I know dis ain't de rite time ter hand out a New Year's gag, but dis is wun I had in me nut a long w'ile, an' dere's many a time w'en dere ain't nuttin' doin' dat I t'inks uv it. Dis is wun uv doze stories wot's on de level, an' it don't take enny fancy writin', because it just cums itself, like enny t'ing else dat's real.

I wuz standin' on de corner las' New Year's eve, an' de mob wuz cumin' down in droves, like a bunch uv gorillas—lafin', singin', hollerin' an' blowin' dere horns. Everybody had a happy feelin' an' a glad smile, an' dey wuz goin' t'ru de Reservation ez if dey wuz doin' a cake walk wid chow chop suey an' mushrooms fer a prize. Nuttin' wuz botherin' dem, an' dey wuz grabbin' dere bundles an' singin' “W'en Katie an' I Wuz Coinin' T'ru de Rye,” ez if dat wuz all dey had on der minds. Dey didn't care nuttin' fer us blokes, 'cause we are only a side show fer such as dem. An' me standin' dere alone widout a drink in me sistem, an' no wun ter cum along an' say: “Happy New Year, Chuck.”

But, say, old pal, ain't dat alwuz de way? Ain't it a case uv laff an' de world laffs wid yer?

Well, I takes a slow walk down de lane, w'ich wuz like a looney factory wid dat mob pushin' t'ru, an' I wuz feelin' ez if I didn't have a frien' in de world, w'en I meets Peg Dillin wid a can. She wuz goin' ter Barney's fer er pint an' her New Year's bottle. She stops me in front uv Hung Fan Low's store, an' sez: “Hello, Chuck.”

“Hello, Peg,” sez I. “Wot's der word?”

“All ter de bad,” sez she, “all ter de bad.” She begin shufflin' her feet on de sidewalk and changin' de growler from one hand ter de odder. She acted like she had sumthin' on her mind, an' wuz afraid ter let go. I wuz on dat dere wuz sumthin' de matter an' I begin ter scratch me nut an' wuz t'nkin' ter meself, “Will I, or will I not?” Yer know how a bloke feels w'en he sees a gal down-hearted like dat—he don't want ter touch her troubles. But dis wuz a case w'ere I had ter dig in an' find out who wuz who, an' wot wuz wot. So I gets me gall tergedder an' puts me hand on her shoulder, an' sez:

“Say, Peg, on de level—give it ter me straight—wot makes yer look like a dead one? Yer don't want ter be like dat on New Year's eve, or yer won't be ripe w'en de summer cums agin.”

She gives a kind uv little shiver, just ez if she had er kind uv a chill, an' sez:

“Well, I tell yer how it is, Chuck. Poor Kitty Mock Shue is layed flat on her back, an' down an' out wid de gallopin' con, an' de doctor sez she ain't got much time ter fix up de insoorance papers.”

Say, cull, she wuz just like a guy wot had got a wallop on de jaw an' wuz half out. She went inter Barney's an' got her pint, an' w'en she cum out, she sez:

“Chuck, Kitty wants ter see yer about sumthin'. Cum on up ter de house. Mock Shue won't mind—he likes yer ever since he went ter de t'eatre an' saw yer on de stage wid de bunch.” An' so I digs up wid her ter see Kitty.

Original

De room wuzn't no swell joint, an' it wuzn't no Waldorf Astoria dump, but it wuz jes' poor an' plain. Dey had a fine place before de Reformers closed up Mock's t'ree fan-tan joints, an' w'en times wuz good den his luck would run up inter de t'ousands on sum nites. His game wuz known ter be de squarest in Chinatown, an' no wun wuz ever trimmed by him. Chinkey traders and laundrymen from all over de country didn't feel rite w'en dey cum ter New York if dey didn't have a rap at one uv Mock Shue's games. Dem wuz de good days, an' I t'ought uv dem ez I stood in dat little bum room. Doze wuz de days w'en Kitty wuz a belle, an' wore seal-skin saks an' di'monds an' jewelry by der ton, an' dere wuz all kinds uv coin in her kick.

Now it wuz a case of Mock bein' lucky if he could cum ter light on der lan'lord's birthday—yer know, pay de rent.

I looked over at wun end uv der room an' saw er bunk. At de odder end wuz a stove wot had seen better days, an' dere wuz a couple uv pots an' kittels wot Mock cooked his grub in, hangin' on nails. An' nixey fer de bed—if a good healt'y bloke went ter sit on it he would send it ter de floor. On wun side wuz a Joss alter, wid a picture uv Joss hangin' behind it, an' a bunch uv Joss sticks burnin' in front, an' a sweet oil lamp, an' a couple uv tea cups on each side, full uv tea, fer Joss ter drink w'en he wuz t'irsty.

Nobody sez a word. Mock an' his pal, Chin Wee, wuz on de bunk, hittin' de pipe; Lizzie Brennan wuz leanin' agin de end uv de bed an' Big Annie wuz sittin' on er soap box alongside. De room wuz full uv smoke like de Nort' river on a foggy mornin' from de pipe de Chink wuz hittin', an' it smelled like taffy candy a burnin'. You know, dat's de way de hop smells. De floor wuz pritty clean fer a joint like dat, fer Peg wuz after scrubbin' it on account uv de Chinese doctor bein' expected. I went over ter Kitty, an' I sez: “Happy New Year, Kit.”

