Thin he attimpted
to go into pollytics, an' th' best he cud get was carryin' a bucket iv
wather f'r a Lincoln Club. He thried to larn a thrade an' found th' on'y
place a naygur can larn a thrade is in prison an' he can't wurruk at
that without committin' burglary. He started to take up subscriptions
f'r a sthrugglin' church an' found th' profission was overcrowded.
'Fin'ly,' says he, ''twas up to me to be a porther in a saloon or go
into th' on'y business,' he says, 'in which me race has a chanst,' he
says. 'What's that?' says I. 'Craps,' says he. 'I've opened a palachal
imporyium,' he says, 'where,' he says, ''twud please me very much,' he
says, 'me ol' abolitionist frind,' he says, 'if ye'd dhrop in some day,'
he says, 'an' I'll roll th' sweet, white bones f'r ye,' he says. ''Tis
th' hope iv me people,' he says. 'We have an even chanst at ivry other
pursoot,' he says, 'but 'tis on'y in craps we have a shade th' best iv
it,' he says."
"So there ye ar-re, Hinnissy. An' what's it goin' to come to, says ye?
Faith, I don't know an' th' naygurs don't know, an' be hivins, I think
if th' lady that wrote th' piece we used to see at th' Halsted Sthreet
Opry House come back to earth, she wudden't know. I used to be all broke
up about Uncle Tom, but cud I give him a job tindin' bar in this here
liquor store? I freed th' slave, Hinnissy, but, faith, I think' twas
like tur-rnin' him out iv a panthry into a cellar.
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