“Also, it's exactly what them Wall Streeters ain't got. Look at th' way they're always fightin' Roosevelt. For twenty-five years they've been roustin' Teddy; an' for twenty-five years they've done nothin' but keep him on th' map. When Teddy was in Mulberry Street th' Tammany ducks gets along with him as peaceful as a basketful of pups. Diplomacy does it; that, an' payin' strict attention to Teddy's blind side. 'What's th' use of kickin' in th' gate,' says they, 'when we knows where a picket's off th' fence?' You remember Big Florrie Sullivan puttin' young Brady on th' Force? Teddy's in Mulberry Street then. Do you think Big Florrie goes queerin' th' chances, be tellin' Teddy how Brady passes th' cush box in Father Curry's church? Not on your life! It wouldn't have been diplomacy; Teddy wouldn't have paid no attention. Big Florrie gets in his work like this: “'Say, Commish,' he says, 'I sees th' fight of my life last night. Nineteen rounds to a knockout! It's a left hook to th' jaw does it.' “'No!' Teddy says, lightin' up like Chinatown on th' night of a Chink festival; 'you int'rest me! Pull up a stool,' says he, 'an' put your feet on th' desk. There; now you're comfortable, go on about th' fight. Who were they?' “'A lad from my district named Brady,' says Big Florry, 'an' a dock-walloper from Williamsburg. You ought to have seen it, Commish! Oh, Brady's th' goods! Pie's th' lad to go th' route! He's all over that Williamsburg duffer like a cat over a shed roof! He went 'round him like a cooper 'round a barrel!' “Big Florrie runs on like that, using diplomacy, an' two weeks later Brady's thumpin' a beat.” “Ye're r-r-right, Jimmy,” said the Wop, after a pause which smelled of wisdom; “I agrees wit' yez. Morgan, Perkins, Schwab an' thim rich omadauns is th' bum lot. Now I think av it, too, Fatty Walsh minchons that wor-r-rd diplom'cy to me long ago. Yez knew Fatty, Jimmy?” “Fatty an' me was twins.” “Fatty's th' foine la-a-ad; on'y now he's dead--Mary resht him! Th' time I'm in th' Tombs for bouncin' th' brick off th' head av that Orangeman, who's whistlin' th' Battle av th' Boyne to see how long I can shtand it, Fatty's th' warden; an' say, he made th' place home to me. He's talkin', Fatty is, wan day about Mayor Hughey Grant, an' it's then he shpeaks av diplom'cy. He says Hughey didn't have anny.” “Don't you believe it!” interrupted old Jimmy; “Fatty had Hughey down wrong. When it comes to diplomacy, Hughey could suck an egg an' never chip th' shell.” “It's a special case loike. Fatty's dishtrict, d'yez see, has nothin' in it but Eyetalians. Wan day they'r makin' ready to cilibrate somethin'. Fatty's in it, av course, bein' leader, an' he chases down to th' City Hall an' wins out a permit for th' Dago parade.” “What's Hughey got to do with that?”