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Dooley, "that Lord Char-les Beresford is in our mist, as Hogan says." "An' who th' divvle's he?" asked Mr. Hennessy. "He's a Watherford man," said Mr. Dooley. "I knowed his father well, a markess be thrade, an' a fine man. Char-les wint to sea early; but he's now in th' plastherin' business, cemintin' th' 'liance iv th' United States an' England. I'll thank ye to laugh at me joke, Mr.
Bedad, it's a rale fire ye've got. Ye've heard tell of the turkeys, then, and the pois?" "Yes. Bully for the folks at home!" says Charley. "The notion of turkey next Thursday has done me good already. I was thinking I'd go to hospital to-morrow, but now I guess I won't." "Hoshpital! Kape clear av the hoshpital, Char-les, dear.
"Leave the house!" said Mr. Thompson, rising, with a dangerous look in his cold, gray eye. "Char-les, how dare you?" "Simmer down, ole man! Sha'ls, who's th' ol' bloat? Eh?" "Hush, man; here, take this!" With nervous hands, Charles Thompson filled a glass with liquor. "Drink it and go until to-morrow any time, but leave us! go now!"
This seemed to offer the proper quality of ceremoniousness in the sacrament between himself and his son; and so, a year after the appearance of Charles, he set about giving him a party. "Invite everybody, Char-les," he said, dryly; "everybody who knows that I brought you out of the wine-husks of iniquity, and the company of harlots; and bid them eat, drink, and be merry."
You will not take my hand? Well, well. Good by." He turned to go. But when he had reached the door he suddenly came back, and, raising with both hands the grizzled head, he kissed it once and twice. "Char-les." There was no reply. "Char-les!" The old man rose with a frightened air, and tottered feebly to the door. It was open.
"Char-les Thompson, come with me," he said, presently, and marched his captive to the hotel. What took place there has not transpired, but it was known the next morning that Mr. Thompson had found his son. It is proper to add to the above improbable story, that there was nothing in the young man's appearance or manners to justify it.
"It's one year to-day, Christian brothers and sisters," said Mr. Thompson, with grim deliberation, "one year to-day since my son came home from eating of wine-husks and spending of his substance on harlots." Char-les Thompson, stand up."
The man made no reply. Not at all rebuffed, Mr. Thompson at once slid down into the open grave, with a more practical inquiry, "Did you ever, in your profession, come across Char-les Thompson?" "Thompson be d d!" said the grave-digger, with great directness. "Which, if he hadn't religion, I think he is," responded the old man, as he clambered out of the grave.
They go in under th' turnstile, he says, laughin'. 'Have ye th' Lives iv th' Saints, or the Christyan Dooty, or th' Story iv Saint Rose iv Lima? I says. 'I have not, says he. 'I have some good story books. I'd rather th' kids'd r-read Char-les Dickens than anny iv th' tales iv thim holy men that was burned in ile or et up be lines, he says.
'Ye whelps, says Lord Char-les Beresford an' Roodyard Kipling an' Tiddy Rosenfelt an' th' other Anglo-Saxons. 'Foolish an' frivolous people, cheap but thrue-hearted an' insincere cousins, they says. ''Tis little ye know about annything. Ye ar-re a disgrace to humanity. Ye love th' dollar betther thin ye love annything but two dollars. Ye ar-re savage, but inthrestin'. Ye misname our titles.
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