“Aw, I say, Ikey! Gim’me a ticket fer me sister?”
“Look out what’che crackin’, Finny! Dat’s my back lung what sounds so holler when you beat it,” grinned Ike, the good-natured boy from Rivington Street who had won fame as a ticket-distributor for Happy Hills.
“Got one to spare?” anxiously continued Finn.
“Nope! Yeh got’ta apply personal. I’ll go up wid yeh if you wants one bad,” offered Ike.
“Come along den—I need yeh to help talk;” so the two were soon going up.
After leaving the elevator, the two boys walked down a very long corridor with offices on either side. Said Ikey:
“Now, you’se wants to be careful how you’se talk in here, see? Mr. Ta’mage is a fine chentlman and don’t like no slang. Mebbe yeh better keep yer mouth shet altogether an’ let me do the talkin’—cuz, yeh know, Finn, yeh do spill an awful lot of slang widger English!”
Finn was properly impressed and consented to have Ikey do all the talking. By this time the boys reached the door leading to the suite of offices they sought.
“Please, ma’am, tell Mr. Ta’mage Ikey Einstein is back yet—Micky Finn, too, wants to make his acquaintance,” said Ikey to the pretty telephone operator who sat near the door.
“Yank off yer cap, Finn—hurry up quick, before she sees it!” hissed Ikey in his companion’s ear as they stood waiting for an answer. Ikey had removed his apology for a hat when entering.