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"Hello, boys," the committee-man called out with automatic geniality, as he descended the broken steps. "How are ye? All here? That's good; that's the stuff! Good work!" Only Toby replied with more than an indifferent grunt; but he ran forward, carrying an empty beer keg which he placed as a seat for the guest. "Ahaha, Meesa Peeslay! Make a parade? Torchlight? Bandaplay ta ra, la la la? Firework?
Laughing her humours almost away, he told her that the red and green lanterns, threatening murkily down the street, were for only wicked ones, like that Meesa Peaslay, for whom she discovered, Pietro's admiration had diminished.
Look here, you swing them six in line and march 'em up, and all of ye stamp the rooster instead of the eagle this time, and help me to show Maxim that Frank Pixley's there with the goods, and I'll hand you a five-dollar bill and a full box o' cigars, see?" Pietro nodded and smiled through the darkness. "Stamp that eagle!" he answered, "Eesa all right, Meesa Peasley. Don't you have afraid.
Eesa not a need to pay us to vote a Republican. You save that a money, Meesa Peaslay." "You don't understand," groaned Pixley, with an inclination to weep over the foreigner's thick-headedness. "There's a chance fer a big deal here for all the boys in the precinck. Gil. Maxim's backers'll pay big fer votes enough to swing it. The best of 'em don't know where they're at, I tell you.
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