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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Look ye here," said Jack Molloy, rising when their "feed" was about concluded, "I've no doubt they won't object to your taking a squint at the readin'-room, though they won't let you use it."
"Thady Molloy and Shawn Brady." "We's here," said Thady again; "we did not exactly know whether yer honer'd be afther beginning at the top or the botthom. That's all that war staying us." "Never fear," said Shawn, "but we'll have ould Ballydahan level in less than no time. We're the boys that can do it, fair and aisy."
From his lips you looked for a voice of thunder and at drill you were not disappointed but on ordinary occasions his speech was soft and low; bass indeed as to its quality, but never harsh or loud. "A gale is brewing up from the nor'-west, so Jack Molloy says," remarked Hardy, as he was about to pass on. "Why, I thought it was blowing a gale now!" returned Miles.
"Your beer is paid for, young man," said Molloy, stopping and refusing to move. "I paid for it, so you've on'y got to settle with me. Besides, if you go back you're done for. And you've no call to go back to say farewell to your dear friend Sloper, for he'll on'y grieve over the loss of your tin. As to the unpurliteness o' the partin' he won't break his heart over that.
Information was obtained from their men, and it was thus found that Molloy Point, bad though the weather there was, afforded better chances than Christmas Harbor; so it was chosen. But this was not all; the British parties, either in consequence of the information we had acquired, or through what was learned from the voyage of the Challenger, established their principal station near ours.
You are quick-witted. That's in your favor. I asked about your people; who they are and where they live." "I don't know as I've got any. There's Molly she's about the nicest one I know. Of course, there's Mother Molloy, up alley, where I stay sometimes, with the other kids. That's when I have the cash to pay up. Mother don't take in nobody for nothing, Mother don't. Can't blame her, neither.
Trent was on the wire. Sir James abruptly closed his talk with Mr. Anthony. "They can put him through at once," he said to the boy. "Hullo!" he cried into the telephone after a few moments. A voice in the instrument replied: "Hullo be blowed! What do you want?" "This is Molloy," said Sir James. "I know it is," the voice said. "This is Trent.
Then Bo Stranathan batted a stinging ball through the infield, scoring Whisner. "Play the batter! Play the batter!" sharply called Daddy from the bench. Then Frank struck out Molloy and retired Dundon on an easy fly. "Fellers, git in the game now," ordered Daddy, as his players eagerly trotted in. "Say things to that Muckle Harris! We'll walk through this game like sand through a sieve."
Despite the high spirits and free speech that brought her so many admiring glances from the boys in the factory, it was soon understood that the "Molloy kid" was not to be trifled with. "Say, little Sister, I like your looks," Bean had said to her one morning when they were alone in the hall. "It's more than I do yours," Nance had answered coolly, with a critical glance at his pimply nose.
You go up to bed like a little gentleman, and I'll slip a tray up to you and come up myself the minute dinner is over." That night when the moon discovered Nance Molloy in Calvary Alley, it also peeped through the window at Mac Clarke out at Hillcrest. Bathed, combed, and comforted, he lay in a silk-draped bed while his mother sat beside him fanning him.
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