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Updated: May 4, 2025
I called to see him. He was in bed lying on his back, his one arm outside the coverlet, his heaving chest was bare, and his face was ghastly pale. There were six men in the room, one of whom said: "Do you know me, Mr. Harrigan?" "Sure, divil a dog in Lockport but knows you, Barney," said the dying man. Barney lived in Lockport, and in an audible whisper said to us: "Ain't he getting on finely?
I looked up at the pictures on the wall, and fancied he was imitating one of the persons there represented; though, to be sure, my friends were rather aged lovers. "And I thought you were lost at sea long, long ago," cried Mrs Harrigan, now sobbing in earnest.
As the door closed, Harrigan turned in stupid amazement upon the Scotchman. The latter had dropped into his chair again and now looked at Harrigan with twinkling eyes. "You'd have fought 'em all, eh, lad?" He burst into heavy laughter. "Ah, the blue devil that came in your eyes! Why did I not let them have one whirl at you? Ha, ha, ha!" "Wake me up," muttered Harrigan. "I'm dreamin'!"
As the heavier breathing of the captain indicated that he was about to recover his senses, Harrigan performed the same services for himself. It was slow work, for now that the stimulus of action was gone, his weakness grew on him in recurrent waves.
With him I saw Edwin Booth in "Macbeth," and Lester Wallack in "Rosedale," and John McCullough in "Virginius," a tragedy which was to me so real and moving that I wept all the way home in the train. Sometimes I was allowed to visit the theatre alone, and on these afternoons I selected performances of a lighter variety, such as that given by Harrigan & Hart in their theatre on Broadway.
Under these circumstances Harrigan was lulled to sleep. He woke at length with a consciousness, not of a light shining in his face, but of one that had just been flashed across his eyes. Then a guarded voice said: "He's dead to the world; he won't hear nothin'." Peering cautiously up from under the shelter of his eyelashes, he made out a bulky figure leaning above him.
We'll work him a double shift today, for a starter." Campbell was trembling like a self-conscious girl, for he was drawn between shame and dread of the captain. "Look!" he cried, and taking the hand of Harrigan, he turned it palm up. "This chap has been brutally treated. He's been at work that fairly tore the skin from the palms of his hands.
They stopped in front of Abbott's pension, and he tried to persuade them to come up for a nightcap. "Nothing to it, my boy," said Harrigan. "I need no nightcap on top of cognac forty-eight years old. For me that's a whole suit of pajamas." "You come, Ted." "Abbey, I wouldn't climb those stairs for a bottle of Horace's Falernian, served on Seneca's famous citron table."
As he worked, he hummed a tune and saw the narrow jaw of McTee jut out. Harrigan smiled. He had scarcely finished stowing his bucket and brush away when the bos'n brought him word that he was wanted in the fireroom. Masters's face was serious. "What's the main idea?" asked Harrigan. The bos'n cast a worried eye fore and aft. "Black McTee's breakin' you," he said; "you're getting the whip."
"Yes, my name it is, indeed," said Larry. "And may I ask what is your Christian name, marm?" "Jane is my name, and yours is Lawrence!" shrieked Mrs Harrigan, letting fall the jug of beer, which was smashed to pieces, and rushing towards him.
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