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Updated: May 14, 2025
A tide flowed in about the counter, separating them, and she was suddenly the center of a human whorl, a battle of shoulders and elbows and voices pitched high with gluttony. Mr. Fitzgibbons skirted its edge, patient. Outside a flake floated down out of the dark pocket of packed clouds, then another and yet another, like timid kisses blown down upon the clownish brow of Broadway.
The dislodgement was most indifferently effected, inasmuch as the expedition was waylaid on their passage through the woods, by Captain Kerr, with a few Indians, and by Lieutenant Fitzgibbons, at the head of forty-six of the 49th regiment, in all, less than two hundred men, but so judiciously disposed as to make the Americans believe that they were the light troops of a very superior army, the approach of which was expected, and they, to the number of five hundred, surrendered, with two guns and two standards.
To him, himself, as he thought of it all, it was sufficiently astonishing that even the Ratlers and Fitzgibbons should admit him among them as one of themselves. "When I think of my father and of the old house at Killaloe, and remember that hitherto I have done nothing myself, I cannot understand how it is that I should be at Loughlinter." There was only one way of understanding it.
Snow-plows were already abroad clearing tracks, dry snow-dust spinning from under them. At Longacre Square the flakes blew upward in spiral flurries, erratic, full of antics. The cab snorted, plunged, leaped forward. Mr. Fitzgibbons inclined toward the little huddle beside him. "Sweetness, now I got you! You little sweetness you, now I got you, sweetness!" "Jimmie! Quit! Quit!
" with a grin, there are other places where she can get two great big brown bears if she wants 'em." "I'll see, sir. I'll see what I can do." Mr. Fitzgibbons brought a fist down upon the table so that the dishes rattled and the wine lopped out of the glasses. "Sure you'll see, and quick, too! A great big brown bear, d'you hear? My lady friend wants to dance, don't you, Doll?
Fitzgibbons beat a knife-and-fork tattoo on his plate and pinched her cheek lightly, gritting his teeth in a fine frenzy of delight. "That's the way to make 'em sit up and take notice, Doll, that's the way I like 'em. Live! As live and frisky as colts!"
Fitzgibbons folded over his own double-breasted coat, fitted his flat-brimmed derby hat on his well-oiled hair, drew a pair of gray suede gloves over his fingers, and hooked his slender cane to his arm. "Ready, Doll?" "The girls, Jimmie look at 'em rubbering and gabbling like ducks! It it ain't like I could do any good at home, it ain't." "I'd be the first to ship you there if you could.
Jimmie Fitzgibbons, smiling. "Here, sit on this side of the table, Doll, so you can see the big show." "Gee!" "It's the best table in the room to see the staircase dancing." "Gee!" "Told you I was going to show you a classy time to-night, didn't I, Doll?" "Yeh, but but I ain't dressed for a splash like this, Jimmie, I I ain't." "Say, they know me round here, Doll.
"My! It ain't snowin', is it? It ain't snowin'?" Mr. Jimmie Fitzgibbons wormed back to the counter. His voice was sunk to the golden mezzo of an amorous whisper. "Snowin' is right, Doll! A real dyed-in-the-wool white Christmas for you and me!" "Snowin'!" "Don't you like snow, baby doll? Cheer up, I'm going to hire a taxicab by the hour. I'm " "Snowin'!"
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