“My Gawd, do I make friends vit every feller vot I hire because he looks like a character part?”
At this point there came up Rankin, one of T-S's directors. “Hello!” said he. “I thought I'd come to hear your friend the prophet.”
“Friend?” said T-S. “Who told you he's a friend o' mine?”
“Why, the papers said—”
“Vell, de papers 're nutty!”
And then came one of the strikers who had been in the soup-kitchen—a fresh young fellow, proud to know a great man. “How dy'do, Mr. T-S? I hear our friend, Mr. Carpenter, is going—”
“Cut out dis friend stuff!” cried T-S, irritably. “He may be yours—he ain't mine!”
I strolled up. “Hello, T-S!” I said.
“Oh, Billy! Hello!”
“So you've denied him three times!”