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You know they like you purty well as it is, but when they hear you are going to take part in the anniversary entertainment you can have anything you want from them." "Are yez sayrious, I dunno, at all, at all?" inquired Myles, somewhat dubiously. "Am I?" responded McGowan.
Didn't he come into my kitchen the noight the new Prisident was nominated and shtand afore the fire, lookin' loike a pictur', wid his hands in his shmall pockets, an' his innocent bit of a face as sayrious as a jedge? An' sez he to me: 'Mary, sez he, 'I'm very much int'rusted in the 'lection, sez he. 'I'm a 'publican, an' so is Dearest.
"The head's worth two hundred pounds, Robin," said Stewart. "Gosh, that'll no be Alan Breck!" cried the clerk. "Just Alan," said his master. "Weary winds! that's sayrious," cried Robin. "I'll try Andie, then; Andie'll be the best." "It seems it's quite a big business," I observed. "Mr. Balfour, there's no end to it," said Stewart. "There was a name your clerk mentioned," I went on: "Hoseason.
But come with me to bank this mornin' an' I'll prove it all to ye." Something in his voice made Franklin wheel around and look at him. "Oh, do be serious, Battersleigh," said he. "It's sayrious I am, Ned, I till ye. Luk at me, boy. Do ye not see the years droppin' from me? Succiss! Revinge! Cash! Earth holds no more for Batty. I've thim all, an' I'm contint.
"The head's worth two hundred pounds, Robin," said Stewart. "Gosh, that'll no' be Alan Breck?" cried the clerk. "Just Alan," said his master. "Weary winds! that's sayrious," cried Robin. "I'll try Andie, then; Andie'll be the best." "It seems it's quite a big business," I observed. "Mr. Balfour, there's no end to it," said Stewart. "There was a name your clerk mentioned," I went on: "Hoseason.
My custom is to ask a mother the age of her child, and then express incredulity. "Oul'er nor she's good. She was five on the thurteenth iv last month." "No, but seriously, Mrs. O'Halloran?" "A'm always sayrious about telling the thruth."
But aw'll come an' look at it. An' away he went to th' wesh-house, wi' th' little lass pooin' at him, like a kitlin' drawin' a stone-cart. Th' owd woman followed him, grumblin' o' th' road, 'Isaac, this is what comes on tho stoppin' so lat' i'th town of a neet. There's olez some blunderin' job or another. Aw lippen on tho happenin' a sayrious mischoance, some o' these neets.
"The head's worth two hundred pounds, Robin," said Stewart. "Gosh, that'll no be Alan Breck?" cried the clerk. "Just Alan," said his master. "Weary winds! that's sayrious," cried Robin. "I'll try Andie then; Andie'll be the best." "It seems it's quite a big business," I observed. "Mr. Balfour, there's no end to it," said Stewart. "There was a name your clerk mentioned," I went on: "Hoseason.
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