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Updated: June 13, 2025
He neveh got up agin a syndicate bettin' ring an' crooked judgin'. He neveh rode no close finish 'ith Irish jocks an' had his shin barked on 'e fence. You kin take Sol'mun's word faw it, boss, but li'l Moseby, he's f'um Mizzoury. He'll steal a flyin' start nex' time out an' try to stay so far in front that no Irish boy kin reach him 'ith a lariat!"
"An' I have faith that he will. Uphel' by that faith, I've taken fifteen shares myself. But O, if faith could right here an' now be changed into sight, then would this day be as golden in my hopes faw Suez an' her three counties as it already is faw my private self in memory o' past joys."
If you want gold, go fish it from the depth of the whirlpool," said Cap, taking her purse and casting it over the precipice. This exasperated the crone to frenzy. "Away! Begone!" she cried, shaking her long arm at the girl. "Away! Begone! The fate pursues you! The badge of blood is stamped upon your palm!" "Fee faw fum" said Cap. "Scorner! Beware! The curse of the crimson hand is upon you!"
They went. "I was goin' ad the poss-office, but" he waved his hand and curled his lip. "Mistoo Itchlin, in fact, if you yeh of something suitable to me I would like to yeh it. I am not satisfied with that pless yondeh with Doctah Seveeah. I was compel this mawnin', biffo you came in, to 'epoove 'im faw 'is 'oodness. He called me a jackass, in fact. I woon allow that. I 'ad to 'epoove 'im.
But appopo of that news, I might infawm you some intelligens consunning myseff." "Good!" exclaimed Richling. "For it's good news, isn't it?" "Yesseh, as you may say, yes. Faw in fact, Mistoo Itchlin, I 'ave ass Dr. Seveeah to haugment me." "Hurrah!" cried Richling.
Something has gone wrong, sure!" "You bet it has!" snarled McManus. "Quite a pile of dough has gone wrong, and some of it was mine too!" A comfortable ten lengths to the good at the upper turn, Little Mose addressed a few vigorous remarks to his mount. "This a nice place faw us to stay, 'Lijah! Them Irish boys all behin' us! Nobody goin' bump you to-day! Nobody goin' slash you 'ith no whip!
"Talk 'bout luck!" said he, morosely. "You know 'at flat-foot Swede whut swipes faw Mist' O'Conneh? Hungry Hanson, 'ey calls him. Well, he goes crazy 'ith 'e heat an' flang 'em bones jus' like he's got 'em ejicated. Done tossed out nine straight licks, boss. Seems to me 'at's mo' luck 'an a Swede ought to have!" "Mose," said Old Man Curry suddenly, "Job was no hossman."
But the more show we made of hopeful and pleading smiles, the more those dear eyes, so seldom wet, filled up with tears. "He sinks sare can two answehs be, and he like to heah which is se answeh I shall gif him, so he shall know if he shall come now aw if he shall come neveh. "O my sweet friend," to Mrs. Smith, down whose, face the salt drops stole unhindered "sare iss nossing faw you to cry."
"Mistoo Itchlin, seein' as 'tis you, a puffic gen'leman, 'oo is not goin' to 'efuse that satisfagtion w'at a gen'leman, always a-'eady to give a gen'leman, I bid you faw the pwesen' good-evenin', seh!" He walked away. Richling stood in his tracks dumfounded, crushed.
"Yes, seh, so soon I see him I say, mos' sholy dass de same man what Mistoo Tah-bawx lookin' faw to show him 'roun' 'bout de swamp! Yes, seh, not-instandin' I never see him befo'! No, seh. Lawd! look yondeh! look dat big bahsta'd hawn-snake! He kyant git away: he's hu't! Lawd! dass what kill dat man! Dat man trawmp on him in de dark, and he strack him wid his hawny tail!
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