Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library 
 Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/bowerylifeOOconn 
 
RICHARD K. FOX 
 
 PROPRIETOR OF THE POLICE GAZETTE 
 PUBLISHING HOUSE 
 
BOWERY LIFE 
 
 BY CHUCK CONNORS 
 
 Mayor of Chinatown 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 RICHARD K. FOX PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK CITY 
 
Copyrignt, 1904 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD K. FOX 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Chuck Connors, popularly known as the Mayor of 
 Chinatown, is without doubt, one of the best known 
 of the many New York celebrities. 
 
 He was the original "Chimmie Fadden," a character 
 in a series of stories and plays which have proved a 
 gold mine for one enterprising write r on a New York 
 daily. He is picturesque, and if there was such a 
 thing as an American Coster Chuck would be the true 
 type. 
 
 He i> a philosopher as well as a story teller. He has 
 been a prize fighter, and his appearances on the stage 
 have been successful ones. When he fought, he fought 
 well, as he does everything, and in the days when he 
 was in his prime, and everything went, he put away 
 many a man who was a great deal bigger than he was. 
 
 He has learned to read and write during the past few 
 years, and has added those accomplishments to his 
 many others. 
 
 ''It was a pipe," he says, "to get next to doin' de act 
 wid a pen an' ink, an' as fur de readin' gag, oh, good 
 night. I wuz Johnny on de spot wid dat. But wot got 
 me goin' was telling de time. On de level, it took me 
 
BOWERY LTFE. 
 
 t'ree months before I got next. Wot twisted me up 
 wuz the little hand always sneakin' by de big hand. 
 Say, it was like a race between a thoroughbred an' a 
 piker. But I'm on now, all right." 
 
 No tough boy in Gotham can equal his mannerisms 
 and talk. His is the original tough dialect untouched 
 by education. 
 
 Chuck's distinction is attributed in a manner to his 
 style of dress. A blue flannel shirt, a short coat with 
 white pearl buttons, a white tie and a very small hat ; 
 that makes the character you read about. In fact, his 
 dress is as famous on the Bowery as himself. 
 
 It is in his talk that the remarkable qualities of the 
 man are revealed. Men of all stations in life are held 
 by his wit, his originality, the honest, forcible character 
 of his mind, the uncompromising manner he knows 
 best. The life of the Bowery, "de lane" he calls it, the 
 streets he loves, he could not be torn from. 
 
 He is the supreme interpreter of Bowery slang. "De 
 real ting," "Ah, forget it," "Go in under the table," and 
 "Oh, good night" are phrases that Chuck invented. 
 
 His popularity with the Chinese is remarkable, and 
 his honesty has never been questioned for a moment 
 by anyone. 
 
 He has many strong personal and influential friends, 
 who keep in touch with him through correspondence, 
 and among them may be mentioned Sir Henry Irving, 
 the actor, Israel Zangwill, the author ; Count Albert De 
 Sichtervelt, of Bulgaria ; Sir Thomas Lipton, Chauncey 
 Depew, Admiral Von Dietrich, of the German Navy; 
 
"Here's to me new graft. I'm one of dose guys now wot 
 gits ink .ill over his flippers and looks wise. Say, it's a 
 cinch, and I've got some of dem blokes wot writes books 
 skinned a mile." 
 
P.OWERY LIFE. 
 
 Hall Caine, author of "The Eternal City," and Nat 
 Goodwin, the actor. 
 
 He has escorted them and hundreds of others through 
 the Chinese quarters, with which he is more familiar 
 than any other man in that section of the city. 
 
 He is a famous character, and in the following pages 
 you will find him at his very best. Read what he says, 
 for it will be interesting, and you will find a lot in it 
 that will give you something to think about. 
 
$1,000,000 TO SPEND 
 
 A man who was seeing the sights in Chinatown one 
 night, under Chuck's guidance, said to him as they stood 
 in front of the altar in the Joss house: 
 
 "What would you do, Chuck, if you had a million 
 dollars?" 
 
 "Nuttin', replied Chuck, "fer I wouldn't hev to, see?" 
 
 I wuz out wid a bloke, showin' him de sites uv de 
 Reservation, an' he asks me wot I'd do if I had a million 
 bones. It nearly took me bre'th away t'inkin' uv it, an' 
 I ain't got over it yet. Dat's a swell bunch uv money 
 fer a guy to hev, an' dat ain't no mistake, either. Every 
 time I t'ink uv it it makes me take a long bre'th, an' if 
 I had it — say, cn de level, Z don't t'ink I'd ever be able 
 ter get me bre'th at all. 
 
 Rut I guess blokes like Carnegie and Rockcrfellcr 
 hez got more dan a million — I t'ink dey must hev two 
 millions ennyhow. But if I had dere cush I wouldn't 
 be buildin' no readin' rooms, en libraries, en t'ings like 
 dat. Nixey, dey ain't no good. A guy wot's hungry 
 can't eat de cover off a book, kin he, an' if he's out uv 
 .work how is a brown-stone front goin' ter put him 
 next ? 
 
 Dat's wot I want ter know. 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 An' besides, wot's de use uv holdin' on ter de coin. 
 Ver can't only spend it wimce, an' w'en yer die, yer 
 can't take it wid yer, kin yer? Dey ain't invented 
 doze kind uv Mother Hubbards wid pockets in 'em 
 yet. 
 
 Look et a rich bloke wot's bin workin' like a long- 
 shoreman all his life, pilin' up de dough. He's bin so 
 bizzy gittin' it dat he ain't had no time ter hev fun — 
 yer know, take it easy. An' de more he gits, de harder 
 he hez to work — 'cause he hez ter watch it fer fear 
 sum odder bloke wot ain't bin so lucky, or ain't worked 
 so hard, will put up er job on him an' trim him — yer 
 know, rob him. And dere yer are. 
 
 Dere's nuttin' ter it ; furst dey work fer it, den dey 
 watch it, an' den dey die, an' den de surkus begins, fer 
 everybody hez a mitt out ter git er grab ez soon ez de 
 hearse leaves de house. An' de poor, rich bloke goes 
 ter de same kind uv a hole in de ground dat ennybody 
 else doz, an' it's a hundred ter one shot dat erbout half 
 uv de stuff he had ter leave behind is goin' ter buy 
 wine in de swell dumps fer a bunch uv stage Tommies. 
 
 Are yer on? 
 
 If I had it I wouldn't hev ter watch it, 'cause I'd be 
 blowin' it in so fast dat it wouldn't need watchin', an' 
 cat's no pipe dream. 
 
 De furst t'ing I'd do if I had a million would be ter 
 go ter de Waldorf-Astoria an' hire er sweet uv rooms — 
 yer know, er bunch uv dem. Den I'd give er dinner 
 ter all de mob, wot u'd cost er hundred bucks er plate, 
 an' after I'd got dem all paralyzed wid real wine, I'd 
 
"Dere"s sum good laws in dis country, but dey needs 
 fixin", an dere just about ez good ez a growler w'ot's full 
 uv hok-s — de beer runs out an' de froth stays in. See." 
 
f.OWERY LTFE. 
 
 send dem home in autermobiles. Den I'd go ter de 
 guy at de desk, an' tell him 1 wuz goin' ter turn in, an' 
 I'd say: 
 
 "I want er good, strong bloke ter cum up an' call 
 me at 7 o'clock in de mornin'." 
 
