Put it this way: I'm a
dimmycrat, be a point raypublican, dimmycrat. Anny sailor man'll
undherstand that.' 'What'll I say ye'er platform is?' 'Platform?' 'Ye
have to stand on a platform.' 'I do, do I? Well, I don't. I'll stand on
no platform, an' I'll hang on no sthrap. What d'ye think th'prisidincy
is--a throlley car? No, sir, whin ye peek in th' dure to sell ye'er
paper ye'll see ye'er Uncle George settin' down comfortable with his
legs crossed, thrippin' up annywan that thries to pass him. Go out now
an' write ye'er little item, f'r 'tis late an' all hands ar-re piped to
bed,' he says."
"An' there ye ar-re. Well, sir, 'tis a hard year Cousin George has in
store f'r him. Th' first thing he knows he'll have to pay f'r havin' his
pitchers in th' pa-aper. Thin he'll larn iv siv'ral prevyous convictions
in Vermont. Thin he'll discover that they was no union label on th'
goods he delivered at Manila. 'Twill be pointed out be careful observers
that he was ilicted prisidint iv th' A. P. A. be th' Jesuits. Thin
somewan'll dig up that story about his not feelin' anny too well th'
mornin' iv th' fight, an' ye can imajine th' pitchers they'll print, an'
th' jokes that'll be made, an' th' songs: 'Dewey Lost His Appetite at
th' Battle iv Manila.
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