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The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VII. (of X.)

by Various

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BREITMANN AND THE TURNERS BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND Hans Breitmann choined de ToornersNovemper in de fall,Und dey gifed a boostin' benderAll in de Toorner Hall.Dere coomed de whole GesangvereinMit der Liederlich Aepfel Chor,Und dey blowed on de drooms und stroomed on de fifesTill dey couldn't refife no more. Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners,Dey all set oop some shouts,Dey took'd him into deir Toorner Hall,Und poots him a course of shprouts,Dey poots him on de barrell-hell parsUnd shtands him oop on his head,Und dey poomps de beer mit an enchine hoseIn his mout' dill he's 'pout half tead! Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners;—Dey make shimnastig dricks;He stoot on de middle of de floor,Und put oop a fifdy-six.Und den he trows it to de roof,Und schwig off a treadful trink:De veight coom toomple pack on his headt,Und py shinks! he didn't vink! Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners:—Mein Gott! how dey drinked und shworeDere vas Schwabians und Tyrolers,Und Bavarians by de score.Some vellers coomed from de Rheinland,Und Frankfort-on-de-Main,Boot dere vas only von Sharman dere,Und he vas a Holstein Dane. Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners,Mit a Limpurg' cheese he coom;Ven he open de box it schmell so loudtIt knock de musik doomb.Ven de Deutschers kit de flavor,It coorl de haar on dere head;Boot dere vas dwo Amerigans dere;Und, py tam! it kilt dem dead! Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners;De ladies coomed in to see;Dey poot dem in de blace for de gals,All in der gal-lerie.Dey ashk: "Vhere ish der Breitmann?"And dey dremple mit awe and fearVen dey see him schwingen py de toes,A trinken lager bier. Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners:—I dells you vot py tam!Dey sings de great Urbummellied:De holy Sharman psalm.Und ven dey kits to de gorusYou ought to hear dem dramp!It scared der Teufel down belowTo hear de Dootchmen stamp. Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners:—By Donner! it vas grand,Vhen de whole of dem goes a valkin'Und dancin' on dere hand,Mit de veet all wavin' in de air,Gottstausend! vot a dricks!Dill der Breitmann fall und dey all go downShoost like a row of bricks. Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners,Dey lay dere in a heap,And slept dill de early sonnen shineCome in at de window creep;And de preeze it vake dem from deir dream,And dey go to kit deir feed:Here hat' dis song an Ende—Das ist Des Breitmannslied.

The first night assignment Francis Holt received from his city editor was in these words: "Mr. Holt, you will cover the Tenderloin to-night. Mr. Fetner, who usually covers it, will explain what there is to do."

Fetner, when his own work was done that night, sought Holt to help him with any late story which might be troublesome to a new man. They were walking up Broadway when Fetner, lowering his voice, said: "Here's Duane, a plain-clothes man, who is useful to us. I'll introduce you."

As the reporters, in the full flood of after-theater crowds, stood talking to the officer, a young man hurrying past abruptly stopped and stepped to Duane's side....