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Updated: June 10, 2025
The widow continued her musings and finally she asked, "Where is West P'int, Jim?" "It's where they make foightin' men out of boys." "Is it far from here?" "I don't know. I can get there anyway." His mother looked at him and she saw pugnacity written all over him. His close-cropped red hair, which was of a beautiful shade and very thick, stood straight on end all over his head.
'Stead of which Oi predic' that the young feller's a real man once he gets strung out. Anyways, Oi bet he does his foightin' whiles the other feller's there 'stead of settin' 'round an' snortin' folks' whisky full o' cracker-crumbs." He gazed ruefully into his half-filled glass. "Throw it out, Daddy, an' have one on me," offered Burrage, reaching for the jug.
But I didn't know before 'twas for the foightin'." "'Tain't," briefly replied little Jim. And seeing his mother's questioning look he went on: "The history book's got a lot in it, too, about the way the people lived, and the kings and queens, and them that wrote poems and things. 'Tis for that Andy loikes the history book.
"He shot up Stanton's hall, an' a bullet from some of thim wot was foightin' him must hev hit her." "Mebbe. But it wor bad bizness. That cowboy hit iviry wan of thim fellars in the same place. Shure, they niver blinked afther."
"He's ownly kickin' presarved mate tins about the flure av his panthry, which he kapes especial fur such toimes as he's in a rage wid anyone as offinds him, whin, instead av standin' up loike a man an' foightin' it out wid the chap that angers him, he goes and locks himsilf in the panthry an' kicks the harmless ould tins about, an' bangs 'em ag'in the bulkhead at the side, till ye'd think he was smashin' the howl ship!"
Always step up when you honestly can, b'ys, if for no other reason, to give the wan behoind you a chance. There's no tellin' what he can do till he gets a chance, do you see? Tim, he wouldn't 'a' stayed foightin' a private if the wan ahead of him had only done his duty and stepped up. But some folks niver does their duty, and it's hopin' I am you'll none of you be loike 'em.
As for little Jim, he did not seem to observe that he was enjoying his mother's favorable regard. "And what book is it you loike the best?" she asked one evening when Jim was about to go to bed. "The history book," was the answer. "And why?" "'Cause there's always a lot about the big foightin' men in it." "Ah!" said the widow. "Andy, he loiked the history book best, too.
"There's been a divil av lot av talk about Irish disunion," says Mr. Dooley somewhere, "but if there's foightin' to be done it's the bhoys that'll let nobody else thread on the Union Jack." That is the Irish temperament all over, and in these days when history is being written in lightning flashes the rally of Ireland to the old flag is inspiring, but not surprising.
The strong liquor had loosened the tongue of the ordinarily silent old man and he continued: "Oi catched his eye fair; an' 'tis the eye of a foightin' man an eye, the loike o' which Oi ain't seen since Oi looked f'r the last time in the dead eyes o' Captain Fronte McKim, in the second outbreak o' the wild Boh, Hira Kal, in the brown hills o' the Punjab."
And when the story and the supper were finished she took little Jim by the hand and led him along the tortuous path through the furniture to the family seat of honor. "Sit there in the father's chair," she commanded. "I niver thought to be puttin' wan of my b'ys there for foightin', but foightin's the thing sometimes." This was on Tuesday.
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