 An' den in de mornin', w'en he'd cum up an' pound 
 on de door, I'd let him hammer his nuckles fer erbout 
 ten minutes, an' den I'd say: 
 
 "Git out o' dere, yer Skibboreen harp — I don't hev 
 tef git up." 
 
 I'd hire de parks every Sunday, wid Eyetalian bands 
 ter play "Every Day'll be Sunday By an' By," an' I'd 
 hev der swellest tallent you'd want ter sit down an' 
 listen ter. 
 
 Dancin? Sure. All de workin' fellers could hev 
 der steadies an' twist ter a knockout, an' if a bundle 
 got freckles in her t'roat — you know, got dry, see — I'd 
 
 hev coon waiters ter bring her a couple uv tubs uv 
 milk so she could drown de freckles out. De fellers 
 could hev everyt'ing on de bill uv fare, 'cept cigarettes 
 —I wouldn't stand fer dem. 
 
 I notice dere ain't no statues on de Bowery. Well, 
 dere ought ter be, an' I'd hev statues of Carrie Nation, 
 Dowie an' Dr. Parkhurst put up, an' I'd hev 'em 
 decorated wid crape. 
 
 An' I wouldn'\t hev nobody carryin' de banner, 
 'cause I'd hev free sleepin' cribs on every block. W'y 
 should a bloke wot's poor hev ter pay fer sleepin' 
 ennyhow ? 
 
 Me headqua'ters would be de Waldorf, but I would 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 hev a telephone station in Chinatown, so I could git a 
 hot chop sliey w'en 1 wanted it quick. Ev'ry mornin' 
 at JO o'clock — or near dcre — I'd call tip me Chat'am 
 Square agent an' tell him ter give cologne ter der gals 
 an' segars an' free lunch ter der gorillas. Ev'ry bloke 
 dat wuz hungry would have a feed bag an w'enever he 
 wanted it. How does dat crab yer? 
 
 I'd give out coupons ter all der mob ter go an' get a 
 bath, a shave, a shine, a hair cut, an' a shampoo, so 
 dey would be all polished up like a door knob, waitin' 
 fer yours truly in his autermobile wid de Chinky 
 chaffer. 
 
 An' dis gag erbout art galleries. W'y 3 dat gives me 
 stagnation uv me liver an' I'll pass it up. Dere'd be no 
 art galleries in mine. I'd hev two or t'ree tons uv 
 corn beef an' cabbage an' a hundred blokes wid pitch- 
 forks ter shovel it out. If yer want ter git to der gang, 
 give 'em sumthin' ter eat an' not sumthin' ter look 
 at — not on yer tin-type. A bloke w'ot's hungry ain't 
 stuck on listenin' to a long talk by a feller w'ot's just 
 filled in wid everyt'ing, from soup ter pie, an' a ham 
 sandwi'ch is better to him dan a t'ree t'ousan' dollar 
 c'romo. 
 
 Young Rockerfeller hez a class uv fellers in a Sun- 
 day school, an' he slings a few t'ings at 'cm, but he 
 don't stake 'em ter nuttin' except chin music, an' I 
 could do dat meself, an' w'en he gives 'em a dinner he 
 makes 'em pay fer dere own grub. No wonder he's 
 got er million dollars — he ought ter own de earth, if he 
 lives long enuff — I mean, if his father does, cause 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 dere's w'ere de cush . cums from in dat family, an' it 
 ain't on der level, either, 'cause no bloke ought ter have 
 more dan he kin earn. 
 
 Between you an' me dere's strong arm guys in 
 odder places dan de Bowery, only dey work diffrunt. 
 Stow dis in yer nut, cull, an' t'ink it over. Dere's sum 
 good laws in dis country, but dey needs fixin', an' dere 
 just about ez good ez a growler w'ot's full uv holes — de 
 beer runs out an' de froth stays in. See? 
 
 I'd have de Board uv Health go round ter every 
 joint an' see dat all de reg'lars is gittin' de right stuff 
 from de guy behin' de fence. I'd cut out de horse 
 show, 'cause de horses git show enuff. I'd give de 
 people a show fer a change, and I guess by de time all 
 dis would be done I wouldn't have enny more uv me 
 million, an' I'd spend me life in bein' happy, wicf 
 nuttin' on me mind ter worry me. 
 
 Dat's de only way. 
 
 De poor bloke is de best after all, fer he kin be a 
 king wid a ten spot, an' he ain't got nuttin' ter lose. 
 
 If he gits wet w'en it rains he knows he'll git dry 
 w'en de sun cums out, an' if he's tied up ter a bundle 
 an' has kids, dey couldn't look enny more like him it 
 he had enuff coin ter make Goold look like a piker. 
 
CHUCK TRIES HEALTH FOOD 
 
 Just listen ter me fer er minnit, will yer, cos dere's 
 a lot on me mind dat I'm goin' ter dump right here. 
 I ain't got no kick cumin' ter nobody but meself, an' 
 w'en it cums to er show down I kin see w'ere de Mayor 
 uv Chinatown didn't even git a run fer his money. 
 
 Dat's me. 
 
 It ain't no use uv fergit it dis time, cos I can't. 
 Dere's sum t'ings er bloke can't git out uv his nut fer 
 er long time. 
 
 Wun uv dem. is w'ere a bundle he is stuck on gives 
 him de merry laugh — yer know, de t'row down, de 
 dinky-dink. 
 
 De odder is w'ere he gits up agin a new graft wot 
 looks nice an' easy, but wot cums ez hard ez gittin' er 
 ten-case note out uv er Chinkey idol. 
 
 Dere's er mug in dis village wot wears his hair long 
 an' is stuck on his shape. He's wun uv dem guys 
 wot's been gittin' all kinds uv cush out uv de fisical 
 culture graft, an' it v-um in so fast dat his flippers got 
 sore countin' de coin. 
 
 He ain't satisfied wid gittin' coin dat way, but he 
 t'inks he'll cop sum uv de long green wid de grub 
 racket — start restrants, are yer on? 
 
 So he goes out an' hires er few join s an* paii.ts 'e^ 
 
BOWER V IIFE. 
 
 all w'ite on de outside, hires er lot uv bundles ter wnit 
 on de tables, an' bunch uv good lookin' dames ter be 
 cashiers an' nail de cush from de blokes vv'en dey go 
 out, an' den he's ready. 
 
 But he's got er good nut on him, in wun way, fer 
 pickin' out dem gals ter sit on high stools behin' de 
 desk an' give de mugs er smile w'en dey pay up. 
 Dere's a hull lot uv people wot'll fall fer dat kind uv 
 graft, an' dey'll steer fer er joint wot hez er han'some 
 gal in front just like er sailor heads fer de Bowery ez 
 soon ez he gits his liberty an' six months' pay. 
 
 Dat's wot a cupple uv red ribbons an' er cupple uv 
 rows uv ivory will do to er bloke, whether he's er kid 
 gittin' $3 er week for carryin' bundles, er a big mug 
 down in Wall street wot kin put his feet on de desk 
 w'enever he feels like it. 
 
