“'Well,'” says George to himsilf, “'I guess I'll have to go up an' have a look at this la-ad's place,' he says, 'an' if it looks good,' he says, 'p'raps I cud nail it,' he says. An' he goes up an' sees Mack dictatin' his Porther Rickyan policy to a kinetoscope, an' it looks like a nice employmint f'r a spry man, an' he goes back home an' sinds f'r a rayporther, an' says he: 'I always believe since I got home in dealin' frankly with th' press. I haven't seen manny papers since I've been at sea, but whin I was a boy me father used to take the Montpelier Paleejum. 'Twas r-run be a man be th' name iv Horse Clamback. He was quite a man whin sober. Ye've heerd iv him, no doubt. But what I ast ye up here f'r was to give ye a item that ye can write up in ye'er own way an' hand to th' r-rest iv th' boys. I'm goin' to be prisidint. I like th' looks iv the job an' nobody seems to care f'r it, an' I've got so blame tired since I left th' ship that if I don't have somethin' to do I'll go crazy,' he says. 'I wisht ye'd make a note iv it an' give it to th' other papers,' he says. 'Ar-re ye a raypublican or a dimmycrat?' says the rayporter. 'What's that?' says Cousin George. 'D'ye belong to th' raypublican or th' dimmycrat party?' 'What ar-re they like?' says Cousin George. 'Th' raypublicans ar-re in favor iv expansion.' 'Thin I'm a raypublican.' 'Th' dim-mycrats ar-re in favor iv free thrade.' 'Thin I'm a dimmycrat.' 'Th' raypublicans ar-re f'r upholdin' th' goold standard.' 'So'm I. I'm a raypublican there.' 'An' they're opposed to an income tax.' 'On that,' says Cousin George, 'I'm a dimmycrat. I tell ye, put me down as a dimmycrat. Divvle th' bit I care. Just say I'm a dimmycrat with sthrong raypublican leanings. Put it this way: I'm a dimmycrat, be a point raypublican, dimmycrat. Anny sailor man'll undherstand that.' 'What'll I say ye'er platform is?' 'Platform?' 'Ye have to stand on a platform.' 'I do, do I? Well, I don't. I'll stand on no platform, an' I'll hang on no sthrap. What d'ye think th'prisidincy is--a throlley car? No, sir, whin ye peek in th' dure to sell ye'er paper ye'll see ye'er Uncle George settin' down comfortable with his legs crossed, thrippin' up annywan that thries to pass him. Go out now an' write ye'er little item, f'r 'tis late an' all hands ar-re piped to bed,' he says.”