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Updated: June 22, 2025
Ah Loy put the fiery spirit to his lips, and began to drink in slow sips, as a connoisseur sips port wine. "Good heavens," said Carew, "it'll burn the teeth out of his head." The Chinee sipped away, pausing to let the delicate fluid roll well into the tender part of his mouth and throat. "Welly stlong!" he said at last; but he finished the lot.
Now Ralph sees a house more gaily adorned than most, and a sign hung out from it whereon was done an image of St. Loy, and underneath the same a booth on which was set out weapons and war-gear exceeding goodly; and two knaves of the armourer were standing by to serve folk, and crying their wares with "what d'ye lack?" from time to time.
It was work, toil, sweat, ride hard, gallop here and there, yell, shout, leap, stumble, fall and get up again. And gradually something like order came out of the chaos. Over at the chuck wagon Hop Loy stood ready to serve a hasty lunch whenever it was called for. Water, thickened with oatmeal, or made spicy with vinegar and ginger, "switchel," as it is called, served to quench the thirst.
How in a trice she would summon round her her choice spirits, Briny Duffy, Micky Mulheeran, and Mackin, and how they would with shovel and loy fall to! Through the wood at continual openings we saw glimpses of beautiful paths or gravelled walks, which this munificent duke has made through his woods for the accommodation of the public.
One poor captive, who showed a cheerful desire to make the best of his lot, inscribed upon the wall of his cell these lines, which Lydia copied for you: Malgré les ennuis d'une longue souffrance, Et le cruel destin dont je subis la loy, Il est encor des biens pour moy, Le tendre amour et la douce espérance.
My agony, in spite of feeling Denham's hand pressing firmly on my heel, seemed to have culminated; but the worst was to come, and I shivered, for a high-pitched voice cried in Dutch: "Hwhat's all this? Didn't I tell ye to loy still and slape till it was time to start? Why, ye blundering, thick-headed idiots, you have made enough noise to rouse the Englanders."
As the old man finished speaking, Ah Loy brought in the evening meal about a dozen beautifully tender roast ducks in a large tin dish, a tin plate full of light, delicately-browned cakes of the sort known as "puftalooners," and a huge billy of tea. There were no vegetables; pepper and salt were in plenty, and Worcester sauce.
The blues, or smoke-coloured Pomeranians, have likewise their admirers, and among those who have taken up these as a speciality may be mentioned Miss Ives, Mrs. Parker, Mrs. Loy, and Miss Ruby Cooke. Another colour which has attained of late years increasing popularity in England is orange.
We've got a story book about Hop Loy, a Chinaman who was born on Christmas Day and never saw a Christmas tree until he was older'n Cherry. Why-ee! Ain't that terrible! I used to think I'd like to have my birthday come on Christmas, but now I'm glad it doesn't, for then everybody'd make one present do for the two days, and I'd get only half as many pretty things as other children have.
"You can sure make a point of that Hop Loy," went on the other. "Hungry is their middle name just now, and you'd better begin t' rustle th' grub, or I wouldn't give an empty forty-five for your pig-tail." "Oi la!" fairly screamed the Chinese, as, with a quick gesture toward his long queue, he scuttled toward the cook house, which stood in the midst of the other low ranch buildings.
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