Th' women down be th' rollin' mills 'll be sewin' flannels f'r th'
disthressed millyonaires, an' whin th' childher kick about th' food
ye'll say, Hinnissy, 'Just think iv th' poor wretches in th' Lake Shore
dhrive an' thank Gawd f'r what ye have.' Th' mayor 'll open soup
kitchens where th' unforchnit people can come an' get a hearty meal an'
watch th' ticker, an' whin th' season grows hard, ye'll see pinched an'
hungry plutocrats thrampin' th' sthreets with signs r-readin': 'Give us
a cold bottle or we perish.' Perhaps th' polis 'll charge thim an' bust
in their stovepipe hats, th' prisidint 'll sind th' ar-rmy here, a
conspiracy 'll be discovered at th' club to blow up th' poorhouse, an'
volunteers 'll be called on fr'm th' nickel bed houses to protect th'
vested inthrests iv established poverty."
"'Twill be a chanst f'r us to get even, Hinnissy. I'm goin' to organize
th' Return Visitin' Nurses' association, composed entirely iv victims iv
th' parent plant. 'Twill be worth lookin' at to see th' ladies fr'm th'
stock yards r-rushin' into some wretched home down in Peerary avenue,
grabbin' th' misthress iv th' house be th' shouldhers an' makin' her
change her onhealthy silk dhress f'r a pink wrapper, shovelin' in a
little ashes to sprinkle on th' flure, breakin' th' furniture an'
rollin' th' baby in th' coal box.
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