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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Well, Miss Butterworth," he said, rising, "ye know yer own business, but there'll be a house, an' a stoop, an' a bureau, an' a little ladder for flowers, an' Mike Conlin will draw the lumber, an' Benedict'll put it together, an' Jim Fenton'll be the busiest and happiest man in a hundred mile." As Jim rose, Miss Butterworth also stood up, and looked up into his face.
There's no man as knows more about a woman nor Mike Conlin. Ah, Jim! ye ought to 'ave seed me wid the girrls in the owld counthry! They jist rin afther me as if I'd been stalin' their little hearrts. There was a twilve-month whin they tore the very coat tails aff me back.
"Well, Mike, this is a world o' sorrer, an' when a feller comes to think of a lot o' women as is so hard pushed that they hanker arter Mike Conlin, it fetches me. It's worse nor bein' without victuals, an' beats the cholery out o' sight." "Oh, ye blaggard! Can't ye talk sinse whin yer betthers is thryin' to hilp ye? What kind of an owld woman have ye got, now?"
He was very tired, but the warmth of his welcome brought a merry twinkle to his eyes and the ready blarney to his tongue. "Och! divil a bit wud ye be glad to see Mike Conlin if ye knowed he'd come to arrist ye. Jim, ye're me prisoner. Ye've been stalin a pauper a pair iv 'em, faith an' ye must answer fur it wid yer life to owld Belcher. Come along wid me.
They didn't want to blow any, to speak on, but Mike Conlin come in with a hundred dollars of Belcher's money in his jacket, an' helped me nuss my man for a week; an' I got a Happy David out o' Sam Yates, an' ther's the dockyment;" and Jim drew from his pocket the instrument with which the reader is already familiar. Mr.
When it lit fairly in the German trench he would dance around the gunner shouting, "That's a good one!" "That's the way to put them over!" "Now for another beauty! give them hell!" Well, our raid was a great success, and it was the biggest thing of the kind that had been attempted up to that time. We had a few casualties; Conlin was a great pal of mine, and I missed him the most.
But before they went out, two men, Conlin and another chap, stole quietly out and cut the enemy's wire entanglements they lay there for hours right under the noses of the Germans cutting a gap for our boys to go through I assure you it was ticklish work; the success of the whole enterprise depended on their skilful, silent work.
They were compelled, therefore, to make the complete journey on foot, following to the lower landing the "tote-road" that Mike Conlin had taken when he came to them on his journey of discovery. They started early one morning about the middle of November, and, as the weather was cold, Turk bore them company. Though Mr.
His gentleness, his simplicity, his modesty, his affectionate fidelity, his ready sympathy, his inexhaustibly patience, his fine talents all those attributes united with his spontaneous drollery to enshrine him in tender affection. William James Florence, whose family name was Conlin, was born in Albany, July 26, 1831.
He stopped at noon at a settler's lonely house, occupied by Mike Conlin, a friendly Irishman. Jim took the man aside and related his plans. Mike entered at once upon the project with interest and sympathy, and Jim knew that he could trust him wholly. It was arranged that Jim should return to Mike the evening before the proposed descent upon Tom Buffum's establishment, and sleep.
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