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I want it stopped; I'll take anything you dope out; I'll do any turn you call for " "Very well. I've told you to go to Mulqueen's. Go now!" "All right, doctor. Only they're too damn rough with a man. All right; I'll go. I did go last winter, and look where I am now!" he snarled suddenly. "Have I got to get up against all that business again?" "You came out in perfectly good shape.
Nobody knew where he had come from or where he lived except that he could always be found wherever there was a suffering animal, be it dog, cat or squirrel, and the rest of the time at Mulqueen's, with whom he had an understanding about the telephone. He was short, wiry, unshaven, with the legs of a jockey; and when he could get it he drank.
Mask your purpose, Steve; make a feint of camping out here under my guns; then suddenly fling your entire force up the Hudson and fortify yourself at Mulqueen's! Ho, that'll fix 'em! That's going to astonish the enemy!" His harsh, dry, crackling laughter broke out like the distant rattle of musketry. The ghost of a smile glimmered in Siward's haunted eyes, then faded as he leaned forward.
It's your honour that's engaged now, not your nerves, not your intestines. It's a good fight a very good fight, with no chance of losing anything but life. You go up the river to Mulqueen's. That's the strategy in this campaign; that's excellent manoeuvring; that's good generalship! Eh?
A couple of fly-blown specimens still lingered in the drawer of Mulqueen's desk. Danny searched until he found one: DANIEL LOWRY VETERINARY 212 WEST 53D STREET NEW YORK CITY "Here, sor," said he, his head swimming, "that's my name, but the address is wrong." Doctor Simon put it in his pocketbook. "Thanks," he remarked. "Much obliged for fixing up my horse."
He was just lighting his pipe preparatory to going back to the stable when a stranger pulled up to the curb in a mud-splashed depot wagon. "'Morning," he remarked pleasantly. "Can you tell me if Mulqueen's livery stable is anywhere about here?" Danny removed his pipe and spat politely.
The street outside was all fog and melting snow; the cold vichy he had gulped made him internally uncomfortable. "A gay day to go to Mulqueen's," he muttered sourly, gazing about for a taxicab.
Thirty-two years of constabulary service and twenty-one years in a private capacity had brought him to seventy-five, when he returned to end his days on his native spot, among Irish-speaking people, and under the noble shadow of the Galtee Mountains. Divested of the accent which flavoured his rusty English, Mr. Mulqueen's opinions were as follows: "I am a Home Ruler and I voted for a Nationalist.
Danny was one of these tragedies, but he still picked up a precarious living by doing odd jobs at Mulqueen's and acting as a veterinary when called upon, and he could generally be found either loafing in the smelly little office or smoking his T D pipe on the steps outside. He and Mr.
"If you will stand by your better self for one week for only one week after leaving Mulqueen's, I'll stand by you for life, my boy. Come! You were a good sport once. And that little sister of yours is worth it. Come, Stuyvesant; is it a bargain?" He stepped forward and held out his large, firm, reassuring hand. The young fellow took it limply.
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