offski?"

"No."

"Feeling jush sames' ushyal?"

"Yah."

"Zen 'sall right. Don't 'pol'gize, 's all right. Zere was somepin' 'n
you're looksh made me shink p'raps yu's feeling trifle in'sposed. I am,
an' didn't know but what you might be same way. You may've noticed 't
I'm jush trifle--er, well, some people ud shay zhrunk, Toffski--rude 'n'
dish'gree'ble people dshay zhrunk. P'raps zere 'bout half right,
Woffski, but it's zhrude way of putting it. Now, zhen, I want t'ask you
queshun. I ask ash frien'. Look 't me carefully and shay, on y'r honor,
Loffski, where d'you shin' I'm mos' largely 'tossicated?"

"In der legs," replied Mr. Bludoffski, promptly.

"Shank you. 'S very kind. 'T may not be alt'gesser dignified to be
'tossicated in zhe legs, but 's far besser'n if 'twas in zhe eyes.
'Spise a man 'at looks drunk in's eyes. Pos'ively 'sgusting!"

They had now reached Twenty-third Street, and following his companion's
lead, O'Royster crossed unsteadily into Madison Square and through one
of the park walks. Presently he halted.

"By zhe way, Woffski," he said, "do you know where we're goin'?"

"Yah."

"Well, zat's what I call lucky. I'm free t' confesh I haven't gotter
shingle idea. But 'f you know, 's all right. W'en a man feels himself
slightly 'tossicated, 's nozzin' like bein' in comp'ny of f'law 'at
knows where 's goin'. 'Parts a highly 'gree'ble feelin' 'f conf'dence.
Don't wanter 'splay any 'pert'nent cur'osity, Boffski, but p'raps 's no
harm in askin' where 'tis 'at you know you're goin'?"

"Home."

An expression of disgust crossed Mr. O'Royster's face. "Home?" he
inquired. "D' you shay 'home,' Toffski? Haven't you got any uzzer place
t' go? Wen a man'sh r'duced t' th' 'str--hic--remity 'f goin' home,
must be in dev'lish hard luck."

"Der vhy 've go home," said Bludoffski, "is dot I somedings haf I show
you."

"Ah. I shee. Za's diff'rent zing. You're goin' t'show me some-'zin',
eh?"

"Yah."

"Picshur? Hope 'taint pichshur, Koffski. I'm ord'narily very fon' of
art, but f'law needs good legs t' 'zamine picshur, an' I'm boun'ter
confesh my legsh not just 'dapted t'--"

"Nein."

"Eh?"

"It vasn't noddings like dot."

"'Taint china, is 't, Boffski? 'Taint Willow Pattern er Crown Derby er
zat sorter zing? T' tell truth, Boffski, I aint mush on china. Some
people go crashy at er shight er piece nicked china. My wife tol' me
zuzzer day she saw piece Crown Derby 'n' fainted dead way, 'n' r'fused