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Th' goold chandeliers is draped with r-ropes iv dimon's an' pearls. Th' hired girl is passin' dhrinks in goolden goblets. Twinty firemen fr'm th' New York Cinthral Railroad is shovellin' dimon'-studded pickle crutes into th' back yard, among th' yachts an' horses. Chansy Depoo enthers an' thrips over a box iv bonds.
He was fr'm th' County May-o, but a good man f'r all that; an', whin he'd growed to be a big, sthrappin' fellow, he wint on to th' fire departmint. They'se an Irishman 'r two on th' fire departmint an' in th' army, too, Jawn, though ye'd think be hearin' some talk they was all runnin' prim'ries an' thryin' to be cinthral comitymen. So ye wud.
They'se a race iv people livin' in Cinthral Africa that'd be jus' r-right. They niver sleep, tkey can carry twice their weight on their backs, they have no frinds, they wear no clothes, they can't read, they can't dance an' they don't dhrink. Th' fact is they're thoroughly oneddycated.
"So ye see, Hinnissy, there's nawthin' in th' Constitution to prevint me fr'm bein' a king, an I looked forward to th' time whin I'd turn th' Illinye Cinthral deepo into a rile palace an' rule me subjicks, ye'ersilf among thim, with a high hand. I'd be a just but marciful monarch. No wan that come to th' palace wud go away empty handed. I'd always lave thim a little something.
I'd been on th' cinthral comity to-day, but f'r me losin' ambition whin they r-run a man be th' name iv Eckstein f'r aldherman. I was sayin', Hinnissy, whin a man gets to be my age, he ducks pol-itical meetin's, an' r-reads th' papers an' weighs th' ividence an' th' argymints, pro-argymints an' con-argymints, an' makes up his mind ca'mly, an' votes th' Dimmycratic ticket.
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