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Updated: June 6, 2025
So that only I could hear him, he added, "Tak' good keer on 'er, Master Noll. Jin's awful sot on 'er, and wunna luk at me if any 'arm 'appens 'er." I gripped his hard hand, gave him my parting message home, and then crouched and pushed the boat into and down the stream.
"Good-mornin' to ye, Jimmy Bourke," said he each morning, and after that uttered no word until the evening, when it was, "Good-night to ye, Jimmy Bourke," with a final rap, rap, rap of his pipe. The cook, a thin-faced, sly man, with a penchant for the Police Gazette, secretly admired him. "Luk' out for th' Rough Red; he'll do ye!" he would whisper hoarsely when he passed the silent scaler.
"'Tis th' Gineral's jooty to luk out f'r his throops, not Danny Morgan's or mine," replied the big rifleman in disgust. The column halted. I signalled my men to follow me and hastened along the flanks under a fire of chaff: "Look at young buckskins! There go Morgan's macaronis! God help the red-coats this day! How's the scalp trade, son?"
"'I tell ye again wi' my dyin' breath. "I leaned over an' kiss't 'er an' she smiled at me. Ah, bhoy, if ye could haave seen that luk on 'er face, it was like a picture ov th' Virgin, it was that. "'Tell th' childther there's only wan kind ov poverty, Jamie, an' that's t' haave no love in th' heart, says she. "'Aye, I'll tell thim, Anna, says I." He choked up.
Through the centre of the verdure the Diamond Creek flowed dimpling over a pebbly bed, or shot in sparkles between barring bowlders, or plunged over shelves in toy cascades. The travellers had seen nothing so hospitable in nature since leaving the country of the Moquis weeks before. Sweeny screamed like a delighted child. "Oh! an' that's just like ould Oirland. Oh, luk at the turrf!
"Don' never wan't' hev no argyment with one o' them air chaps 'less ye know purty nigh how 't's comin' out," said D'ri. "Alwus want a gun es well es a purty middlin' ca-a-areful aim on your side. Then ye 're apt t' need a tree, tew, 'fore ye git through with it." After a moment's pause he added: "Got t' be a joemightyful stout tree, er he 'll shake ye out uv it luk a ripe apple."
"Luk here, m'friend," he said sharply "I reco'nise 'at you're tryin' t' play your own hand, but I ast you as man to man: DO you think you got any chanst t' git that feller off t' Paris?" "DO you think it will rain to-night?" I inquired. The light of a reflecting lamp which hung on the wall near the archway enabled me to perceive a bitter frown upon his forehead.
MI DEER WYF, Kum hum, I hav got a crik in mi bak. Kum hum, mi deer Sam, kum hum, or I shal xpire. Mi gord has withurd, mi plan has faled, I am a undun Josire. Tung kant xpres mi yernin to see u. I kant tak no kumfort lookin at ure kam fisiognimy in ure fotogrof, it maks mi hart ake, u luk so swete, I fere u hav caut a bo. Kum hum, kum hum. Ure luvin kompanien, vers ov poetry.
I had been sound asleep. A guard came in with water and a pot of stewed beef and potatoes. "Thet air's all right," said D'ri, dipping into it with a spoon. We ate with a fine relish, the guard, a sullen, silent man with a rough voice that came out of a bristling mustache, standing by the door. "Luk a-here," said D'ri to the guard as we finished eating, "I want t' ast you a question.
Perhaps I might put it, you had been through Les Trois Pigeons, for the maitre d'hotel informed me you had investigated every corner that wasn't locked." "Sure," he returned, with rather less embarrassment than a brazen Vishnu would have exhibited under the same circumstances. "He showed me what pitchers they was in your studio. I'll luk 'em over again fer ye one of these days.
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