"So I makes up me mind to do d' job on d' train runnin' into New York. As he sinks d' stuff away, I notes how d' ends of d' bills sticks out over d' pocket-book. Me idee is to weed it--get d' dough an' leave d' leather in his pocket--if I can make d' play. Weedin' was d' way to do; you gets d' long green an 'd' sucker still has d' leather to feel of, an' it's some time before he tumbles he's been touched, see!
"D' guy wit 'd' stuff plants himself in a seat. Two of me stalls sits ahead of him, me an' me other pal is behint him. We only waits now for him to get up an' come along d' aisle of d' car to get in our hooks.
"Foist I goes d' len'th of d' train to see who's onto it. I always does that; I wants to see if any guy aboard knows Mollie Matches. You see, if there is, when d' holler comes, an' some duck declares himself shy his spark, or roll, or ticker, it's 40 to 1 Mr. Know-all, who's onto me for a crook, sends a tip to d' p'lice: 'Matches was on d' train!' an' I gets d' collar. No, I never woiks when one of me acquaintances is along be accident. D' cops, in such case, as I says, is put onto me an' spots me wit 'd' foist yell.
"I covers d' train an' comes back. There's no guy on me visiting list who's along. So I sits down wit' me pal to d' rear of d' sucker an' waits.
"It's not for long. D' leather's still in his inside keck, 'cause I can see him pressin' on it wit' his mit to make sure it's there. At last he gets up to go to d' watercooler. I sees d' move comin', an' is in d' aisle before him. So's me stalls. From start to finish no one bungles d' stunt. There's a tangle--all be accident, of course--every mug 'pologises, we break away, an' I've got d' blunt. But d' woist part is, I can't weed it. D' stuff won't come no other way, an' so I lifts leather an' all.
"There's due to be a roar in no time;--this mark's bound to be on he's frisked!--so I splits out each stall's bit in a hurry an' says: 'Every gent for himself! an' if youse is nipped, don't knock!' an' then I sherries me nibs for d' rear coach. It was great graft. Me bit was $9,000, an' I has me plan all set up to save it an' meself wit' it. This is d' racket I has in me cocoa.
"In d' last coach is an old w'ite choker--a pulpit t'umper, you understand. Wit' him is his daughter, an' wit' her is her kid. Mebby d' kid, say, is six years. I heads for 'em an' begins to give d' old skate a jolly. I was dead strong on patter in them days, an' puts it up I'm a gospel sharp from Hamilton. I saws it off on his nibs how me choich boins down, an' how I'm linin' out to New York to see if d' good folks down there won't spring their rolls--cough up be way of donations, you understand, an' help us slam up a new box--choich, I means--so we can go back to our graft.