Th' Jap artist O'Casey's
pitcher iv a lady leanin' on a river while a cow walked up her back,
was th' loveliest thing in th' wurruld. They were th' gr-reatest
athletes iver known. A Japanese child with rickets cud throw Johnson
over a church. They had a secret iv rasslin' be which a Jap rassler cud
blow on his opponent's eyeball an' break his ankle. They were th' finest
soordsmen that iver'd been seen. Whin a Japanese soordsman wint into a
combat he made such faces that his opponent dhropped his soord an' thin
he uttered a bloodcurdlin' cry, waved his soord four hundhred an' fifty
times over th' head iv th' victim or in th' case iv a Samuri eight
hundred an' ninety-six, give a whoop resimblin' our English wurrud
'tag,' an' clove him to th' feet. As with us, on'y th' lower classes
engaged in business. Th' old arrystocracy distained to thrade but
started banks an' got all th' money. Th' poor man had a splendid chance.
He cud devote his life to paintin' wan rib iv a fan, f'r which he got
two dollars, or he cud become a cab horse. An' even in th' wan branch iv
art that Westhren civvylization is supposed to excel in, they had us
beat miles. They were th' gr-reatest liars in th' wurruld an' formerly
friends iv th' Prisidint.
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