"Did I ever tell you of the summer before I went to Yale? three months as supercargo on a tramp steamer, plyin' her trade among the inhabited islands off Massachusetts, aye, Phelim m'boy, a Sisyphean task if ever there was one, round an' round an' round that circuit, deliveries here—cargo an' passengers both—pick-ups there—of the same—a crate of orphrey for a Parish Priest, a box of yarmulkes for a Rabbi, me an' my dep, Eggs—an early-aged kid from Manhattan—who's old man worked at Yonah Schimmel's Knish Bakery and who's only experience of Life on the Ocean Wave was ridin' the Lower East Side Ferry, made a motley double-act, in addition to our duties with the cargo—makin' sure the right stuff went to the right place—we performed sea-shanties an' hornpipes for nickels an' dimes from ol' dowagers in furs an' blankets, with their ladies' maids an' butlers all runnin' aroun' fetchin' an' carryin' an' on one especially notable weekend, whodaya think gave us each a twenty-dollar tip? hey, whaddaya think you're playin' at here? you, Dibble, Dawg an' Dunstable too, you're supposed to be invisible to the naked eye, not slouched about in public, like the Three Stooges, an' who's coverin' the back door? defective? whaddaya mean? his name? you're kiddin', Detective Defective! oh, it's a Hungarian name, that's fine then, I'm all for inclusivity, eh, Phelim? right, well I'm just gonna confer with my informants an' then I'll tell you what's gonna happen!"