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'He had th' sinitor iv Missoury be th' throat whin ye took me away, he says. "I left him there; but he come into th' place at six o'clock, an' borrid a paper an' pencil. Thin he wint back, an' sat down an' wrote. 'What ar-re ye doin' there? says I. 'I've wrote a sketch iv th' nominee f'r th' Stock-yards Sun, he says. 'Listen to it.
He threw the vegetable dipper back into the bucket and declared that a man might as well try to drink out of a sifter. "Any news over yo' way, Laz?" "Don't believe thar's anythin' wu'th dividin'." "Nobody shot or cut?" "Let me see. Reckon you hearn about Oscar Pryor." "No, not sence he borrid five dollars of me. What about him?"
"No,'tis no aisy job bein' a candydate, an' 'twud be no easy job if th' game iv photygraphs was th' on'y wan th' candydates had to play. Willum Jennings Bryan is photygraphed smilin' back at his smilin' corn fields, in a pair iv blue overalls with a scythe in his hand borrid fr'm th' company that's playin' 'Th' Ol' Homestead, at th' Lincoln Gran' Opry House.
He charged cint per cint whin Casey, th' plumber, buried his wife an' borrid money f'r th' funeral expenses. I see him wanst chasin' th' agent iv th' Saint Vincent de Pauls down th' road f'r darin' to ask him f'r a contribution. To look at his har-rsh red face, as he sat at his window markin' up his accounts, ye'd know he was hard in th' bit an' heavy in th' hand.
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