 Well. I sees wun uv dese joints an' I t'inks dat de 
 next time I feel like puttin' er feed bag on dat I'll give 
 it er try out. I'd been better off if I'd let it go at dat 
 an' stuck ter de Irish turkey — ah, corned beef, ain't yer 
 on? — what Her Nobs hands out reg'lar. 
 
 Ennyhow, wun fine day in I blows an' cops out er 
 seat at wun uv de tables. Pretty soon a gal in er w'ite 
 apron cums erlong an' hands me er bill uv fair. 
 
 I turned it inside out lookin' fer er fisical culture 
 stake, but dere wuzn't enny meat on it, an' it wuzn't 
 Friday, neither. 
 
 Den I pipes off sum uv de blokes wot wuz bizzy feed- 
 in' dere faces. Hully gee, dey wuz shovelin' in corn 
 an' stuff wot looked like de sawdust wot cums out uv 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 er doll, an' drink in' milk. On de level, half uv 'em 
 looked like dey wuz croakin' wid de ol' con. 
 
 "Ha," sez I ter de bundle, "ain't yer got nuttin' ter eat 
 in dis joint ?" 
 
 "Sure," sez she, "look on de bill uv fair." 
 
 "Dat's fer horses," sez 1. "Gimme sumthin' wot er 
 bloke like me kin eat. Ain't yer got no chop suey, er 
 no spuds?" 
 
 "Nix," sez she. 
 
 Well, wot d'yer t'ink uv dat. A feedin' crib widout 
 no spuds. Puttin' in er lunch dere wuz like fightin' er 
 coon in er dark alley at nite — you've got ter shut yer 
 eyes an' take er chance. So I sez to der gal : 
 
 "Ha, sis, I got two bits in me clothes ; bring me enny 
 old t'ing. 
 
 "Two bits?" she sez. "Wot's dat?" 
 
 "Ah, er quarter," sez I, an' I flashed me coin so she 
 could see I wuz on de level. So she sets her feet agoin' 
 an' went down de line ter de back where dey dig 
 up dat funny chuck. 
 
 Dere I sat, like er mug wot had got in de wrong pew 
 an' wuzn't wise ter wot wuz comin' off de next move an' 
 t'inkin' dat everybody wuz pipin' me off. But de most 
 uv 'em wuz too busy puttin' away de dried hay an' 
 mattress stuffin' ter pay much attention ter yours truly. 
 While I wuz waitin' I got a good chance ter look eround, 
 an' I saw er cupple uv signs which said dat de bloke wot 
 owned de joint wouldn't make good on a guy's lid or 
 ulster if it wuz copped, unless it wuz locked up in de 
 safe, or sumthin' like dat, an' after I read dem I wuz 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 glad I kept mine on, an' 1 wuz wishin' I had er string 
 ter it, den it would be er cinch. 
 
 Well, pretty soon de bundle dat wuz waitin' on me 
 cum back wid er little tray wid erbout five dishes on it, 
 an' each dish had sumthin' on it — but not much. 
 
 "W'ere's de knife?" sez L 
 
 "Wot d'yer want er knife fer?" she sez. "Dere ain't 
 nuttin' ter cut." 
 
 Dat wuz er good wun on me, so I tipped her er 
 wink, grabbed er spoon, an' cut loose. 
 
 Good nite ! 
 
 De first jump out uv de box I got er moutTul uv 
 stuff dat wuz like oats. I chewed it until I wuz near 
 dead fer er drink, den 1 give me t'roat er twist — just 
 like de strangle hold — an' got it down. 
 
 "Say," sez I, ter an old bloke wot sat next ter me, 
 "how long does er mug live after he gets er bale uv dis 
 in his sistem, or does he live ter git ez much ez dat 
 down him?" 
 
 He handed me er tuff look — it couldn't hev been 
 worse if I wuz wun uv dem strong-arm guys wot wuz 
 after his super — yer know, his watch. 
 
 "Ain't yer got no mouth on yer?" sez I. "Or do yer 
 only use it fer eatin' hay?" 
 
 "Sir," sez he. "Wuz yer addressin' me?" 
 
 "No," sez I. "I wuz only speakin' ter yer. I wuz 
 askin' yer about dis funny grub. I ain't used ter it. 
 It's er new graft fer me, an' it kinder hurts me face. 
 Are yer on ?" 
 
 "It's grate," he sez. "It saved me life, an' I can't 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 speak too much about it. Six months ago I weighed 
 only 103 pounds, an now I weigh 104." 
 
 "Ez much ez dat?" sez I. "1 suppose in erbout six 
 years more you'll weigh 105." 
 
 "Sure," sez he, "an' mtbbe I'll be up ter 106." 
 
 "Well, old pal," sez I, "why don't yer try my graft. 
 I'll put er feed-bag on yer dat'll make yer look like Jim 
 Jeffries." 
 
 "Ah, indeed," he sez. "Yer interest me. An' wot 
 may dat be?" 
 
 "A big chunk uv co ned beef an' cabbage, t'ree 
 times er day, an' erbout sixteen scuttles uv slops at 
 Barney's." 
 
 Say, on de level, I t'ought dere wuz gom' tei b<> er 
 riot, an' I wuz t'inkin' I'd hev ter fite me way ter der 
 door, w'en de old t'rush got w'ite around de gills. I 
 t'ought he wuz goin' ter drop dead w'ere he sat, but he 
 hopped ter his pins like er cricket, an' made er lam fer 
 de frunt door. 
 
 I could hear de bell ringin' ter de last round, an' I 
 made er quick finish uv de stuff on de plates, collared 
 de check an' waltzes up ter Miss Handsome, wid er 
 pompydor ez big ez er sofa piller, sittin' on de high 
 stool. 
 
 "Here's yer two bits," sez I, layin' down me coin 
 wid er pain in me heart, fer it wuz like chuckin' it 
 erway. 
 
 "T'pnks," sez she, ez she nailed it wid her t'umb an' 
 first finder. 
 
 "No t'anks erbout it," sez I, "but I want ter put yer 
 
BOWERY L] EE. 
 
 wise ter sumthin'. Do yer know wot I'm goin' ter do 
 now?" 
 "No," sez she. 
 
 "Well, I'm goin' out ter er joint w'ere dey has real 
 grub, an' git sumthin' proper to eat. See?" 
 
 "Is it ez bad ez dat?" sez she, wid er smile dat would 
 take de buttons off yer vest. 
 
 "Worse," sez I. "So long." 
 
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ONE WAY TO TRAIN 
 
 Some of dese blokes w'at wants ter be fiters gives me 
 a pane in me slats, an' I t'ink dey ought ter be in de 
 surkus, or else wearin' blue and pink wrappers, wid 
 lace around de neck. 
 
 If dere's any fite in a guy it's goin' ter cum out just 
 like de measles, or any old t'ing he has in his system. 
 
 Look 'em over an' see w'at you t'ink of dem. 
 
 An' anudder t'ing. As soon as dey wins a cupple of 
 fites an' gits dere mug in de papers, dey wants ter go 
 on de stage an' look pritty, an' be among de actorines 
 all de time. 
 
