The Mott Street Poker Club

The Club in Print

Showing How Fame Found it out at Last

THERE was a ray of pride in the usually placid eye of Mr. Lee-Tip when the Club next assembled in executive session, and a copy of the Mott Street Daily Howler in his hand. In a prominent column of this noted organ of the united Chinese and Italian interests of the district a passage was marked with big blue pencil strokes.

“Me ketchee him,” said Mr. Lee-Tip, with the air of a conquerer, “me lietchee him fust chop.”

“Ketchee what?” asked Mr. Hong-Lung.

“Ketchee advetlizment,” replied Mr. Lee-Tip. “You sabbe him, Meliean puffee-puffee.”

Mr. Hong-Lung, who had learned English at Sunday-school, took the paper and spelled out this announcement.

“The meetings of the Mott Street Poker Club, in the palatial apartments of our distinguished fellow-citizen, Lee-Tip, Esq., continue to be the enjoyable events of the social season. So popular and prosperous has the club become that we hear rumors of a proposed removal to a house of its own, on the Avenue. A musicale and an art reception are, we understand, next in order at the club, at which events the versatile and accomplished three-tailed mandarin from Canton, Mr. Hong-Lung, may be confidently expected to paint things red in his best style.”

“What you callee him?” demanded Mr. Hong-Lung, with a darkening brow.

“Him good advetlizement,” answered Mr. Lee-Tip, gleefully. “Makee biz livelee. Ketchee plenty washee-washee. You sabbe?”

Mr. Hong-Lung rumpled the journal up with a remark in his native tongue so marvelously entangled that there could be no doubt of its profanity, and said:

“You sabbe Inglish?”

“Celtainly,” responded Mr. Lee-Tip.

“You sabbee, you allee samee beap dlam fool.”

And with this scathing rebuke Mr. Hong-Lung went off to thrash the editor of The Howler, while the club settled down to while away the dull hours with a flat and unprofitable game of backgammon.