De furst t'ing I'd do if I had a million would be ter go ter de Waldorf-Astoria an' hire er sweet uv rooms--yer know, er bunch uv dem. Den I'd give er dinner ter all de mob, wot u'd cost er hundred bucks er plate, an' after I'd got dem all paralyzed wid real wine, I'd send dem home in autermobiles. Den I'd go ter de guy at de desk, an' tell him I wuz goin' ter turn in, an' I'd say: “I want er good, strong bloke ter cum up an' call me at 7 o'clock in de mornin'.” An' den in de mornin', w'en he'd cum up an' pound on de door, I'd let him hammer his nuckles fer erbout ten minutes, an' den I'd say: “Git out o' dere, yer Skibboreen harp--I don't hev ter git up.” I'd hire de parks every Sunday, wid Eyetalian bands ter play “Every Day'll be Sunday By an' By,” an' I'd hev der swellest tallent you'd want ter sit down an' listen ter. Dancin? Sure. All de workin' fellers could hev der steadies an' twist ter a knockout, an' if a bundle got freckles in her t'roat--you know, got dry, see--I'd hev coon waiters ter bring her a couple uv tubs uv milk so she could drown de freckles out. De fellers could hev everyt'ing en de bill uv fare, 'cept cigarettes--I wouldn't stand fer dem. I notice dere ain't no statues on de Bowery. Well, dere ought ter be, an' I'd hev statues of Carrie Nation, Dowie an' Dr. Parkhurst put up, an' I'd hev 'em decorated wid crape. An' I wouldn't hev nobody carryin' de banner, 'cause I'd hev free sleepin' cribs on every block. W'y should a bloke wot's poor hev ter pay fer sleepin' ennyhow? Me headqua'ters would be de Waldorf, but I would hev a telephone station in Chinatown, so I could git a hot chop suey w'en I wanted it quick. Ev'ry mornin' at 10 o'clock--or near dere--I'd call up me Chat'am Square agent an' tell him ter give cologne ter der gals an' segars an' free lunch ter der gorillas. Ev'ry bloke dat wuz hungry would have a feed bag an w'enever he wanted it. How does dat crab yer? I'd give out coupons ter all der mob ter go an' get a bath, a shave, a shine, a hair cut, an' a shampoo, so dey would be all polished up like a door knob, waitin' fer yours truly in his autermobile wid de Chinky chaffer. An' dis gag erbout art galleries. W'y, dat gives me stagnation uv me liver an' I'll pass it up. Dere'd be no art galleries in mine. I'd hev two or t'ree tons uv corn beef an' cabbage an' a hundred blokes wid pitchforks ter shovel it out. If yer want ter git to der gang, give 'em sumthin' ter eat an' not sumthin' ter look at--not on yer tin-type. A bloke w'ot's hungry ain't stuck on listenin' to a long talk by a feller w'ot's just filled in wid everyt'ing, from soup ter pie, an' a ham sandwi'ch is better to him dan a t'ree t'ousan' dollar cromo.