Two weeks
before iliction day he was again Winter. 'He's no good,' he says.
'He's a Boohemian,' he says. 'An' whin they come to ilictin'
Boohemians f'r mayor,' he says, 'I'll go back to me ol' thrade iv
shovellin' mud,' he says. 'Besides,' says he, 'if this here Winter
wint in,' he says, 'ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Street an' hand
him a peach on a window pole, he'd be that stuck up,' he says.
"Some wan must 've spoke to him; f'r, whin he come in th' next time,
he says, 'They'se no use talkin',' he says, 'that there Dutchman is
sthrong,' he says. 'I thought he was a Boolgahrian,' says I. 'No,'
says he, 'he's a German man,' says he. 'An' th' Germans is with him to
th' bitther end,' he says. 'D'ye know,' he says, 'I believe he'll give
th' little bald-headed duck a run f'r his money,' he says. 'Thim
Germans stand together,' he says. 'They're th' most clannish people on
earth,' he says. 'I'm goin' over to th' Wolfe Tones to see what th'
la-ads think about it.' Sundah night he come an' give a ca-ard f'r
Winter to ivry man in th' place. 'He'll sweep th' town like a
whirlwind,' he says.
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