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Updated: May 2, 2025
So active were these three men in arousing and spreading the spirit of patriotism among their fellow-countrymen that McCree, in his "Iredell Letters," declares that "Much of the triumph at Moore's Creek must be ascribed to those three men, who at one time held frequent consultations in Johnston's office."
And for what?" "I have not," said Mrs. McCree. "He sets by the windy all day. 'Tis little recreation a blind man among the poor gets at all. I'm thinkin' they wander in their minds at times. One day he talks of grease without stoppin' for the most of an hour. I looks to see if there's lard burnin' in the fryin' pan. There is not. He says I do not understand.
"Hippopotamus! Wouldn't that send you to the Bronx! It's been a year since he heard it; and he didn't miss it so very far. We quit at 469 B. C., and this comes next. Well, a wooden man wouldn't have guessed what he was trying to get out of him." Danny caught a crosstown car and went up to the rear flat that his labor supported. Old man McCree was still sitting by the window.
McCree was slicing cold meat. She looked up. Tears were running from old man McCree's eyes. "Do you hear our lad readin' to me?" he said. "There is none finer in the land. My two eyes have come back to me again." After supper he said to Danny: "'Tis a happy day, this Easter. And now ye will be off to see Katy in the evening. Well enough."
Danny reached up on a shelf and took down a thick book labeled in gilt letters, "The History of Greece." Dust was on it half an inch thick. He laid it on the table and found a place in it marked by a strip of paper. And then he gave a short roar at the top of his voice, and said: "Was it the hippopotamus you wanted to be read to about then?" "Did I hear ye open the book?" said old man McCree.
His extinct pipe lay on the sill. "Will that be you, lad?" he asked. Danny flared into the rage of a strong man who is surprised at the outset of committing a good deed. "Who pays the rent and buys the food that is eaten in this house?" he snapped, viciously. "Have I no right to come in?" "Ye're a faithful lad," said old man McCree, with a sigh. "Is it evening yet?"
Everyone was coaxed to display their "parlor tricks." Warren Shannon gave his masterpiece "Tiger Fat," Reese Lewellyn sang, followed by Mrs. Schwabacker's charming rendition of "What Irishmen Mean by McCree," Dr. Thomas Hill recited cleverly, Mrs. Brandeis read the farewell poem she had written, Mrs. Brown sang beautifully.
It kept something doing for thirty years. The headlines says that a guy named Philip of Macedon, in 338 B. C., got to be boss of Greece by getting the decision at the battle of Cher-Cheronoea. I'll read it." With his hand to his ear, rapt in the Peloponnesian War, old man McCree sat for an hour, listening. Then he got up and felt his way to the door of the kitchen. Mrs.
What it is you shall find out if you follow in the footsteps of Danny McCree. Easter Sunday dawned as it should, bright and early, in its place on the calendar between Saturday and Monday. At 5.24 the sun rose, and at 10.30 Danny followed its example. He went into the kitchen and washed his face at the sink. His mother was frying bacon.
M. A. Gale, Henry S. Bridge, and Louis Mooser also vied with each other telling funny stories, Carl Westerfeld contributing to the entertainment by organizing a group of the party into "The South Manchurian Quartet." Dave and Resse Lewellyn started to sing "Annie Rooney" and "Mother McCree" whenever things were too quiet.
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