 How kin a knuckle-pusher be an actor? 
 
 Nix, cul, nothin' doin'. 
 
 He's either goin' ter be a good actor an' a bum fiter, 
 or a good fiter an' a bum Willie boy w'ere de footlites 
 grow. 
 
 I say, if yer got a good graft, stick to it, an' don't 
 try an' butt in on sumbody elses puddin'. 
 But I wuz talkin' about trainin'. 
 
 I ain't never told how we used ter train, an' we 
 didn't wear no fancy bat' robes in de ring in doze days, 
 an' we didn't have no trainin' quarters either, unless 
 yer kin call de back room of a mixed-ale joint trainin* 
 quarters, an' w'en we wanted ter take on weight we 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 got two beef stews, an' w'en we wanted ter take it off 
 we had a t'ree-cent Turkish bat'. 
 
 But I'll tell you w'at happened at de Reserwation 
 last nite. 
 
 Here's de way it cum off : 
 
 "Say, Chuck, I hear you list to be a prize-fighter," 
 said a wise guy with one of them bum wise winks. 
 
 A prize-fighter? Well, I'll tell yuz I ust to be a 
 fighter, but I don't know if I wuz a prize-fighter. No, 
 I don't t'ink I wuz a prize-fighter, for I'll tell you why. 
 Every time I went into dat graft* yuz call prize-fighting 
 de best I got wuz only for de odder fellow. 
 
 Say, I'll tell yuz something about de time when 
 vours truly wuz in de graft. 
 
 I ust to hang out in a joint in Chinatown. It wuz a 
 gin mill, and de bloke dat run it, he ust to deal in bum 
 booze and dat class of prize-fighters. We ust to call 
 him de manager, see. 
 
 Well, dis bloke I'm telling yuz about; de manager? 
 Yes. Well, dis bloke ust to get all de fights for de 
 bunch, see, and he'd pick out one of de bunch and say 
 to him : 
 
 "Say, how much do you weigh?" 
 
 De nuckle-pusher he'd look at himself in de glass 
 and say: 
 
 "Oh, about 180." 
 
 Den dis bloke, de manager, he'd trow his oyster c.i 
 de nuckle-pusher and say : 
 
 "You're too heavy. I want a mug about 118." 
 
 Den he'd go in de back room and he'd weigh up de 
 
Aw. w'ot are yer talk in* about? If dere's euny rite in 
 bioke, it's got to Come out. just like de measles." 
 
BOWERY' LIFE. 
 
 bunch dat would be sleepin' on de chairs, an' he'd 
 shake de chairs and wake de talent, you know, de 
 nuckle-pushers. 
 Well, he'd say: 
 
 ''How much doz any of yuz mugs weigh?" 
 
 Well, dey would all begin stretchin' and gappin', 
 and den some of dem would say, with a gap and an- 
 other stretch : 
 
 "What weight do you want?" 
 
 Den de manager he'd say: 
 
 "I want a 118-pound man." 
 
 "Say, Jim," one of de bunch asked, "what's de 
 weight ?" 
 
 De whole bunch jumped to dere feet with: 
 "Say, Jim, I kin do dat." 
 
 "Well, come here. Let me smell your breath." 
 
 He'd take a smell and say : 
 
 "Go and sit down, you bung-hole." 
 
 Then he'd pick me out and say : 
 
 "Ho, Chuck, come here. Kin you make 118?" 
 
 "I don't know, manager," I'd say. Den he'd take 
 me over to de scales and make me get on, and I'd 
 shove de ring up to 135. 
 
 "You can make it all rite," he'd say, an' then he'd 
 horse me over to the Sheeney t'ree-cent baths and 
 leave me dere fer twelve hours wit' nuttin' to eat and 
 nuttin' to drink. 
 
 Well, I wuz talkin' to one of de blokes dat wuz 
 bringin' in de soap an' water to me an' in comes de 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 manager hollering murder watch. He comes taring 
 over to me in cle swet room an' sez : 
 
 "Say, wot's cle matter wit' you?" 
 
 "Wot's de matter?" I sez. 
 
 De manager sez, "Say, how is yuz goin' to get down 
 
 to weight talkin' all de time?" 
 
 Well, to make a long story short, I sez : 
 
 "Manager, I got to talk to make meself believe I'm 
 
 alive, fur on de level I've been livin' on suspission for 
 
 de last t'ree weeks, an' now your feedin' me on de 
 
 extract." 
 
 "Extract of what?" asked de wise guy, showing 
 his crockery wid a gas laugh. 
 
 "Oh, extract of suspission, of course," I sed, an' I 
 gave him a smile dat dazzled his eyes an' put freckles 
 on his neck, an' I waltzed away to de tune of 'I don't 
 care if you never come back.' 
 
 Trainin'? Oh, good nite. Dat manager could 
 train a bloke up an' down in a minnit. He could take 
 it off an' put it on so fast dat de scales would keep 
 jumpin' around like a Dago fruit peddler wid his cart 
 upset. Dere ain't no manager like him no more, an' 
 it's a good t'ing fer de nuckle-pushers dere ain't, 
 'cause de coin would be all goin' one way — an' dat way 
 would be de manager's. 
 
THE TRUE STORY OF KITTY 
 
 I know dis ain't de rite time ter hand out a New 
 Year's gag, but dis is wun I had in me nut a long w'ile, 
 an' dere's many a time w'en dere ain't nuttin' doin' 
 dat I t'inks uv it. Dis is wun uv doze stories wot's on 
 de level, an' it don't take enny fancy writin', because 
 it just cums itself, like enny t'ing else dat's real. 
 
 I wuz standin' on de corner las' New Year's eve, 
 an' de mob wuz cumin' down in droves, like a bunch 
 uv gorillas — lafin', singin', hollerin' an' blowin' dere 
 horns. Everybody had a happy feelin' an' a glad 
 smile, an' dcy wuz goin' t'ru de Reservation ez if dey 
 wuz doin' a cake walk wid chow chop suey an' mush- 
 rooms fer a prize. Nuttin' wuz botherin' dem, an' dey 
 wuz grabbin' dere bundles an' singin' "W'en Katie an' 
 I Wuz Comin' T'ru de Rye," ez if dat wuz all dey had 
 on der minds. Dey didn t care nuttin' fer us blokes, 
 'cause we are only a side show fer such as dem. An' 
 me standin' dere alone widout a drink in me sistem, 
 an' no wun ter cum along an' say: 
 
 "Happy New Year, Chuck." 
 
 But, say, old pal, ain't dat alwuz de way? Ain't it a 
 case uv laff an' de world laffs wid ycr? 
 
 Well, I takes a slow walk down de lane, w'ich wuz 
 iike a looney factory wid dat mob pushin' t'ru, an' I 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 wuz fcelin' cz if I didn't have a frien' in dc world, w'en 
 I meets Peg Dillin wid a can. She wuz goin' ter 
 Barney's fer er pint an' her New Year's bottle. She 
 stops me in front uv Hung Fan Low's store, an' sez : 
 "Hello, Chuck." 
 
 "Hello, Peg," sez I. "Wot's der word?" 
 
