P. G. Wodehouse

“ There had always been obstacles, One may hardly perhaps dilate on the joys of toil in connection with him, considering the precise methods by which he had supported himself; but nevertheless his emotions when breaking the law of the United States had been akin to those of the honest worker in so far that his operations had satisfied the desire for action which possesses every man of brains and energy. They had given him something to do. He had felt alive. His uncle's legacy had left him with a sensation of abrupt stoppage. Life had suddenly become aimless. ”

“ Chames?”
“Shall you what?” asked Jimmy, coming out of his thoughts with a start.
“Why, find out where de loidy keeps de jools.”
“Confound you, Spike! How often am I to tell you that I have done with all that sort of thing forever? I never want to see or touch another stone that doesn't belong to me. I don't want to hear about them. They don't interest me.”
“Sorry, Mr. Chames. But dey must cop de limit for fair, dose jools. Two hundred t'ousand plunks! What's dat dis side?”
“Forty thousand pounds,” said Jimmy shortly. “Now, drop it.”
“Yes, Mr. Chames. Can I help youse wit' de duds?” ”

“ Dat's right, I comes from old New York meself.”
“Hush, Spike, this is scandal!”
“Sure,” said the Bowery boy doggedly, securely mounted now on his favorite hobby horse. “I knows, and youse knows Mr. Chames. Gee, I wish I'd bin a cop. But I wasn't tall enough. Dey's de fellers wit' green in der banks. Look at dis old McEachern. Money to boin a wet dog wit', he's got, and never a bit of woik for it from de start to de finish, An' look at me, Mr. Chames.”
“I do, Spike, I do.”
“Look at me. Getting busy all de year round, woiking to beat de band all——””
“In prisons oft,” said Jimmy. ”