I hit him smash in yaw, py Gott!
Jenkins--the First--he's a rotten swine--
And the coppers nabbed him--and I run--
I like peer better. It don't pig head gif you.
A slut, I'm sayin'! She robbed me aslape--
To hell with 'em all!
You're a bloody liar!
Say dot again!
[Commotion. Two men about to fight are pulled apart.]
No scrappin' now!
To-night--
See who's the best man!
Bloody Dutchman!
To-night on the for'ard square.
I'll bet on Dutchy.
He packa da wallop, I tella you!
Shut up, Wop!
No fightin', maties. We're all chums, ain't we?
[A voice starts bawling a song.]
"Beer, beer, glorious beer!
Fill yourselves right up to here."
YANK--[For the first time seeming to take notice of the uproar
about him, turns around threateningly--in a tone of contemptuous
authority.] "Choke off dat noise! Where d'yuh get dat beer stuff?
Beer, hell! Beer's for goils--and Dutchmen. Me for somep'n wit a
kick to it! Gimme a drink, one of youse guys. [Several bottles are
eagerly offered. He takes a tremendous gulp at one of them; then,
keeping the bottle in his hand, glares belligerently at the owner,
who hastens to acquiesce in this robbery by saying:] All righto,
Yank. Keep it and have another." [Yank contemptuously turns his
back on the crowd again.
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