I give her er look, an' bein' strange ter de place, I didn't know wot ter do, so I t'inks de safest t'ing is de best, an' I screws me nut fer de Reservation, leavin' Her Nobs wid old boy Whiskers. I hit de feathers somew'ere's about 2 o'clock, an' de next mornin' er cupple uv de mob cum up ter tell me dat Slats wuz pinched fer sluggin' two Chinks an' stoppin' er trolley car on de Bowery, an' fer givin' de cop er fight w'en he tried ter take her in. Dere wuz only wun t'ing fer me ter do, so I takes er walk over ter de Tombs, an' dere I seen her wid er bunch uv de talent in de pen. She looked kind uv rockey. I went over and sez: “Wot's de matter wid yer?” “Nuttin,” sez she. “Pay me fine an' don't leave me here wid dis bunch.” “Pay nuttin,” sez I. “I ought ter give yer a wallop in de kisser. I guess yer fergit last nite, don't yer? Yer ought ter git er good thumpin'.” “I wouldn't kick if I did,” she sez. “But say, Chuck, yer wouldn't hev de heart ter leave me here, would yer, wid dis bunch uv bums?” Just den wun uv de bundles wot wuz sloughed up dere--wid er peach uv er black eye an' er t'ree-months thirst--butted in wid: “Excuse me, Miss, are yer referin' ter me? Fer if yer are, I want yer ter understand dat I'm none uv yer cheap Chinatown tarts, I ain't.” “Mebbe yer ain't,” sez Slats, “but yer kin drink all de bum roof paint dey got in Chinatown, an' yer needn't put on enny lugs in dis joint.” It made me feel kid uv good ter hear Slats hand it back like dat, so I sez: “Cut it out, Sis, an' lissen ter er wise crack. Will yer be nice if I pay yer fine?” “Will I?” she sez. “Just you put up de dough, an' den watch me do de minuet out uv dat door.” So I went ter de bloke behind de desk, an' sez: “Say, have yer got Slat's name in yer album?” “Nothin' doin',” sez he. “Well, hev yer got Kitty McClinchy dere?” “Sure,” he sez. “Ten dollars.” So I digs down in me kick an' cums up wid er ten spot. “De best uv friends must part,” sez I, ez I let go uv it, “an' it don't grow in er mug's pocket like grass in de country. Cum on Slats,” I hollered, an' we heads fer Chinatown. “Uptown may be all rite, but it costs coin ter git wid dat swell push. Are yer goin' ter be good, now?” She didn't say nuttin' but chucked her arms around me neck, an' dat wuz wort' $10 enny day. Dat nite we buried de hatchet in four cans ov Barney's Best. [Illustration: 0045] THE DOINGS OF DUGAN AND CLANCY |I wuz tellin' a story to a guy about Chinatown and I says to him: “Dere wuz t'ree of us when a chaw butts in.” “What's a chaw?” says he. “Say, don't you know what a chaw is? He's a mug wid a sponge in his mout' you know; a flannel-mout' bloke. Well, dere wuz t'ree of us when de chaw came in, 'n he bangs his toot'pick on de bar. Toot'pick? Why, dat's de iron hook dey use to handle freight and cases. He bangs his toot'pick on de bar 'n says, 'Line up 'n t'row in.'”