"I yust dell your frient here I peen out fishin' mit der poys, unt the sun he purnt 'em—zwi lager—den cents—all right."
Another boy rushes in. "Halloo, boys, you're ahead of me this time: s'pose I'm in, though. Here, Snyder, bring me a glass of lager and a pret"—(appears to catch a sudden glimpse of Snyder's nose, looks wonderingly a moment, and then bursts out laughing)—"ha! ha! ha! Why, Snyder,—ha!—ha!—what's the matter with that nose?"
Snyder, of course, can't see any fun in having a burnt nose or having it laughed at; and he says, in a tone sternly emphatic,—
"I've peen out fishing mit der poys, unt de sun it juse as hot like ash dar tifel, unt I purnt my nose; dat ish all right."
Another tormentor comes in, and insists on "setting 'em up" for the whole house. "Snyder," says he, "fill up the boys' glasses, and take a drink yourse——ho! ho! ho! ho! ha! ha! ha! Snyder, wha—ha! ha!—what's the matter with that nose?"
Snyder's brow darkens with wrath by this time, and his voice grows deeper and sterner,—
"I peen out fishin' mit der poys on der Leedle Miami. De sun pese hot like as—vel, I purn my pugle. Now, that is more vot I don't got to say. Vot gind o' peseness? Dat ish all right; I purn my own nose, don't it?"
"Burn your nose,—burn all the hair off your head, for what I care; you needn't get mad about it."
It was evident that Snyder wouldn't stand more than one more tweak at that nose; for he was tramping about behind his bar, and growling like an exasperated old bear in his cage. Another one of his tormentors walks in. Some one sings out to him, "Have a glass of beer, Billy?"