 "All ter de bad," sez she, "all ter de bad." She begin 
 shufflin' her feet on de sidewalk and changin' de 
 growler from one hand ter de odder. She acted like 
 she had sumtliin' on her mind, an' wuz afraid ter let 
 go. I wuz on dat dere wuz sumthin' de matter an' I 
 begin ter scratch me nut an' wuz t' nkin' ter meself, 
 "Will I, or will I not?" Yer know how a bloke feels 
 w'en he sees a gal down-hearted like dat — he don't 
 want ter touch her troubles. But dis wuz a case w'ere 
 I had ter dig in an' find out who wuz who, an' wot wuz 
 wot. So I gets me gall tergedder an' puts me hand on 
 her shoulder, an' sez: 
 
 "Say, Peg, on de level — give it ter me straight — wot 
 makes yer look like a dead one? Yer don't want ter be 
 like dat on New Year's eve, or yer won't be ripe w'en 
 de summer cums agin." 
 
 She gives a kind uv little shiver, just ez if she had 
 cr kind uv a chill, an' sez: 
 
 "Well, I tell yer how it is, Chuck. Poor Kitty Mock 
 Shue is layed flat on her back, an' down an' out wid de 
 gallopin' con, an' de doctor sez she ain't got much 
 time ter fix up de insoorance papers." 
 
 Say, cull, she wuz just like a guy wot had got a 
 wallop on de jaw an' wuz half out. She went inter 
 
"I wuz standin' on de corner las' Now Year's eve, an' de 
 mob wuz cumin' down in droves, like a hunch uv gorillas— 
 lafin', singin', hollerin' an' hlowin' dere horns," 
 
COVVERY LIFE. 
 
 Barney's an' got her pint, an' w-'en she cum out, she 
 sez : 
 
 "Chuck, Kitty wants ter see yer about sumthiu'. 
 Cum on up ter de house. Mock Shue won't mind — he 
 likes yer ever since he went ter dc t'eatre an' saw yer 
 on de stage wid de bunch." An' so I digs up wid her 
 ter see Kitty. 
 
 De room wuzn't no swell joint, an' it wuzn't no 
 Waldorf Astoria dump, but it wuz jes' poor an' plain. 
 Dey had a fine place before de Reformers closed up 
 Mock's t'ree fan-tan joints, an' w'en times wuz good 
 den his luck would run up inter de thousands on sum 
 nites. His game wuz known ter be de squarest in 
 Chinatown, an' no wun wuz ever trimmed by him. 
 Chinkcy traders and laundrymen from all over de 
 country didn't feel rite w'en dey cum ter New York if 
 dey didn't have a rap at one uv Mock Shue's games. 
 Dem wuz de good days, an' I t'ought uv dem ez I stood 
 in dat little bum room. Doze wuz de days w'en Kitty 
 wuz a belle, an' wore seal-skin saks an' di'monds an' 
 jewelry by der ton, an' dere wuz all kinds uv coin 
 in her kick. 
 
 Now it wuz a case of Mock bein' lucky if he could 
 cum ter light on der lan'lord's birthday — yer know, 
 pay de rent. 
 
 I looked over at wun end uv der room an' saw er 
 bunk. At de odder end wuz a stove wot had seen bel- 
 ter days, an' dere wuz a couple uv pots an' kittels wot 
 Mock cooked his grub in, hangin' on nni's. An' nixcy 
 fer de bed — if a good healt'y bloke went ter sit on it he 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 would send it tcr de floor. On wun side wuz a Joss 
 alter, wid a picture uv Joss Iiangin' behind it, an' a 
 bunch uv Joss sticks burnin' in front, an' a sweet oil 
 lamp, an' a couple uv tea cups on each side, full uv 
 tea, fer Joss ter drink w'en he wuz t'irsty. 
 
 Nobody sez a word. Mock an' his pal, Chin Wee, 
 wuz on de bunk, hittin' de pipe ; Lizzie Brennan wiu 
 lcanin' agin de end uv de bed an' Big Annie wuz sittin' 
 on er soap box alongside. De room wuz full uv smoke 
 like de Nort' river on a foggy mornin' from dc pipe de 
 Chink wuz hittin', an' it smellcd like taffy candy a 
 burnin'. You know, dat's clc way de hop smells. De 
 floor wuz prkty clean fer a joint like dat, fer Peg wuz 
 after scrubbin' it on account uv de Chinese doctor bein' 
 expected. I went over ter Kitty, an' I sez: 
 
 "Happy New Year, Kit." 
 
 She looked at me, den shut her eyes, dropped her 
 head on wun side uv de pillow, an' sez: 
 
 "It's a Happy New Year fer you, Chuck, but it's 
 t::ff on me." She tried ter wet her lips wid her tongue. 
 Den she looked eround an' sez, agin: "Put yer hand 
 under me back, Chuck, an' lift me up." 
 
 So I lifted her up, an' stuck a bunch uv pillows be- 
 hind her, an' she brushed her hair back an' looked 
 crour.d de room. 
 
 "".Veil, Kate, old gal, how are yer feelin'?" sez I, 
 'c.iuse I hid ter say sumthin' — I couldn't be standin' 
 v!cre like a dead wun. 
 
 "Net very good, Chuck," she sez. "Mock brought 
 np dc Chinee doctor an' he give me sumthin' — it's med:- 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 cine — it's dere in de stone jug, an : it's got me head 
 a-reelin'. I t'ink dere must be sumthm' in it dat makes 
 me feel rocky." 
 
 I see she wuz gettin' kind uv nutty — yer know dat 
 Chinky med'cin' is funny stuff — so I tol' Peg ter turn 
 out der beer an' give Kitty a glass ter take der taste uv 
 der med'cin' out uv her t'rottle. So we all had a glass 
 an' I tuk a glass over ter Mock an' asked him ter drink 
 fer Happy New Year, but he sez : 
 
 "No, Chuck, I no dlinkee now ; too muchee solly ; 
 you sabe. Kitty too muchee bimeby die." 
 
 "Not on yer life, Mock,'' sez I. "Kitty ain't goin' ter 
 die. She's all ter de good. She looks like er boiler- 
 maker goin' ter work." 
 
 "Me no t'ink so, Chuck," he sez. "She too muchee 
 dlink, an' too muchee smoke opium. Now she makee 
 die." 
 
 "Ah ferget it," sez I, "she'll be all rite. See. she's 
 lafrin'; don't yer see her?" 
 
 De odder monk didn't screw his nut wunce w'ile 
 we wuz chinnin' ; he kep' rite on cookin' de opium pill 
 over de sweet oil iamp fer anudder smoke, fer he 
 didn't care if de w'ole worl' wuz on de bum, an' he wuz 
 de Commiss'oner uv Char'ties an' got his graft. He 
 lost sight uv us in de last pill he smoked, an' his lamps 
 went out on him. Den Mock went up again de pipe 
 himself an' went over to de foot uv de bed. De two 
 bundles went out. an' I wuz sittin' dere like a tombstone, 
 fiddlin' wid me fingers, an' t'inkin' w'ot a grate time de 
 mob wuz havin'. Mock's pal wenf out lookin' as if 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 he'd played de dead man's gig wid forty cents in stage 
 money, an' in anudder minnit Mock was stretched out 
 snorin' like a steam engin'. I got kind uv dopey meself, 
 sittin' dere wid nobody ter chin ter, an' I played 
 off inter a snooze. I don't know how long I wuz 
 asleep, but de fi'st t'ing I knows, I woke up wid Kitty 
 shakin' me. I t'ought she had a fit de way she wuz 
 glarin' aroun' de room. 
 
