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Updated: June 6, 2025
But he was not often there, and kept his kennels at Ahaseragh, five miles away from Daly's Bridge. Much was not therefore known of Mr. Daly, in his own house. But in the field no man was better known, or more popular, if thorough obedience is an element of popularity. The old gentry of the county could tell why Mr.
These things all opened before his eyes a vista of future, idle, uncontrolled enjoyment, just suited to his taste, and strongly tempted him at once to close with Daly's offer. But still, he could hardly bring himself to consent to be vanquished by his own sister; it was wormwood to him to think that after all she should be left to the undisturbed enjoyment of her father's legacy.
"No," said Le Moyne, reaching for bread, "I never did; but Daly's up to anything, and he'd discharge me like a shot if he should ever hear of this." It was almost impossible to get Mr. Daly to laugh at an actor's joke; he was too generally at war with them, and he was too often the object of the jest. But he did laugh once at one of the solemn frauds perpetrated on me by this same Le Moyne.
Quincel, mentioning Augustin Daly's famous production, which had worn from a great public success down to an amateur theatrical favourite, with many of the troublesome accessories cut out and the dramatis personae reduced to the smallest possible number. Drouet had seen this play some time in the past. "That's it," he said; "that's a fine play. It will go all right.
Daly's an Irishman, and has only to show himself to show a paddy." "But this is a sort of an image of some kind or other, Sir Gervaise, and yet it isn't Mr. Daly. I rather think he hasn't the flags necessary for our words, and has rigged out a sort of a woman, to let us know his ship's name; for she has a woman figure-head, you know, sir." "The devil he has! Well, that will form an era in signals.
Such was the state of matters in Dublin when a letter reached me one morning at O'Malley Castle, whose contents will at once explain the writer's intention, and also serve to introduce my unworthy self to my reader. It ran thus: DALY'S, about eight in the evening.
At the name both Bob and his employer started. It was the very man Mr. Crowninshield had suspected. "So Daly has a place down on Long Island, has he?" drawled he. "Oh, no, sir. Mr. Daly's place is on an island off the Maine coast. He had just put in at the Long Island port for some minor repairs.
The door swung open and Daly's face got suddenly hard. A passenger from another part of the train had entered the car and was looking into the smoking compartment. It was the man Foster had seen at the hotel. Next moment Daly was on his feet and springing across the narrow floor turned to Foster with a pistol in his hand. "Blast you!" he said hoarsely. "You fixed this.
How could he be short-handed when everybody knows that Daly's boardin'-house is chock-full of fightin' Dutchmen? No, no! It'll be the sack for Mister Bully B. Nathan if he lets a capful o' fair wind go by and his anchor down. Gracie's agents 'll watch that!" "Well! He's here for th' night, anyway. . . . There goes her mudhook!"
He works on Daly's farm where they raise lots of horses and cattle, too, and he breaks all the young colts and trains them, and swaps off the poor ones, and drives all over the country. Daly told Mr. Fogg he was splendid with stock, and father says it's just like play. He's sent home money three Saturday nights." "I'm so glad!" exclaimed Rebecca sympathetically.
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