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"Tiger" reached over the hand of a champion and swept the small McQuirk from his chair. "I feel fine," said he, "beyond a touch of the I-don't-know-what-you-call-its. I feel like there was going to be earthquakes or music or a trifle of chills and fever or maybe a picnic. I don't know how I feel.
Something unusual that he could not quite grasp was in the air. Something disturbed his thoughts, ruffled his senses, made him at once languid, irritable, elated, dissastisfied and sportive. He was no diagnostician, and he did not know that Lent was breaking up physiologically in his system. Mrs. McQuirk had spoken of spring. Sceptically Tiger looked about him for signs. Few they were.
And yesterday they puts open cars on the Sixth Avenue lines, and the janitors have quit ordering coal. And that means six weeks more of winter, by all the signs that be." After breakfast Mr. McQuirk spent fifteen minutes before the corrugated mirror, subjugating his hair and arranging his green-and-purple ascot with its amethyst tombstone pin eloquent of his chosen calling.
"Well, whatever!" "Come out in the hall," said Mr. McQuirk. "I want to ask yer opinion of the weather on the level." "Are you crazy, sure?" said Annie Maria. "I am," said the "Tiger." "They've been telling me all day there was spring in the air. Were they liars? Or am I?" "Dear me!" said Annie Maria "haven't you noticed it? I can almost smell the violets. And the green grass.
A trembler, with no word to say for himself, a stone without blarney, the dumbest lover that ever babbled of the weather in the presence of his divinity. There came to Kenealy's two sunburned men, Riley and McQuirk. They had conference with Kenealy; and then they took possession of a back room which they filled with bottles and siphons and jugs and druggist's measuring glasses.
For me the winter underwear yet and the buckwheat cakes." "You haf no boetry," said Lutz. "True, it is yedt cold, und in der city we haf not many of der signs; but dere are dree kinds of beoble dot should always feel der approach of spring first dey are boets, lovers and poor vidows." Mr. McQuirk went on his way, still possessed by the strange perturbation that he did not understand.
I feel like knocking the face off a policeman, or else maybe like playing Coney Island straight across the board from pop-corn to the elephant houdahs." "It's the spring in yer bones," said Mrs. McQuirk.
McQuirk, senior, had gone to work long before. The big son of the house was idle. He was a marble-cutter, and the marble-cutters were out on a strike. "What ails ye?" asked his mother, looking at him curiously; "are ye not feeling well the morning, maybe now?" "He's thinking along of Annie Maria Doyle," impudently explained younger brother Tim, ten years old.
I am just after meeting Miss Katherine by the stairs. She said a true word. 'There's not anything, says she, 'but is better off for a little water." When Con had left them Riley almost felled McQuirk by a blow on the back. "Did ye hear that?" he shouted. "Two fools are we.
Conover was so prompt and admirable that the conflict was protracted until the onlookers unselfishly gave the warning cry of "Cheese it the cop!" The principals escaped easily by running through the nearest open doors into the communicating backyards at the rear of the houses. Mr. McQuirk emerged into another street.
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