 "Listen, Chuck, listen," an' she grabbed me by dcr 
 shoul'ers wid a grip like Jeffries. 
 
 Dere wuz a mob goin' past in de street singin' dat 
 ol' song, "I Dream't Me Dear 01' Mudder wuz er 
 Queen." 
 
 "Do yer hear dat, Chuck," sez she, an' I couldn't 
 sa- nuttin'. Den she broke out cryin' an' falls back on 
 her piller. Say, on de level, she made me feel kin' uv 
 spongy meself. 
 
 "Cheese it, Kit," sez I. "Don't do dat; ferget it; dis 
 is New Year's Eve." 
 
 "I wish I could be dat way again, out on de street 
 wid de mob, havin' a good time," she sez, "but I know 
 I'm all in. I've had mine, I guess, an' de finish is al- 
 mos' here, but listen Chuck, ' she sez. 
 
 Den she reached aroun' under de mattress an' 
 pulled out a little package, an' she begins pullin' off de 
 papers, one sheet after anudder, all de time cryin' as if 
 she wuz never goin' ter stop, an' w'en de las' piece uv 
 paper cum off she flashed er gold ring. She looked at 
 it fer a minnit an' den she sez as she held it up: 
 
 "Chuck, do yer see dis? It's me weddin' ring, an' 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 dat's why I keep it so dear. But it's turned agin me 
 like all de worl' has, an' dat's w'y I tol' Peg Dillon 
 tcr tell yer ter cum up. De rent is due tomorrer, 
 Chuck, an' we ain't got a nickel, an' we can't make 
 a touch from no one. Yer know w'en yer down yer 
 ain't got no friends." 
 
 On de level, I could feel a wrinkle cum in me 
 heart. 
 
 "It's de same oF sayin', Chuck, w'en yer got it 
 ev'rvbody will stick ter yer. I've hocked ev'ryt'ing 
 dat would bring in a dollar, an' dis is de las' t'ing I've 
 got. I kept it tcr look at an' ter make me t'ink 
 tiv long ago. Take it, yer know what ter do 
 wid it." 
 
 Say, I don't of'en get dripple, but I wuz near it dat 
 time. Yer know dere's some t'ings wot' gits ter a 
 feller, no matter w'ot kind uv clothes he wears. I 
 wouldn't stan' fer her lcttin' her last piece uv junk 
 go. 
 
 "Soak it away agin, Kitty," sez I, "an' I'll go out an' 
 give de road a dash, an' if I kin dig up enny uv dem 
 swell cream cakes from uptown, w'ot's down here ter 
 see dc sights, yer kin bet yer sweet life dey won't get 
 away dis time from yours truly, an' de lan'lord will git 
 his coin. 
 
 Dcre ain't no finish ter dis, but Kitty didn't croak 
 after all. 
 
 P. S. — De lan'lord got his rent all rite, an' derc 
 wuzn't no kick cumin' from him. 
 
CHUCK AND SLATS IN SOCIETY 
 
 I wuz uptown wunce vv'en I had dc time uv me 
 life. Dere's a good many uv de mob around de Reser- 
 vation wot ain't never been uptown. Dey never trav- 
 elled an' don't know nuttin'. Yer kin read t'ings out 
 uv books an' papers but you've got ter see 'em if yer 
 want ter git next rite. 
 
 Dat's de only way. 
 
 Well, dis is de way dis trip happened. 
 
 A bloke wot lives uptown an' knows all erbout it an* 
 who's er kind uv er pal uv mine on account uv me 
 knowin' him so long cum down wun nite an' tips me 
 off dat he wants ter take me an' me gal up to er swell 
 dump w'ere dere's er racket. I wuz afraid dat I would 
 have ter dig up wun uv dose funny suits uv clothes 
 wid er white shirt, but he said nixey, dat it wuz all rite 
 ter go just as I wuz. So I hussies around and digs up 
 Slats — me bundle, yer know — an' off we start. 
 
 "Cum on," sez de swell bloke, "let's take er car." 
 
 "No," sez I, "let's do de Dan O'Leary — walk, yer 
 know — an' blow in de car far fer er cupple uv mugs 
 uv ale." 
 
 It wuz like goin' ter China fer Slats, fer she always 
 stuck to de block, an' by de time we got ter Fourteenth 
 street she wuz hangin' on ter me right wing like cr 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 I give her a waist hold wot almost took her off her 
 pins. "Dis guy hez got us uptown here an' if yer ain't 
 careful he'll switch an' drop us in an ice wagon an' 
 give us cr freeze out. So keep dat kisser uv yours barri- 
 caded an' consider yerself stuffed 'til yer git back." 
 
 Just den de bloke we wuz wid handed me er segar 
 dat wuz er beaut. It must hev cost ten cents, enny- 
 hovv. 
 
 Den Slats opened up ag'in. 
 
 "Say, Willie," she sez, "yer ain't got er cigaret, hev 
 yer?" 
 
 "Sure," sez he, an' he hands her er box uv 'em. 
 
 Well, she copped de whole bunch an handed him back 
 de empty box. 
 
 De bloke looked at me an' I looked at Siats an' 
 she looked at de cigaret's. Wot do yer t'ink uv dat fer 
 gall? 
 
 W'en I got er chance I whispered : 
 
 "Say, w'ere's de bloke's cigaret's?" 
 
 "Wot bloke's cigaret's?" she sez. 
 
 "W'y de bloke wot brought us up here." 
 
 Den she gives me de old gaserline smile and sez: 
 
 "Ah. fcrgit it." 
 
 "I won't fergit it, an' wot do yer tink uv dat?" sez I. 
 "Well, try an' fergit it," sez she. 
 
 Dat took all de asbestos out uv me fer a minnit, so 
 I sez : 
 
 "All rite me old bundle, I'll put de kibosh on you 
 w'en we git back ter de Reservation." 
 
 Ry this time she wuz gittin' kinder used ter de lights, 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 an' I could see she wuz gittin' fresh. So I t'ought da{ 
 maybe I'd hev ter hand her wun just ter keep her in 
 her place, w'en we pulled up in frunt uv er big joint. 
 
 "Wot dump is dis?" sez Slats. 
 
 "Dis is er hotel," sez lie. 
 
 Wid dat Slats give me er nudge wid de elbow an' 
 wun uv clem bum winks. 
 
 "Whoever heard uv er hotel ez big ez dat ?" sez sh \ 
 an' she wouldn't stand fer it fer er minnit. 
 
 In de front dere wuz cr lot uv swell bundles wid all 
 kinds uv togs on an quarries — yer know di'monds — in 
 dere ears. I wuz takin' dem all in an' Slats wuz pipin' 
 in der frunt winders at der guys wid de feed bags or, 
 w'en de bloke we wuz wid hustled us erlong, but 
 she went back ter git anudder look an' de first t'ing 
 I knew she wuz hollerin' : 
 
 "Ha, Chuck, Chuck, cum here." 
 
