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Shtacks an' cords of it. Old times when King went out t'meet him, wish shtyle pile on bigger'n a haystack. Fact. Clothes finer'n a peacock. Tendered him keys, freed'm city. All shat short shing. Ver' impreshive shpectacle. Everybody felt better'n for improvin' sight. Undershtand? We'll be Lord Mayor and train for shis London. We can rig out right here. Our trouseau's here in shis hair trunk."
Broderick did not know him, but he recognized at his side the well-groomed figure of Charles Cora, gambler and dandy. "Wancha t'meet Charley," said the introducer, unsteadily, to Richardson. "Bes' li'l man ever lived." Richardson held out his hand a bit reluctantly. Cora's sort were somewhat declassé. "Have a drink?" he invited. Broderick left them together.
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