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Updated: June 20, 2025
''Tis a mel-odjious insthrument, says she. 'I cud sit here be the hour an' listen to Bootoven and Choochooski, she says. "'What did thim write? says Cassidy. 'Chunes, says Donahue, 'chunes: Molly, he says, 'fetch 'er th' wallop to make th' gintlemen feel good, he says. 'What 'll it be, la-ads? 'D'ye know "Down be th' Tan-yard Side"? says Slavin. 'No, says Molly.
That she should have succeeded at all in mastering that imposing looking instrument making it actually "play chunes" was surely a thing to wonder at. But then, Patsy could do anything, if she but tried.
Und dere vill not pe frost before two veeks yet! Und you haf forgotten how to vistle. Dere was a valse note in dot last bar." "Watcher know about it?" said Whistling Dick, with tentative familiarity; "you wit yer little Gherman-band nixcumrous chunes. Watcher know about music? Pick yer ears, and listen agin. Here's de way I whistled it see?"
"With that Donahue rose up. 'Come on, says he. 'This is no place f'r us, he says. Slavin, with th' politeness iv a man who's gettin' even, turns at th' dure. I'm sorry I can't remain, he says. 'I think th' wurruld an' all iv Choochooski, he says. 'Me brother used to play his chunes, he says, 'me brother Mike, that run th' grip ca-ar, he says.
Yer won't see no dancin' den; yer won't hyear no cussin', nor no chickens hollin' uv er night; dey won't be no reel chunes sung den; yer'll want ter go ter prayin', an' yer'll be er callin' on us wat is stedfus in de faith fur ter hep yer; but we can't hep yer den. We can't stop den.
"It air a fiddle," she said, slowly, at last, and with an air of conscientious admission, as if she had had half a mind to deny it. "A fiddle the thing air." Then, as she collected her thoughts, "Brother Pete Vickers 'lows ez he sees no special sin in playin' the fiddle. He 'lows ez in some kentries I disremember whar they plays on 'em in church, quirin' an' hymn chunes an' sech."
"They'd be no standin' 'em. Why, man alive, they'd be as proud as peacocks." "D'ye think so?" "Think so, no; I know so, sure!" "That settles it. Say, Mr. Handy," addressing the manager, "have yez a good fiddler that can play Irish chunes?"
De folks deze days is er gwine ter strucshun er dancin' an' er pickin' uv banjers an' er singin' uv reel chunes an' er cuttin' up uv ev'y kin' er dev'lment. I ben er watchin' 'em; an', min' yer, when de horn hit soun' fur de jes' ter rise, half de niggers gwine ter be wid de onjes'. An' I 'low ter myse'f dat I wuz gwine ter try ter save de chil'en.
"Umph-humph! dat's jes wat I 'lowed," said Mammy. "I 'lowed yer wouldn't be willin' fur ter go, er set'n' hyear an' er patt'n' yer han's same ez niggers, an' er singin' uv reel chunes; I dunno wat makes you chil'en so onstrep'rous." "Yes, Dumps, you know we promised," said Diddie, "and so we must go when Mammy tells us."
"Nettie Herbert was a rich little girl, and she lived with her pa and ma in a big house in Nu Orlins; and one time her father give her a gold dollar, and she went down town, and bort a grate big wax doll with open and shet eyes, and a little cooking stove with pots and kittles, and a wuck box, and lots uv peices uv clorf to make doll cloes, and a bu-te-ful gold ring, and a lockit with her pas hare in it, and a big box full uv all kinds uv candy and nuts and razens and ornges and things, and a little git-ar to play chunes on, and two little tubs and some little iuns to wash her doll cloes with; then she bort a little wheelbarrer, and put all the things in it, and started fur home.
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