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Updated: June 17, 2025
"That's what orter been done," replied the disgusted Irishman. "But as it was n't, here we are. The owld gintleman, Mr. Moonson, had considerable furniture and goods that went best with the train, and he needed me to look after it.
"Begorrah," added Mickey, a moment later, "it must be that he shoved that spalpeen overboard, and there isn't anybody left up there in the way of Apaches but one, and he ain't an Apache, but a gintleman named Fred Moonson. Here's to his health, and if this thing gets any more delightful, I'll have to give a whoop and yell, and strike up the Tipperary jig."
Moonson for a year, and there ain't half a year gone yet, and I've got to stick to him till the time is up." "Whose little boy is that I seed standing by you?" "That's Mr. Moonson's boy, Fred, one of the foinest, liveliest lads ye ever sot eyes on, and I'm much worried on his account." "Are his parents with you?" "Naither of 'em." The hunter looked surprised, and the Irishman hastened to explain.
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