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When he reached the express office he saw the express wagon backed up to the door. Six boys were carrying bushel baskets full of guinea-pigs from the office and dumping them into the wagon. Inside the room Flannery, with' his coat and vest off, was shoveling guinea-pigs into bushel baskets with a coal scoop. He was winding up the guinea-pig episode.
Th' prisidint has a great head on him." He opened the paper on his desk and read it. "General Order Number Seven Hundred and Twenty: "To all employees of the Interurban Express Company: Cancel General Order Number Seven Hundred and Nineteen. By order of the president." "As I was sayin'," said Flannery, "th' prisidint has a great head on him." Mike Flannery was the star boarder at Mrs.
Morgan returned it asking for explanation. Flannery replied: "There be now one hundred sixty of them dago pigs, for heavens sake let me sell off some, do you want me to go crazy, what." "Sell no pigs," Morgan wired. Not long after this the president of the express company received a letter from Professor Gordon.
They'd ate the brass padlocks off of a barn door I If the paddy pig, by the same token, ate as hearty as these dago pigs do, there'd be a famine in Ireland." To assure himself that his report would be up to date, Flannery went to the rear of the office and looked into the cage. The pigs had been transferred to a larger box a dry goods box.
'I move t' amend th' tariff of th' United States t' read that th' duty on insects, not crude, be one fourth of a cent per pound an' tin per cint. ad valorum, he says, 'which will give th' dog all th' crude fleas he wants, an' yit shut out th' educated flea from compytition with grand opera an' Barnum's circus. An' so 'twas voted," concluded Mike Flannery.
Take this wan, now 'thoroly' 't is a bird, that wan is! But Flannery will stick t' th' list!" The messenger laid the paper he had been holding upon Flannery's desk.
He had forgotten to bring the receipt book, and Flannery drew a pad of blank receipts toward himself, and dipped a pen into the ink. Then he looked at the address. "'Pho-e-nix," he read slowly. "That do be a queer sort av a worrd, Mr. Warold. 'Pho-e-nix! Is it a man's name, I dunno?" "Feenix," pronounced Mr. Warold, grinning.
Well, then, just telegraph to your president and ask him whether he makes an exception in favour of the old spelling of names of companies, will you? That will do no harm. Tell him a package is offered, and tell him the address, and let him decide." Flannery considered a moment and then took his telegraph pad.
Then the sound of the elevator coming down caught his attention, and he waited until the door opened. "Hello, Harding," he said without turning around. Only one man beside himself had the key to the private entrance. "Coffee?" Harding took a seat beside him, and accepted the plastic cup. "Thanks. I tried to call you, but your phone was shut off. Heard the good word?" Flannery shook his head.
And 't is right they sh'u'd," he added generously, "for 't is by studyin' th' feet of fleas, and such, they learn about germs, and how t' take out your appendix, and 'Is marriage a failure? and all that." "Ye dumbfounder me, Mike Flannery," said Mrs. Muldoon. "Ye should have been one of them professors yourself, what with all the knowledge ye have.
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