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'An' ye have no har-rd feelin' about th' way th' bridges has been give out? 'Not a thrace, says he. 'Well, says I, 'Schwartz, I says, 'they'se wan thing more, I says. 'We're both pathrites, I says. 'We have a common cause, I says. 'Ye're a Dutchman, an' I'm iv' th' other sort, I says. 'But we're both again th' Sassenach, I says.
An' why shudden't he be with thim two names? They'se pothry in both iv thim. Fitz-Hugh Lee! Did ye iver see a pitcher iv him? A fat ma-an, with a head like a football an' a neck big enough to pump blood into his brain an' keep it fr'm starvin'. White-haired an' r-red-faced. Th' kind iv ma-an that can get mad in ivry vein in his body.
They don't want to be laid in good old mother earth, which is the warm forcin' place o' the Lord for raisin' up 'uman souls as He raises up the blossoms in spring, an' all other things which do give Him grateful praise an' thanksgivin'! They gits theirselves burnt to ashes 'cos they don't want to be raised up, they'se never praised the Lord 'ere, an' they wouldn't know 'ow to do it there!
Take 'em all round, the wimin's the bravest at bearin' pain, they'll smile while they'se burnin' so as it sha'n't ill-convenience anybody. Wonderful sufferers, is wimin!" "Yet they are selfish enough sometimes," said Helmsley, quickly. "Selfish? Wheer was ye born, D. David?" queried Peke "An' what wimin 'ave ye know'd? Town or country?" Helmsley was silent.
"They'se awful, these men; but a woman can't get on without 'em, no more than the men without us. Only the men don't care much which one. Any one will do for a time. Do you find the new one any better?" "I am very happy," Alves replied with a flush; "but I don't care to talk about my affairs." "You needn't be so close," the woman exclaimed irritably. "I know all about you.
Th' frinds iv honest money had give thim all to Jawn P. Hopkins's la-ads. They're frinds iv honest money, whin they'se no other in sight. But I'd like to see anny goold-bug or opprissor iv th' people keep th' likes iv me an' Hinnissy out iv a convintion. We braced up to wan iv th' dures, an' a man stopped Hinnissy. 'Who ar-re ye? he says. "I am a Dimmycrat, says Hinnissy.
I have me information fr'm Hinnissy, an' Hinnissy have it fr'm Willum Joyce, an' ye know how close Joyce is to Finerty. Hinnissy was in last night. 'Well, says I, 'what's th' news? I says. 'News? says he. 'They'se on'y wan thing talked about, he says. 'We're goin' to have a war with England, he says. 'An' th' whole Irish army has inlisted, he says.
There's the cancer illness, people goes off all over the country now from cancer as never used to in my father's day, an' why? 'Cos they'se gittin' too wise for Nature's own cure.
I did not glance around, yet knew that Tim spat over the rail, and stroked his chin-beard reflectively, after looking hard at me. "They'se both of 'em niggers," he said, evidently persuaded my question was prompted only by curiosity. "They belong ter Joe Kirby, an' we got 'em locked up." "That's whut yer way up yere fur, hey? Goin' ter take 'em back down river ter Saint Louee, I reckon?"
'Th' hated enimy has stolen th' ballot an' thrampled on th' r-rights iv th' citizens, says they, 'in the southern part iv th' state faster thin we cud undo their hellish wurruk in our own counties, they says. 'They now hol' th' jobs, they say, 'an' if they stay in they'se no more chanst iv iver ilictin' a dimmycrat again thin there wud be iv ilictin' a raypublican if we got in, they say.
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