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Updated: June 13, 2025
Burn the steak he will if I lave him with it, and Moike knows the sort of a bed he makes. He's clane out of the notion of that West P'int and bein' a foightin' man, and the teacher's down on him at the school for niver larnin' his lessons. And the fear's with me night and day that he'll get to be wan of them agitators yet." Pat and Mike looked at each other.
Now, Moike, if any of these things I've been tellin' you of happens to your cookin', you'll know where to put the blame. Don't say, 'I wasn't made to cook, I guess'. That's what I wanst heard a silly say when she'd burnt the dinner. But jist understand that your wits must have been off a piece, and kape 'em by you nixt toime. But what's that n'ise?" She stepped to the door.
It's hopin' I am you'll be loike your father, for 'twas your father as could be trusted ivery toime. And now I've a plan for you. We'll be havin' Moike to show you how they lays the table at the Gineral's. 'Twill be a foine thing for you to larn, and 'twill surprise Pat, and be a good thing for the little b'ys to see.
Mike looked rather disheartened. "You niver let 'em get hurted wanst, did you, Moike? And that's doin' well, too. I hope Andy'll be comin' up to you in that." So encouragingly did his mother smile upon him as she said these last words that he visibly brightened. He was not tall and slender like Pat, but rather short and of a sturdy build. And he tied on his apron with determination in his eye.
But the happy light in her eyes was reflected on the face of her son as he answered: "It's wantin' I am to be like him in everything, headstrong and all. I'm not goin' to school to-day." "And you needn't, Moike. I'll be ownin' to you now I didn't feel equal to the washin', and that's the truth." Mike nodded and went gayly into the house for warm water and the clothes.
"First Pat and then Moike and then you, Andy, with your book, and now little Jim with his foightin'. And that's what beats me, that I should be proud of my b'y's foightin'. And I am that." Friday evening seemed a long way off to little Jim when he lay down on his bed that night. He had never attended a party in his life.
Me, I'd just as soon have a waiter that bashfully admitted 'Wee, my dam, as I would one that pushed 'Shur-r-e, Moike! edge-ways out of one corner of his mouth and served the lettuce on top of the lobster, from principle, to keep the green above the red.
Phwat is yer name?" His voice quavered, and the little eyes glittered between the red-rimmed lids, bright as an eagle's. The younger man was astonished at his excitement. "Why, Bill," he replied. "Bill or Moike or Pat wurrah! Oi mane yer rale name th' whole av ut?" "That I have not told. I am called Bill." "Lord av hiven! I thocht ut th' fir-rst toime Oi seen ye but now! Man! B'y.
Instead of pulling, he simply turned around, tangling up and breaking the harness, and began to kick up the black prairie dirt with both hind hoofs. "Oh, the villain!" spluttered Rosy Delaney, who received the first installment of dirt full in her eyes and mouth. "Moike Delaney, ye made him do that a-purpose!" and she shook her fist at her husband. "Ye bould, bad mon!"
He reached for the washboard as he ceased, and smiled lovingly on his mother. "Moike! Moike!" cried Mrs. O'Callaghan in a trembling tone, "'tis sweet to be took care of. I hain't been took care of since your father died." "Then 'tis time you was!" answered Mike. "And I'm the boy to do it, too. Come out, mother dear." And the mother went out. "But there's your housework, Moike."
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