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'Snowball, says I. 'Step inside this dureway, says I, 'less Clancy, th' polisman on th' corner, takes me f'r an octoroon, I says. 'What ar-re ye do-in'? says I. 'How did ye enjye th' prisidincy? says I. He laughed an' told me th' story iv his life. He wint to practisin' law an' found his on'y clients was coons, an' they had no assets but their vote at th' prim'ry.
"Th' shtore wuz clost by, an' we had a good shtart; but th' thing that wuz afther us wuz thravelin' loight an' in foorty-fut leps. "'Twuz a good race, an' wan Oi wanted to win; but, owin' to th' unyversal willin'ness av th' crowd to get into th' shtore, we plugged up th' dureway, an' befoor we c'd get unstuck th' thing wuz onto us, gibberin' an' jabberin' an' screamin' an' laughin' all to wunst.
That hero sthud f'r four hours in th' dureway, ar-rmed on'y with a monkey-wrinch, an' built a wall iv invaders in frint iv him till th' judges cud dig their way out through th' cellar, an' escape to th' polis station. "'F'r manny years th' tenth precint was th' banner precint iv th' Sixth Wa-ard, an' its gallant heroes repelled all attacks by land or Healey's slough.
'Glory be! says I: 'is th' man goin' to add canniballing to his other crimes? Sure enough, as I sthud in th' dureway, along come O'Brien, with his hands scalded, his eyebrows gone, an' most iv his clothes tore fr'm his back, but silent an' grim as iver, with a mite iv a girl held tight to his breast, an' her fast asleep.
'None iv ye'er business, says Pat. 'Answered like a man an' a sojer, says th' coort. 'Jackuse, says Zola fr'm th' dureway. An' they thrun him out. 'Call Col. Hinnery, says th' coort. 'He ray-fuses to answer. 'Good. Th' case is clear. Cap forged th' will.
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