 So I goes back an' dere she wuz wid er laugh on her 
 face dat went from her ears ter her eyebrows, 
 
 "Say," she sez, "pipe de clothes dis mug hez got on. 
 Dat's grate, ain't it?" 
 
 "Dat's er bell boy," sez de bloke. 
 
 "Bell boy, nix," she sez. "Under de table fer yours. 
 Wot are yer tryin' ter do, string me? Yer might call 
 him er bell boy, but I don't seen no bells about him. I 
 t'ink he's er ringer." 
 
 Well, we dragged her away before she got pinched, 
 an' den we landed in de place w'ere de racket wuz. We 
 took it all in from plush ter creem cakes, an' we 
 hadn't been dere twenty minnits w'en sum swell mug 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 copped Slats an' took her away from me. But dat 
 didn't faze me, fer I went down to de fence wid sum 
 uv de mob an' got t'rowin' booze inter me sistem an' 
 smokin' dem Hennery Clay butts. After erwhile I sez 
 to meself : 
 "I guess I'll go an' dig up Slats." 
 
 I wuz lookin' fer her so long dat, on de level, I 
 t'ought I'd get nearsighted, an' w'en I got er flash uv 
 her w'ere do yer t'ink she wuz? Over in er corner wid 
 er bloke dat had er lace curtain on his Mulligan — yer 
 know, whiskers on his face. 
 
 I tares over to her an' sez : 
 
 "Cum on, Sis, dere's er bloke over here wot wants 
 yer ter give him er twist." 
 
 "Tell de bloke ter send over his card," she sez. 
 "Mebbe I don't know him." 
 
 "His wot?" sez I. 
 
 "His card," sez she. "Yer ain't no boiler-maker. 
 Yer heard wot I sed." 
 
 Ain't it funny de way tarts will fall fer er new graft. 
 Slats wuz rite in line, an' wuz actin' just like doze swell 
 bundles wot give er guy de frozen face w'en dey don't 
 like de way he combs his hair. Take it frum me, cull, 
 it takes er woman ter git next quick. Put 'em enny- 
 where's, an' yer'd t'ink dey'd lived dere all dere lives. 
 
 De old bloke pulled out er pair uv gig-lamps an' put 
 'em on, an' den he give me er grate sizin' up. Den he 
 turned ter Slats, an' sez : 
 
 "Who's yer friend?" 
 
 Well, dat got me goin', an' I sez : 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 "Me ? Why, I'm Chuck Connors, de Mayor uv 
 Chinatown, an' how do yer feel after de shock?" 
 
 He wuz goin' ter say sumthin, but I cut him off, 
 an' I told Slats she had ter cum out on de floor an' give 
 me er twist. 
 
 "Not on yer tut tut," she sez. "Yer out uv it." 
 
 "Are ye sore on me because dis mug yer wid hez 
 got er super an' is all dressed up like er flat on de in- 
 stalment plan?" 
 
 "Shove off frum me an' me company," sez she. 
 
 I give her er look, an' bein' strange ter de place, I 
 didn't know wot ter do, so I t'inks de safest t'ing is de 
 best, an' I screws me nut fer de Reservation, leavin' 
 Her Nobs wid old boy Whiskers. 
 
 I hit de feathers somew'ere's about 2 o'clock, an' de 
 next mornin' er cupple uv de mob cum up ter tell me 
 dat Slats wuz pinched fer slugging two Chinks an' 
 stoppin' er trolley car on de Bowery, an' fer givin' de 
 cop er fight w'en he tried ter take her in. 
 
 Dere wuz only wun t'ing fer me ter do, so I takes 
 er walk over ter de Tombs, an' dere I seen her wid er 
 bunch uv de talent in de pen. She looked kind uv 
 rockey. I went over and sez : 
 
 "Wot's de matter wid yer?" 
 
 "Nuttin," sez she. "Pay me fine an' don't leave me 
 here wid dis bunch." 
 
 "Pay nuttin," sez I. "I ought ter give yer a wallop in 
 de kisser. I guess yer fergit last nite, don't yer? 
 Yer ought ter git er good thumpin'." 
 
 "I wouldn't kick if I did," she sez. "But say, Chuck, 
 
bower v Life. 
 
 yer wouldn't hev de heart ter leave me here, would yer. 
 wid dis bunch uv bums?" 
 
 Just den wun uv de bundles wot wuz sloughed up 
 dere — wid er peach uv er black eye an' er t'ree-months 
 thirst — butted in wid: 
 
 "Excuse me, Miss, are yer referin' ter me? Fer 
 if yer are, I want yer ter understand dat I'm none 
 uv yer cheap Chinatown tarts, I ain't." 
 
 "Mebbe yer ain't," sez Slats, "but yer kin drink all 
 de bum roof paint dey got in Chinatown, an' yer needn't 
 put on enny lugs in dis joint." 
 
 It made me feel kid uv good ter hear Slats hand 
 it back like dat, so I sez: 
 
 "Cut it out, Sis, an' lissen ter er wise crack. Will 
 yer be nice if I pay yer fine?" 
 
 "Will I ?" she sez. "Just you put up de dough, 
 an' den watch me do de minuet out uv dat door." 
 
 So I went ter de bloke behind de desk, an' sez : 
 
 "Say, have yer got Slat's name in yer album?" 
 
 "Nothin' doin'," sez he. 
 
 "Well, hev yer got Kitty McClinchy dere?" 
 "Sure," he sez. "Ten dollars." 
 
 So I digs down in me kick an' cums up wid er ten- 
 spot. 
 
 "De best uv friends must pnrt," sez T, ez I let go uv 
 it, "an' it don't grow in er mug's pocket like grass in de 
 country. Cum on Slats," I hollered, an' we heads fer 
 Chinatown. Uptown may be all rite, but it costs coin 
 ter git wid dat swell push. Are yer goin' ter be good, 
 now?" 
 
'Dat nitc we buried de hatchet in four cans of Barney's 
 Best." 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 She didn't say nuttin' but chucked her arms around 
 me neck, an' dat wuz wort' $10 enny day. 
 
 Dat nite we buried de hatchet in four cans ov Barney's 
 Best. 
 
THE DOINGS OF DUGAN AND 
 CLANCY 
 
 I wuz tellin' a story to a guy about Chinatown and I 
 says to him : 
 
 "Dere wuz t'ree of us when a chaw butts in." 
 
 "What's a chaw?" says he. 
 
 "Say, don't you know what a chaw is? He's a mug 
 wid a sponge in his mout' you know ; a flannel-mout* 
 bloke. Well, dere wuz t'ree of us when de chaw came 
 in, 'n he bangs his toot'pick on de bar. Toot'pick? 
 Why, dat's de iron hook dey use to handle freight 
 and cases. He bangs his toot'pick on de bar 'n says, 
 
 "Line up 'n t'row in." 
 
 "What's dat? Say, you're a' undertaker." Dat's 'n 
 invitation on de Reservation. He says, "Line up 'n 
 t'row in." 
 
