"Ivry time I go up into th' park to see me old frind th' illyphant I
wondher what dhreams ar-re goin' on behind that nose iv his that he uses
akelly as a garden hose, a derrick, or a knife an' fork. Is he
recallin' th' happy days at Barnum's befure brutal man sunk an ice pick
into him an' dhrove him to th' park? Is there some wan still there that
he thinks iv? Is she alive, is she dead, does she iver dhream iv him as
she ates her hay an' rubs her back agin th' bars iv her gilded cage?
There's th' hippypotamus. He don't look to be full iv sintiment, but ye
never can tell. Manny an achin' heart beats behind a cold an' sloppy
exteeryor. Somewhere in sunny Africa a loving fam'ly may be waitin' fr
him. Th' wallow at th' riverside is there, with th' slime an' ooze
arranged be tinder paws. But he will not return. They will meet, but
they will miss him, there will be wan vacant lair.
"Well, sir, just as I'd got to th' frame iv mind whin I'm thinkin' iv
askin' that gloomy lookin' allygator in th' park up to spind an avenin'
with me, along comes Tiddy Rosenfelt an' says there's nawthin' in it.
It's hard on th' boys. They ar-re doin' th' best they can. Ye can't
expect an author to lave his comfortable flat an' go three or four
thousand miles to larn whether th' hero iv his little love story
murdhers his uncle be bitin' him abaft th' ear or be fellin' him with a
half Nelson an' hammer-lock.
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