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Updated: May 15, 2025
"What's the row about?" asked Ben, as Cullin reached them, breathing hard. "Why, about their boss, it seems. The company gave him the bounce yesterday, and ordered him off the premises. He demanded fair play and a hearing, and then young Breifogle, who had gone up with the order for his discharge, began abusing him.
Cullin was shouting to invisible switchmen, and presently the train came bumping to a stand. Another minute and two or three early birds among the yardmen were climbing aboard and curiously, excitedly, peering over Geordie's head. He never looked up. Calmly he continued his sponging. Then Cullin's voice was heard again. A stretcher was thrust in at the rear door.
The big Mogul and the freight were still held, and now it was much after seven, and Argenta all astir. Cullin turned doggedly away. He seemed to know what was coming and did not half like it. Leaping down from the platform and striding over the cinder-blackened ties, the agent met him before he crossed the second track met him and spoke in tone so low even Big Ben could not hear.
Bonner, a director in the Transcontinental, heard from Anthony and Cullin all about the young fireman they spirited up to the mines, and the elder Breifogle had to hear how that young fireman cared for the battered son and heir, after his "beating up" at the fists and feet of the rioters, and if Breifogle bore no love for the Grahams, he at least loved his own.
"They are here to see the Silver Shield officers, and have been told they'd be up from Denver on No. 3. They chased old Breifogle out of his office yesterday afternoon, and he's been hiding ever since. Young Breifogle has been missing ever since yesterday noon." "That's him on the stretcher," said Big Ben, gloomily, for the news was already flying round. "Cullin says he's about done for.
Shorty slapped his bayonet on, and brought the point very near Groundhog's abdomen. "I'll jab this thing clean through you in a holy minute, you pusillanimous basswood cullin'; you pestiferous pile o' pizen, rotten punk," he said savagely. "Git on your wheel-mule and gether up the lines."
"You're boss on this train, Cullin," said he, savagely, "and you know I can't jaw back as you deserve, but if Bob Anthony happens to be where he can hear of that remark, you'll get your time or I'm a liar." For a moment Cullin stood and glared, wrath and humiliation commingling. Graham it was who quickly stepped forward and interposed. "Yes, I'm playing kid fireman, Mr.
This left Graham and Toomey alone in the cab, and Toomey's first question was, "What can you do now, sir?" "Find Nolan," was the brief answer, "and get to the bottom of this." "Orders may come any minute," said Toomey, looking anxiously over his shoulder. "We'll have to pull out and go ahead. You couldn't stay here at Argenta, could you?" "I may have to. Here's Cullin now."
Five great roads, radiating from Tara, as a centre, are mentioned in our earliest record; the road Dala leading to Ossory, and so on into Munster; the road Assail, extending western through Mullingar towards the Shannon; the road Cullin, extending towards Dublin and Bray; the exact route of the northern road, Midhluachra, is undetermined; Slighe Mor, the great western road, followed the course of the esker, or hill-range, from Tara to Galway.
My friend of "the force" got leave of absence for a day and having got into plain clothes drove with me to Pontoon Bridge between Lough Conn and Lough Cullin. As we passed the poor-house he told me of the awful crush that took place round its doors, where the relief was served during the scarcity.
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