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Updated: June 5, 2025
We disembarked from the cars and wended our way up the hill up the windin' foot path, wore down by the feet of pilgrims from every land, quite a tegus walk though beautiful, up to the good-lookin', and good appearin' tarven. I would fain have stopped at that minute at the abode the Hero had sanctified by his last looks. But my companion said to me that he wuz in nearly a starvin' state.
Well, one day Kerrigan was standin' chattin' wid his wife, when the shop-windy all at once wint dark, an' Kerrigan roars out, 'What for are ye puttin' up the shutters so airly? says he. An' faix, 'twas no wondher ye'd think it, for ould Hennessy of Ballybofey had fallen down in the street, an' it was the two good-lookin' feet of him stickin' up that was darkenin' the shop.
"That's what I want to know what is it? You were talking about Maud Hunniwell. You said you had known her since she was a baby and that she was something or other; that was as far as you got." "Sho! . . . Hum. . . . Oh, yes, yes; I was goin' to say she was a mighty nice girl, as nice as she is good-lookin' and lively.
They'd entered two pretty good-lookin' horses and had their jockeys stripped down to breech-clouts, while Hollis and me wore our whole outfits on our backs, as we didn't exactly figger on dressin' after the race, leastways, not on that side of the river. Just before we lined up, Jim says: "Now you all ride like , and when you git to the far turn we'll let the guns loose and stampede the crowd.
Doesn't every one know it to be thrue? Connor, you're a good-lookin' fellow, an' I need scarcely tell you that we have a purty girl at home; can you lay that an' that together? Arrah, be my sowl, the richest honey ever the same bees'll make, is nothin' but alloways, compared wid that purty mouth of her own! A honey-comb is a fool to it." "Why, did you ever thry, Mike?" "Is it me?
"Is that good-lookin' wife of his'n a-comin' with him?" asked he. "Yes, there's letters for her, too." "Well, good-night, Jim. See yer later," and he went out. The woman suddenly rose and ran to the window. "Mr. Watkins," cried she, "can I see you for a few moments where no one can interrupt us? It's a matter of life and death." She clutched the sill with her thin hands, and her voice trembled.
This piece o' paper 't ain't Frank's. I knows he hedn't a scrap about him. No. Thar's the scent o' a woman on it, sure; an' whar thar's a woman Frank Hamersley ain't likely to be let die o' sturvashun. He air too good-lookin' for that. Wall I reck'n it's all right an' thar ain't no more need for me to hurry.
'Why, says Uncle Jim, 'there's a dozen or more good-lookin' saddle-horses out yonder outside the big gate, and you can have your pick. So Sam started off, and the next thing him and the man from Simpson was trottin' around the ring. Us Goshen people kind o' kept together when we set down in the amp'itheater. Every time Sam'd go past us, we'd all holler 'hurrah! for him.
Sure and I never thought of him bein' here until I noticed the look on that ugly mug of his, and mind you, Da, there's people that call him good-lookin' with that heavy jowl of his and the hair on him growin' the wrong way on his head, and them black eyes of his the color of the dirt in the road.
He was young and kind of good-lookin', with a voice like the Skakit foghorn, and he took the sins of the world in his mouth, one after the other, as you might say, and shook 'em same's a pup would a Sunday bunnit. He laid into rum and rum sellin', and folks fairly got in line to sign the pledge.
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