“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.  ‘They can’t beat him.’  ‘Who?’ says I.  ’Winter, iv coorse.’  ‘Is he a nice man?’ says I.  ‘Wan iv th’ finest men on earth,’ he says.  ‘A spoort, too,’ he says.  ‘An’ liberal.’

“He was in here iliction day, an’ I had Hinnissy’s kid runnin’ fr’m th’ station with rayturns.  Maloney was talkin’ to th’ crowd an’ buyin’ dhrinks.  ‘Ye’d be surprised,’ says he, ’to know what a nice fellow this here Winter is,’ he says.  ‘Ye’d niver take him f’r a German,’ he says.  ‘He have no more accint thin mesilf.’  The kid come in, an’ says he, ‘Th’ loot says tin precincts show Swift have a majority as big as what th’ Raypublicans got las’ fall.’  ‘That’s bad,’ says I.  ’Not at all,’ says Maloney.  ‘Thim’s th’ down-town wa-ards,’ he says.  ’Wait till ye hear fr’m th’ Germans,’ he says.  Th’ nex’ booletin said Swift was gainin’, an’ had tin thousand majority.  ‘Niver mind,’ says Maloney.  ‘Th’ Germans ‘ll wipe that out,’ he says.  Thin we heerd it was twinty thousand f’r Swift.  ‘Glory be,’ says Maloney, ‘th’ Germans is slow comin’ in,’ he says.  ‘Maybe,’ says I, ‘they forgot to vote,’ says I.  ‘Maybe they’re havin’ a schootzenfist,’ I says, ‘an’ are out killin’ clay pigeons instid iv attendin’ to business,’ I says.  Just thin th’ loot come in.  ‘Well,’ says he, ‘’tis quite a Waterloo,’ says he.  ‘F’r who?’ says I.  ‘Oh,’ he says, ’Swift got it be forty thousand.’

“Maloney wiped his face, and took off his hat an’ swabbed it inside.  Thin says he:  ‘D’ye raymimber me meetin’ ye down-town a week ago on Dorney’s place, loot?’ he says.  ‘Yes,’ says th’ loot.  ’D’ye mind what I said thin?’ he says, ‘I don’t call it just now,’ says the loot.  ‘Well, I just come fr’m a meetin’ iv th’ Swift Marchin’ Club, an’ I niver seen so much enthusyasm; an’ I says to ye, I says:  ‘Loot,’ I says, ’Swift ‘ll bate him aisy,’ I says.  ‘I knew he would fr’m th’ beginnin’.  Ye take an’ put up a good broad liberal man like George B., a man that has frinds an’ knows how to be a good fellow, an’ run him again a Boohemian gazabo who gives ivry man th’ marble heart an’ ’d turn down his own brother, an’ anny fool cud tell who ’d win.  They’ll be some chance f’r a man with Swift over there; but, if this here Winter wint in, ye cudden’t stand acrost La Salle Sthreet an’ hand him a peach on th’ end iv a window pole,’ he says.