"Don't pick me up for no jay.

Drink yer rum an' git out an' don' make no trouble." "Oh, deh hell," airily cried Jimmie.
"Oh, deh hell," airily repeated his companion.
"We goes when we git ready! See!" continued Jimmie.
"Well," said Pete in a threatening voice, "don' make no trouble." Jimmie suddenly leaned forward with his head on one side.

He snarled like a wild animal.
"Well, what if we does?
See ?" said he.
Dark blood flushed into Pete's face, and he shot a lurid glance at Jimmie.
"Well, den we'll see whose deh bes' man, you or me," he said.
The quiet stranger moved modestly toward the door.
Jimmie began to swell with valor.
"Don' pick me up fer no tenderfoot.

When yeh tackles me yeh tackles one of deh bes' men in deh city.

See?
I'm a scrapper, I am.