“What's dat? Say, you're a' undertaker.” Dat's 'n invitation on de Reservation. He says, “Line up 'n t'row in.” So we line up, de t'ree of us, 'n says mixed ale. De boss, he says he'd smoke a ham. Aw, say, forget it. I t'ink dey could ring a peter on a mug as slow as you. Smoke a ham? Why, dat's a torch. Don't you know what a torch is? Well, up in de Tenderloin dey call it a cigar. Peter? Oh, run away Chawley, some bloke'll steal you. Peter? Dat's a drink dey call Mr. Snyder. Say, is you gettin' rats in de nut? Didn't I tell you that a peter is a Mr. Snyder and a Mr. Snyder is a peter, 'n dat's on de dead. Why, it's a knockout, see. Say, do ye t'ink ye kin kid me? You don't know dat a Dago's 'n Italian, 'n a Monk's a Chink. Say, your dead ratty. A Chink, why dat's a Chinee. Well, as I wuz tellin' yer, de boss says he'd smoke a herrin'. De mug behind de fence. Aw, say, you give a pain in de neck. De mug behind de fence, dat's de barkeep, he twists out four scuttles an' a torch. Say, on de level, ye got me dead leary. What did we tell de mug behind the fence we wanted mixed ale for, ha-? Well, den you ought to know dat a scuttle is a mixed ale, see? De mug behind de fence, he twists out four an' a torch. De chaw he says: “What do yer want?” De mug behind de fence he says: “Toity, toity.” “What,” says de chaw. “Toity cents,” says de mug behind de fence. De chaw he counts. “Wan, two, t'ree, four 'n a torch is foive. Twenty-foive,” he says. “Toity, ye chaw,” says de mug behind de fence, reaching fer de convincer. “Toity hell,” says de chaw. “Foive foives is twenty-foive.” De boss he says: “I smoke ten cent torches ye know.” “Phat?” says de chaw. “Tin cints fur a cigar? De ye t'ink I'm a good ting?” De boss, he says: “Well, I wanted a good smoke.” “Good smoke,” says de chaw, “good smoke, is it ye want?” an' he dives down into his pocket an' brings out his poipe an' terbaccy an' hands it at him. “Here,” he says, “take me poipe. Tin cints fur a cigar.” [Illustration: 0049]