She looked at me, den shut her eyes, dropped her head on wun side uv de pillow, an' sez:

“It's a Happy New Year fer you, Chuck, but it's tuff on me.” She tried ter wet her lips wid her tongue. Den she looked eround an' sez, agin: “Put yer hand under me back, Chuck, an' lift me up.”

So I lifted her up, an' stuck a bunch uv pillows behind her, an' she brushed her hair back an' looked eround de room.

“Well, Kate, old gal, how are yer feelin'?” sez I, 'cause I had ter say sumthin'—I couldn't be standin' dere like a dead wun.

“Net very good, Chuck,” she sez. “Mock brought up de Chinee doctor an' he give me sumthin'—it's med'cine—it's dere in de stone jug, an' it's got me Head a-reelin'. I t'ink dere must be sumthin' in it dat makes me feel rocky.”

I see she wuz gettin' kind uv nutty—yer know dat Chinky med'cin' is funny stuff—so I tol' Peg ter turn out der beer an' give Kitty a glass ter take der taste uv der med'cin' out uv her t'rottle. So we all had a glass an' I tuk a glass over ter Mock an' asked him ter drink fer Happy New Year, but he sez:

“No, Chuck, I no dlinkee now; too muchee solly; you sabe. Kitty too muchee bimeby die.”

“Not on yer life, Mock,” sez I. “Kitty ain't goin' ter die. She's all ter de good. She looks like er boilermaker goin' ter work.”

“Me no t'ink so, Chuck,” he sez. “She too muchee dlink, an' too muchee smoke opium. Now she makee die.”

“Ah ferget it,” sez I, “she'll be all rite. See, she's laffin'; don't yer see her?”

De odder monk didn't screw his nut wunce w'ile we wuz chinnin'; he kep' rite on cookin' de opium pill over de sweet oil lamp fer anudder smoke, fer he didn't care if de w'ole worl' wuz on de bum, an' he wuz de Commiss'oner uv Char'ties an' got his graft. He lost sight uv us in de last pill he smoked, an' his lamps went out on him. Den Mock went up again de pipe himself an' went over to de foot uv de bed. De two bundles went out, an' I wuz sittin' dere like a tombstone, fiddlin' wid me fingers, an' t'inkin' w'ot a grate time de mob wuz havin'. Mock's pal went out lookin' as if he'd played de dead man's gig wid forty cents in stage money, an' in anudder minnit Mock was stretched out snorin' like a steam engin'. I got kind uv dopey meself, sittin' dere wid nobody ter chin ter, an' I played off inter a snooze. I don't know how long I wuz asleep, but de fi'st t'ing I knows, I woke up wid Kitty shakin' me. I t'ought she had a fit de way she wuz glarin' aroun' de room.

“Listen, Chuck, listen,” an' she grabbed me by der shoul'ers wid a grip like Jeffries.

Dere wuz a mob goin' past in de street singin' dat ol' song, “I Dream't Me Dear Ol' Mudder wuz er Queen.”

“Do yer hear dat, Chuck,” sez she, an' I couldn't say nuttin'. Den she broke out cryin' an' falls back on her piller. Say, on de level, she made me feel kin' uv spongy meself.

“Cheese it, Kit,” sez I. “Don't do dat; ferget it; dis is New Year's Eve.”

“I wish I could be dat way again, out on de street wid de mob, havin' a good time,” she sez, “but I know I'm all in. I've had mine, I guess, an' de finish is almos' here, but listen Chuck,” she sez. Den she reached aroun' under de mattress an' pulled out a little package, an' she begins pullin' off de papers, one sheet after anudder, all de time cryin' as if she wuz never goin' ter stop, an' w'en de las' piece uv paper cum off she flashed er gold ring. She looked at it fer a minnit an' den she sez as she held it up:

“Chuck, do yer see dis? It's me weddin' ring, an' dat's why I keep it so dear. But it's turned agin me like all de worl' has, an' dat's w'y I tol' Peg Dillon ter tell yer ter cum up. De rent is due tomorrer, Chuck, an' we ain't got a nickel, an' we can't make a touch from no one. Yer know w'en yer down yer ain't got no friends.”

On de level, I could feel a wrinkle cum in me heart.

“It's de same ol' sayin', Chuck, w'en yer got it ev'rybody will stick ter yer. I've hocked ev'ryt'ing dat would bring in a dollar, an' dis is de las' t'ing I've got. I kept it ter look at an' ter make me t'ink uv long ago. Take it, yer know what ter do wid it.”

Say, I don't of'en get dripple, but I wuz near it dat time. Yer know dere's some t'ings wot' gits ter a feller, no matter w'ot kind uv clothes he wears. I wouldn't stan' fer her lettin' her last piece uv junk go.

“Soak it away agin, Kitty,” sez I, “an' I'll go out an' give de road a dash, an' if I kin dig up enny uv dem swell cream cakes from uptown, w'ot's down here ter see de sights, yer kin bet yer sweet life dey won't get away dis time from yours truly, an' de lan'lord will git his coin.”

Dere ain't no finish ter dis, but Kitty didn't croak after all.

P. S.—De lan'lord got his rent all rite, an' dere wuzn't no kick cumin' from him.