“Nar you see wot a man might ’appen to strike in a tarn like this. Every bloomin’ dye they’s somebody up an’ somebody darn. I started withart a penny, an’ I pulled art a small but helegant fortune in a week’s time. So can any man. “Gents, I give you this stryte: Life in San Francisco is a bloomin’ fayry tyle if a man knows ’is wye abart, an’ a bloke can bloomin’ well blyme ’is own liver if ’e carn’t find a bit of everythink ’ere ’e wants, from the Californy gal, w’ich is the noblest work o’ Gawd, to the ’Frisco flea, w’ich is a bleedin’ cousin to the Old Nick ’isself! They ain’t no tarn like it, they ain’t never been none, an’ they ain’t never goin’ to be. It ain’t got neither turf nor trees nor kebs, but it’s bloody well gort a climate as mykes a man’s ’eart darnce in ’is bussum, an’ cable-cars wot’ll tyke a guy uphill to ’eaven or rarnd the bloomin’ next corner to ’ell’s cellar! They’s every sin ’ere except ’ypocrisy, for that ain’t needed, an’ they’s people wot would ’ave been synted if they’d lived in ancient times. “An’ nar, I want to egspress somethink of wot I thinks o’ you bums. As fur as I can see every one o’ yer is a ’ard cyse, ’avin’ indulged in wot yer might call questingable practices, withart yet bein’, so to speak, of the criminal clarss. It don’t go to myke a man particklerly prard o’ ’umanity to keep a dime restaurant; ’arrivver, ’Evving knows wot I’d do if I couldn’t sometimes indulge in the bloomin’ glow of ’ope. Vango, I allar you’ll be a bad ’un, and I don’t expeck to make a Sunday-school superintendent o’ yer. Coffin uses such lengwidge as mykes a man wonder if ’e ain’t a bleedin’ street fakir on a ’arf-’oliday, so I gives ’im up frankly an’ freely an’ simply ’opes for the best. But you, Dryke, is just a plyne ornery lad as ’as ’ad ’is eart broke, an’ you ’as me sympathy, as a man with feelinks an’ a conscience. “Nar, I’ll tell yer wot I’ll do. I’ll styke the three of yer a dime apiece, an’ yer git art o’ ’ere with the firm intentions o’ gettin’ rich honest. Mybe yer won’t myke it, an’ then again mybe yer will, but it’s a good gamble an’ I’d like to have it tried art. Anywye, come back ’ere to-morrow at nine, an’ ’ave dinner on me, ’an tell me all abart it. Wot d’yer sye?”