“Lishten! It shtrikes Hughey, him bein' Mayor, it'll be th' dead wise play, when Fatty marches by wit' his Guineas, to give them th' gay, encouragin' face. Hughey thinks Fatty an' his pushcart la-a-ads is cilibratin' some Dago Saint Patrick's day, d'yez see. It's there Fatty claims that Hughey shows no diplom'cy; he'd ought to have ashked.” “Asked what?” “I'm comin' to it. Fatty knows nothin' about phwat's on Hughey's chest. His first tip is when he sees Hughey, an' th' balance av th' Tammany administration cocked up in a hand-me-down grandstand they've faked together in City Hall Park. Fatty pipes 'em, as he an' his Black Hand bunch comes rowlin' along down Broadway, an' th' sight av that grandshtand full av harps, Hughey at th' head, almosht gives him heart failure. “Fatty halts his Eyetalians, sets them to ma-a-arkin' toime, an' comes sprintin' an' puffin' on ahead. “'Do a sneak!' he cries, when he comes near enough to pass th' wor-r-rd. 'Mother above! don't yez know phwat these wops av mine is cilibratin'? It's chasin' th' pope out av Rome. Duck, I tell yez, duck!” “Sure; Hughiy an' th' rist av th' gang took it on th' run. Fatty could ma-a-arch all right, because there's nobody but blackhanders in his dish-trict. But wit' Hughey an' th' others it's different. They might have got his grace, th' archbishop, afther thim.” “Goin' back to Teddy,” observed old Jimmy, as he called for beer, “them rich lobsters is always stirrin' him up. An' they always gets th' worst of it. They've never brought home th' bacon yet. Tie's put one over on 'em every time. “Yez can gamble that Tiddy's th' la-a-ad that can fight!” cried the Wop in tones of glee; “he's th' baby that's always lookin' f'r an argument!” Then in a burst, both rapturous and irrelevant: “tie's th' idol av th' criminal illimint!” “I don't think that's ag'inst him,” interjected the Nailer, defensively. “Nor me neither,” said old Jimmy. “When it comes down to tacks, who's quicker wit' th' applaudin' mitt at sight of an honest man than th' crim'nal element?--only so he ain't bumpin' into their graft. Who is it hisses th' villyun in th' play till you can hear him in Hoboken? Ain't it some dub just off the Island? Once a Blind Tom show is at Minor's, an' a souse in th' gallery is so carried away be grief at th' death of Little Eva, he falls down two flights of stairs. I gets a flash at him as they tosses him into th' ambulance, an' I hopes to join th' church if it ain't a murderer I asks Judge Battery Dan to put away on Blackwell's for beatin' up his own little girl till she can't get into her frock. Wall Streeters an' college professors, when it comes to endorsin' an honest man, can't take no medals off th' crim'nal element.” “Phwy has Morgan an' th' rist av thim Wall Street geeks got it in f'r Tiddy?” queried the Wop. “Phwat's he done to 'em?” “Nothin'; only they claims it ain't larceny if you steal more'n a hundred thousand dollars, an' Teddy won't stand for a limit.”