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Updated: May 23, 2025
It's treatin' iv'ry b'y he is, an' poundin' on the bar Till iv'ry man he's drinkin' wid must shmoke a foine cigar; An' Missus Murphy's little Kate, that's coomin' there for beer, Can't pay wan cint the bucketful, the whilst that Chairley's here! He's joompin' oor the tops o' sthools, the both forninst an' back! He'll lave yez pick the blessed flure, an' walk the straightest crack!
"Is it Misther Kidd's money ye's is afther?" he enquired, querulously, putting his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. "Much luck may ye's have finding it. Divel a cint meself iver saw uv Misther Kidd's money, an' we've liv'd here this two years an' more. It's mighty little uv any other man's money not enough, troth, to get bread for the childher have we seen."
"They cost every cint of five dollars," said Bridget. "They was made at one of the most fashionable shops in the city. Oh, they was an illigant pair when they was new." "How many years ago was that?" asked the pawnbroker. "Only six months, and they ain't been worn more'n a month." "I'll give you fifty cents." "Fifty cints!" repeated Mrs.
If I put my week's wages that I'll git to-morry on to this, I'm short half of it." "Sure, Andy, I'll let you have it all if you want it. You keep what you've got. She's me own sister. On'y I'll have to wait a while, for I don't want to fetch into the Sisters any less money than I've spoke to Sister Agnes about." "I'm a-goin' to pay ye back every cint of it, Mag, and God bless ye!
And where, oh where, were the gardenias that she always wore during the time of year when they are rarest and most expensive? Where even were the child's gloves, old Martha asked herself, her sables? Her pearls? "Why, Miss Joy," she exclaimed, "you look as if your father had lost every cint he had in the world." The girl flushed uneasily, but her eyes did not fall from the old woman's.
"Good mornin', an' 'tis a foin bit of scenery, but we can't ate it, an' we'd die afore we'd go into the poorhouse, an' a thrifle of money for a dhraw at the pipe would be as welkim as the flowers of May, an' 'tis England is the grate counthry, and thim that was in it says that Englishmen is tin per cint. betther than Irishmen, aye, twinty per cint." and so forth, and so forth.
That Jew man 'd been champeen iv th' wurruld if all iv him cud 've kept out iv close quarthers with th' man again him. "I don't quarrel with Jools' feelin's, mind ye. 'Tis th' histhry iv th' wurruld that th' Jews takes our watches fr'm us be tin per cint a month, an' we take thim back be means iv a jimmy an' a piece iv lead pipe. They're on'y two known methods iv finance, bankin' an' burglary.
Work! why, Oi 'm dommed if a green Swade did n't fall the full length of the shaft one day, an' whin we wint over to pick him up, what was it ye think the poor haythen said? He opened his oies an' asked, 'Is the boss mad? afeared he 'd lose his job! An' so ye was workin' for a thafe, was ye? An' what for?" "Two tollar saxty cint."
I've seen men, that 'd divide their last cint with ye pay night, as hard, whin it come to gather in th' rent f'r two rooms in th' rear, as if they was an Irish peer's agents; an' O'Brien had no such start iv binivolence to go on. He niver seemed to pass th' poor-box in church without wantin' to break into it.
"An' shure, miss, I wouldn't be askin' ye the loan of a cint if I could get worruk at me trade of carpet-wavin' and maybe ye know of some mannfacthory where they wave carpets beyant here. Ah, miss, and if ye don't give me a cint, it's enough for the loikes of me to know that me troubles has brought the tears in the most beautiful oiyes in the wurruld, and God bless ye for it, miss!"
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