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So he takes th' place, an' th' chances ar-re he's th' biggest omadhon in th' wurruld, an' knows no more about r-runnin' a counthry thin I know about ladin' an orchesthry. An', if he don't do annything, he's a dummy, an', if he does do annything, he's crazy; an' whin he dies, his foreman says: 'Sure, 'tis th' divvle's own time I had savin' that bosthoon fr'm desthroyin' himsilf.
Gin'ral Crownjoy's washin' that was hangin' on th' line whin th' bombardmint comminced is a total wreck which no amount iv bluin' will save. Th' deserters also report that manny iv th' Boers ar-re outspannin', trekkin', loogerin', kopjein' an' veldtin' home to be dyed, f'r'tis not known whether lyddite is a fast color or will come out in th' wash."
"No, I have a team here," laughed Bill. "They are in Creed's stable." "Creed's!" The old man glanced at him sharply. "Phwat ar-re they doin' at Creed's?" "Well, that is a long story; but it sums up about like this: I see you know Moncrossen so do I. And Moncrossen is afraid I will crab his bird's-eye game and I will, too, when the proper time comes.
"Whin a lady begins to wondher if I'm not onhappy in me squalid home without th' touch iv a woman's hand ayether in th' tidy on th' chair or in th' inside pocket iv th' coat, I say: 'No, ma'am, I live in gr-reat luxury surrounded be all that money can buy an' manny things that it can't or won't. There ar-re Turkish rugs on th' flure an' chandyleers hang fr'm th' ceilins.
'Ye whelps, says Lord Char-les Beresford an' Roodyard Kipling an' Tiddy Rosenfelt an' th' other Anglo-Saxons. 'Foolish an' frivolous people, cheap but thrue-hearted an' insincere cousins, they says. ''Tis little ye know about annything. Ye ar-re a disgrace to humanity. Ye love th' dollar betther thin ye love annything but two dollars. Ye ar-re savage, but inthrestin'. Ye misname our titles.
Otherwise " She reached in the bosom of her blouse and drew out, not the mother-o'-pearl-plated pistol that I feared, but a knife with an eighteen-inch blade of glittering steel. Instantly Fred covered her with his own repeater, but she laughed in his face. "You ol' fool, you ar-re afraid to shoot me!"
'What naytionalties do ye hire? says I. 'I've thried thim all, he says, 'an', he says, 'I'll say this in shame, he says, 'that th' Irish ar-re th' worst, he says. 'Well, says I, 'ye need have no shame, I says, 'f'r'tis on'y th' people that ar-re good servants that'll niver be masthers, I says. 'Th' Irish ar-re no good as servants because they ar-re too good, I says.
"'Tis some time befure they comprehind that there ar-re other candydates in th' field. But th' other candydates know it. Th' sthrongest iv thim his name is Flannigan, an' he's a re-tail dealer in wines an' liquors, an' he lives over his establishment.
He had worked hard and faithfully to complete the job, and now that only one level mile remained to be railed, would they send the old man down the hill? "I will not budge," said Foy, facing his friends; "an' when you gentlemen ar-re silibratin' th' vict'ry at the top o' the hill ahn Chuesday nixt, Hugh Foy'll be wood ye. Do you moind that, now?"
Th' natives seldom fight, but whin they get mad at wan another they r-run-a-muck. Whin a man r-runs-a-muck, sometimes they hang him an' sometimes they discharge him an' hire a new motorman. Th' women ar-re beautiful, with languishin' black eyes, an' they smoke see-gars, but ar-re hurried an' incomplete in their dhress.
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