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Providence sent you to Jack Dwyer's, and kep Jim Casey away, and put the anger into owld Jack's heart that's what the Providence did! and made the opening for you to spake up, and gave you a wife a wife with property! Ah, there's where the Providence was! and you were the masther of a snug house that was Providence!
The Christmas holidays came, and went by like mileposts from the window of an express train. There was a Glee Club: there were dances, and private theatricals in Mrs. Dwyer's new house, in which it was imperative that Honora should take part. There was no such thing as getting up for breakfast, and once she did not see Uncle Tom for two whole days. He asked her where she was staying.
Dwyer's finances or, rather, the absence of any finances had precluded the performance of that customary detail; but to Mr. Sublette's experienced mind the prospects of future increment seemed large. Accordingly he was all for prompt action.
Rooney was driven to push him by direct questions. "For the tendher mercy, Micky Lavery, make me sinsible, and don't disthract me is the boy married?" "Yis, I tell you." "To Jack Dwyer's daughter?" "Yis." "And gev him a fort'n'?" "Gev him half his property, I tell you, and he'll have all when the owld man's dead."
Very probably these last words may have been as so much Greek to the juvenile members of the audience; possibly, though, they were made aware of the meaning of them by the look upon the face of Nephew Percival Dwyer and the look upon the face of Nephew Percival Dwyer's attorney.
John Dwyer's house was a scene of activity that day, for not only was the priest to breakfast there always an affair of honour but a grand dinner was also preparing on a large scale; for a wedding-feast was to be held in the house, in honour of Matty Dwyer's nuptials, which were to be celebrated that day with a neighbouring young farmer, rather well to do in the world.
You never will talk over serious things with me." "What are serious things?" asked Peter. "Well," said Honora vaguely, "ambitions, and what one is going to make of themselves in life. And then you make fun of me by saying you want Mr. Dwyer's house." She laughed again. "I can't imagine you in that house!" "Why not?" he asked, stopping beside the pond and thrusting his hands in his pockets.
Dwyer's house, with its picture gallery, was across the street. In the midst of such imposing company the little dwelling which became the home of our heroine sat well back in a plot that might almost be called a garden. In summer its white wooden front was nearly hidden by the quivering leaves of two tall pear trees.
If Honora took her book under the maple tree in the yard, she was confronted with that hideous wooden sign "To Let" on the Dwyer's iron fence opposite, and the grass behind it was unkempt and overgrown with weeds. "I suppose it will be a boarding-house," she would say, "it's much too large for poor people to rent, and only poor people are coming into this district now." "Oh, Aunt Mary!"
Dwyer, sir," he began faintly, with his eyes fixed fearfully on the managing editor, "he got arrested and I couldn't get here no sooner, 'cause they kept a-stopping me, and they took me cab from under me but " he pulled the notebook from his breast and held it out with its covers damp and limp from the rain "but we got Hade, and here's Mr. Dwyer's copy."
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