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"Dear, oh, dear," said Mr. Dooley, "I'd give five dollars an' I'd kill a man f'r three if I was out iv this Sixth Wa-ard to-night, an' down with Gin'ral Miles' gran' picnic an' moonlight excursion in Porther Ricky. 'Tis no comfort in bein' a cow'rd whin ye think iv thim br-rave la-ads facin' death be suffication in bokays an' dyin' iv waltzin' with th' pretty girls iv Porther Ricky.
Ivrybody knows it. I r-read what Joe What's-His-Name wrote th' br-rave corryspondint. He says this feller was sick at his stummick an' retired befure th' Spanish fire. Why, what'd he have to fight but a lot iv ol' row-boats? A good swimmer with sharp teeth cud've bit his way through th' whole Spanish fleet. An' he r-run away.
Then General Taylor he draws up his little army of five thousand br-rave Americans right here " Anne put her finger on an ink-spot. "Let me get my book, Anne, and you go over all the lesson, won't you?" pleaded Amelia. "I used to know my lessons when you did that. And Miss Morris says if I don't do better she is going to drop me out of class and give me review work in recreation hour.
'Sind out some row-boats an' a yacht, an' desthroy thim. Clubs is thrumps, he says, and he wint on playin'. Th' Spanish fleet was attackted on all sides be our br-rave la-ads, nobly assisted be th' dispatch boats iv the newspapers. Wan by wan they was desthroyed. Three battle-ships attackted th' convarted yacht Gloucester.
Friedrich watched the retreating buggy with mingled disgust and surprise. "Why did he not r-resent that? If not that, what? He is br-rave, that is clear; then why does he not fight? Ah, these Americans, I compr-rehend them not!" A furnace of indignation, he walked into the house.
A few minutes later, a bag of macaroons slipped over her shoulder, and a merry voice announced: "William Tell gives this to his br-rave, beloved child." And before Anne could speak, Pat was gone to join some other boys in a game of ring toss. With a forgiving smile at him, she sauntered on and stood gazing over the railing at the motley crowd in the steerage.
Take us prisoners, an' rayceive us into ye'er gloryous an' well-fed raypublic, he says. 'Br-rave men, says Gin'ral Miles, 'I congratulate ye, he says, 'on th' heeroism iv yer definse, he says. 'Ye stuck manfully to yer colors, whativer they ar-re, he says. 'I on'y wondher that ye waited f'r me to come befure surrindhrin, he says. 'I welcome ye into th' Union, he says.
We will not, he says, 'lave this house till we have driven ivry cur-rsed Cosmypollitan or Jew, he says, 'fr'm this noble land iv th' br-rave an' home iv th' flea, he says. 'Veev Fr-rance! he says. 'Veev Jools Guerin! he says. 'Conspuez Rothscheeld! he says. 'It's ye'er move, Loot, he says to th' polisman.
He'll be settin' up on th' roof iv his boat, smokin' a good see-gar, an' wondhrin' how manny iv th' babbies named afther him 'll be in th' pinitinchry be th' time he gets back home. Up comes me br-rave Hobson. 'Who ar-re ye, disturbin' me quite? says Cousin George. 'I'm a hero, says th' Loot. 'Ar-re ye, faith? says Cousin George.
'So I'll thank ye to be off, he says, 'or I'll take th' thick end iv the slung-shot to ye, he says. "Th' Fr-rinchman is a br-rave man, an' he'd stay an' have it out on th' flure; but some wan calls, 'A base th' Chinnyman! an' off he goes on another thrack. An', whin he gets to th' Chinnymen, he finds th' English've abased thim already.
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