Ya gotta know how ta talk ta them rich people. Ya cain’t git in with ‘em less ya knows how ta talk to ‘em. Now I kin sit ‘roun’ the jungle ‘n jaw the better part a the day with a couple other tramps. They’s reg’lar people. But them people that’s rich, I wouldn’t know what ta say to ‘em.  They sit down ta supper ev’ry night like they’s havin’ a party. Eatin’ off a table cloths, with all sorts a spankin’ clean utensils laid out in front of ‘em, set jus’ so, ‘n talking high society. They be speakin’ a whole ‘nother language. I wouldn’t know what they’s talkin’ ‘bout, wouldn’t fit in with ‘em. Couldn’t make reg’lar conversation like I kin elsewheres.

Lotta them rich people won’t have nothin’ ta do with ya ‘less yer one of ‘em. Ya gotta look the same as they do. Dressin’ in the right clothes. The proper attire. Ya cain’t jus’ go down ta the Sally ‘n pick yerself out a suit ‘n white shirt ‘n tie, ‘n be one of ‘em. Ya might think ya look like ya got it in with the bank, all dressed up like that, but them rich people see ya, ‘n they knows ya ain’t one of ‘em. They kin tell. Maybe the tie ya got on ain’t the right kind, er yer suit’s outta style, er somethin’ like that’ll give ya away.

The stuff ya know ‘bout don’t count fer nothin’ in that high society crowd. Makin’ do’s what’cha know ‘bout, survivin’ ‘n gittin’ ‘long ‘thout hardly nothin’ at all ‘cept fer a little gear maybe. Ya don’t know ‘bout which is the right manners, ‘n wipin’ yer mouth with a cloth knapkin. I know ‘bout sayin’ grace. That I know. Ain’t done it in a good long time. Use’ ta say it when I was a kid b’fore ev’ry time I set down ta eat. I s’pose I should be sayin’ it still, but’cha fergit ‘bout them things out here.

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