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Updated: June 22, 2025
He'd be the wan to make a man forget his own name, and all on account of impudent questions." Pat and Mike looked surprised. They were both fond of little Jim, Mike particularly so. "I see you wonders at me, but little Jim's a-worryin' me. I don't know what to be doin' with him. B'ys, would you belave it? I can't teach him a thing.
But Hermy's father died, an' then her ma, poor soul, goes an' marries a good-lookin' loafer way beneath her, a man as weren't fit to black her shoes, let alone take 'em off! And Arthur's his father's child. Oh, a good enough b'y as b'ys go, but wild, now and then, and rough, like his dad." "I see!" nodded her hearer, thoughtfully.
And with another smile for the General, who had not resumed his reading, the boy left the room, and, shortly after, the house. "Listen!" cried Mrs. O'Callaghan, with uplifted ringer. And the rollicking talk about her ceased on the instant. "'Tis Pat's step I hear outside, and here he is, sure enough. Now, b'ys, don't all of you be on him at wanst. Let him sit down in the father's chair."
"I don't ask you to talk anything else. But let me keep out of it." "'He's not the man for Galway'," hummed Watts. "He prefers talking to 'heelers, and 'b'ys, and 'toughs, and other clever, intellectual men." "I like to talk to any one who is working with a purpose in life." "I say, Peter, what do those fellows really say of us?" "I can best describe it by something Miss De Voe once said.
"Shure, if it's good beer Oi had," continued Moriarty, "Oi'd be afther beatin' them all, for Oi was always popular wid the b'ys, on account of my usin' my fists so fine." Peter smiled. "Why don't you go into something else?" he asked. "Well, there's mother and the three childers to be supported, an' then Oi'd lose my influence at the primary." "What kind of beer does Mr.
"You're the boy, Mike, and that's a fact," was his approving sentence. Just then the boards came and were thrown off with a great clatter. Mrs. O'Callaghan hurried to the door. "Now, b'ys, what's the meanin' of this?" she questioned when the man had gone. "Have my rose, mother dear," said Pat. "And it's a pretty rose, so it is," responded Mrs. O'Callaghan, receiving it graciously.
O'Callaghan had been thinking about her fourth son to-day in the unaccustomed leisure given her by Mike. "How it is I don't know," she mused, "but he do have a wonderful knack at rilin' up the little b'ys, and he'd iver be doin' somethin' he can't do at all. I'll be lookin' into Jim's case. There shan't wan of Tim's b'ys be sp'iled if I can help it."
An Irishman in my car yelled out: "Och, ye dirty spalpeens; it's not shootin' prisoners ye are now; it's cumin' where the Yankee b'ys hev the gun; and the minnit ye say thim yer white livers show themselves in yer pale faces. Bad luck to the blatherin' bastards that yez are, and to the mothers that bore ye."
But the men know I dressed for a reason, and came to the saloon for a reason. I wasn't putting on airs. I wasn't intruding my wealth on them." "Look here, chum, will you take me into Blunkers's place some night, and let me hear you powwow the 'b'ys? I should like to see how you do it."
It may be we'll be hungry yis, an' cold, too wanst in a while. But it won't be for long." "But town is a bad place for boys, I'm told," urged the neighbor. "Not for mine," answered the widow quietly. "They're their father's b'ys, an' I can depind on 'em. They moind me loightest word. Come here, Pat, an' Moike, an' Andy, an' Jim, an' Barney, an' Tommie!" Obediently the six drew near.
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