He is saying: "I'd like to buy a little drink for the party
m'self."
"The poor creature is delirious," says Jake Berger.
But Ben slaps him on the back and tells him he's a good sport and he'll
give him a couple of these rails to take to his old New York home; he
says they can be crossed over the mantel and will look very quaint. The
lad kind of shivered under Ben's hearty blow and seemed to struggle out
of his trance for a minute. His eyes unglazed and he looks around and
says how did he get here and where is it? Ben tells him he's among
friends and that they two are the only born New Yorkers left in the
world, and so on, when the lad reaches into the pocket of his natty
topcoat for a handkerchief and pulls out with it a string of funny
little tickets--about two feet of 'em. Ben grabs these up with a strange
look in his eyes.
"Bridge tickets!" he yells. Then he grabs his born New Yorker by the
shoulders and shakes him still further out of dreamland.
"What street in New York is your old home on?" he demands savagely. The
lad blinks his fishy eyes and fixes his hat on that Ben has shook loose.
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