moine down here, Levi McGinnis. Ah, here he comes. Levi, how are you?"
"I'm well, Solomon," says the other, who has come on the stage and is shaking hands with Solomon. "What kept you so quick?"
"I'd been here sooner," is the smart response, "only I couldn't get down any later."
"It waz a very wet winther we had lasht winther, Solomon?"
"Yes. Did you buy any rubbers yet this year?"
"Not this year."
"Goodyear."
"Where did you go when you left me th' other noight?" Levi continues.