 So we line up, de t'ree of us, 'n says mixed ale. De 
 boss, he says he'd smoke a ham. Aw, say, forget it. 
 I t'ink dey could ring a peter on a mug as slow as you. 
 Smoke a ham? Why, dat's a torch. Don't you know 
 what a torch is? Well, up in de Tenderloin dey 
 call it a cigar. Peter? Oh, run away Chawley, some 
 bloke'll steal you. Peter? Dat's a drink dey call 
 Mr. Snyder. Say, is you gettin' rats in de nut? Didn't 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 I tell you that a peter is a Mr. Snyder and a Mr. Snyder 
 is a peter, 'n dat's on de dead. Why, it's a knockout, 
 see. Say, do ye t'ink ye kin kid me? You don't know 
 dat a Dago's 'n Italian, 'n a Monk's a Chink. Say, 
 your dead ratty. A Chink, why dat's a Chinee. Well, 
 as I wuz tellin' yer, de boss says he'd smoke a herrin'. 
 De mug behind de fence. Aw, say, you give a pain in 
 de neck. 
 
 De mug behind de fence, dat's de barkeep, he twists 
 out four scuttles an' a torch. Say, on de level, ye got 
 me dead leary. What did we tell de mug behind the 
 fence we wanted mixed ale for, hp ? Well, den you 
 ought to know dat a scuttle is a mixed ale, see? De 
 mug behind de fence, he twists out four an' a torch. 
 De chaw he says : 
 
 "What do yer want?" 
 
 De mug behind de fence he says: 
 
 "Toity, toity." 
 
 "What," says de chaw. 
 
 "Toity cents," says de mug behind de fence. 
 De chaw he counts. 
 
 "Wan, two, t'ree, four 'n a torch is foive. Twenty- 
 foive," he says. 
 
 "Toity, ye chaw," says de mug behind de fence, 
 reaching fer de convincer. 
 
 "Toity hell," says de chaw. "Foive foives is twenty- 
 foive." 
 
 De boss he says : "I smoke ten cent torches ye know." 
 "Phat?" says de chaw. "Tin cints tur a cigar? De 
 ye t'ink I'm a good ting?" 
 
"Dere wuz free uv us in de joint w'en a Chaw comes in 
 an' says, 'Line up, gents, an' t row in.' A Chaw, yer know, 
 Is a guy wid a sponge in his mout'." 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 De boss, he says : "Well, I wanted a good smoke." 
 
 "Good smoke," says de chaw, "good smoke, is it ye 
 want?" an' he dives down into his pocket an' brings out 
 his poipe an' terbaccy an' hands it at him. 
 
 "Here," he says, "take me poipe. Tin cints fur a 
 cigar." 
 
 Well, what do yer t'ink of dat? 'N he wouldn't put 
 up d' toity. What happened him? Aw, say, forget it. 
 Dere was a collar outside when he landed. Collar? Say, 
 on d'level, you're stuffed. Collar? Why a collar's a 
 cop. Well, dere was a collar outside when he landed, 
 'n I t'ought he was goin' t' sneeze him. Say, you may 
 be a dead fly mug in de Tenderloin, but you're a peter 
 here. Sneeze him ; what does a cop do when he nails 
 a mug, but sneeze him. But he didn't. What did he 
 do to him? Say, forget it. I bet d' chaw ain't sat 
 down since. Say, I thought dey'd need a rattler to 
 move him. Rattler. You gilly, what do they cart a 
 chaw off in when a collar gets tru beltin' him, gener- 
 ally? A rattler is a patrol; dat's what. Well, I 
 thought dey'd need a rattler to take d' chaw off. D' 
 boss he never turned a hair. He tells us to t'row in 
 wit him, 'n we t'rowed in, an' he lights d' herrin' d' 
 chaw didn't pay for. Say, d' boss is d' levelest bloke 
 on de Reservation. Say, he'd stand at a bar 'n blow his 
 brains out wid yer. 
 
 What become of the chaw? Aw, say, what become o' 
 last winter's snow? But I know about a week after 
 dis big harp goes into a Chinese laundry for his wash 
 wid anudder harp named Clancy. De Chink dat ust' 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 own de laundry sold it to another Chink, see. Well, 
 in goes dis big harp. His name was Dugan. He t'rows 
 down de ticket for de laundry. De Chink wuz ironing, 
 an' sed : 
 
 "No goodie tickie, just now," and kept on ironing. 
 
 'That's that you say?" 
 
 The Chink after a while said : 
 
 "I talk you, tickie no goodie." 
 
 "No good, eh?" 
 
 Well you ought to see dem two harps. Dugan looked 
 at Clancy and den at the Chink and said : 
 
 "Say, you funny-eyed devil, if you don't give me 
 phat belongs to me — that's me overalls and jumper — be 
 the holy smoke, I'll bate your dirty, yellow puss till 
 there's more wrinkles in it then there's in a wash- 
 board, you dirty washie, washie," and he makes a grab 
 at de Chink. But de Chink jumped out of de way, and 
 grabbed a flat-iron to soak him. Then Clancy, de 
 udder harp, grabbed de Chink be th' neck and soaked 
 him in de features wit his right, and trowed him down, 
 and de two of dem started in soakin' him all over de 
 laundry, when another Chink came out of de back 
 room wit a club. When Dugan seen him he made for 
 him. De Chink seen the size of Dugan, he dropped de 
 club, and grabbed a fist full of wet starch out of a pail 
 and soaked Dugan between de lamps wit it. While 
 Dugan was tryin' to get it out uv his eyes de two 
 Chinks kept on wallopin' him wit de clubs till poor 
 Dugan had to take it on a jump tru de door, and left 
 Clancy to be thrown in a wash tub and drowned 
 
BOWERY LIFE. 
 
 wit a half dozen pails of dirty water. Well, say, wiien 
 Clancy came up out of de laundry his head and kisser 
 wuz all covered wit blue, and he wuz leakin' like a 
 bloke dat had water on de brain. And dere wuz Dugan 
 up de street, tryin' to get de starch out of his lamps wit 
 his fingers. When Clancy spied Dugan, he walked 
 down to him and grabbed him by de arm. Dugan 
 looked up, and thinkin' Clancy wuz de Chink, de way 
 he wuz covered wit blue, wuz just goin' to go at him 
 again, when Clancy yelled : 
 
 "Hold on there, Dugan, hold on; it's me, Clancy.' 
 
 Dugan looked up at him, still trying to get the starcl: 
 out of his lamps, and every now and then saying: 
 
 "Say, Clancy, how did you come out?'' 
 
 "Take it from me, them Chinks are bad blokes tc 
 monkey wid." 
 
new book: oin 
 
 WRESTLING 
 
 By PRANK GOTCH 
 
 The World's Champion 
 
 1 
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 WRESTLING 
 
 -FRANK GOTCH ftj 
 
 WORLD'S A W 
 
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 4/7 indispensible book for those who 
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 In this book are Rules on Card Games which are 
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 VOU C.aiM TEACH YOURSELF 
 
 RICHARD K.FOX. publisher;: 
 
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 IT CONTAINS 71 FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
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 Complete and Up-to-Date Instructions, tuith Rules, on the Manly Art 
 OVER 60 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
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 FRANKLIN 5QUARE, NEW YORK CITY. 
 
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