“Gee!” said the Bowery boy.
He paused. “Dat was to de good,” he said wistfully.
Jimmy arranged his tie at the mirror.
“Dere’s a loidy here,” continued Spike, addressing the chest of drawers, “dat’s got a necklace of jools what’s worth a hundred t’ousand plunks. Honest, boss—a hundred t’ousand plunks. Saunders told me that—de old gazebo dat hands out de long woids. I says to him ‘Gee!’ and he says, ‘Surest t’ing you know.’ A hundred t’ousand plunks!”
“So I understand,” said Jimmy.
“Shall I rubber around and find out where is dey kept, boss?”
“Spike,” said Jimmy, “ask me no more. All this is in direct contravention of our treaty respecting keeping our fingers off the spoons. You pain me. Desist.”
“Sorry, boss. But dey’ll be willy-wonders, dem jools. A hundred t’ousand plunks! Dat’s going some, ain’t it? What’s dat dis side?”
“Twenty thousand pounds.”
“Gee! Can I help you wit de duds, boss?”