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On the evening of the professor's recital there were no two happier people in the audience than Pearlie Watson and her brother Daniel Mulcahey Watson; not because the great professor was about to interpret for them the music of the masters that was not the cause of their happiness but because of the good supper they had had and the good clothes they wore, their hearts were glad.

"Mulcahey, take half the men and go up the grade till you can rake those fellows without hitting the car. Branagan, you take the other half and go down till you can cross-fire with Mulcahey. Aim low, both of you; and the man who fires before he gets the word from me will break his neck at a rope's end. Fall in!" "By Jove!" said Adams. "Are you going to resist? That spells felony, doesn't it?"

'He's no more an Apee-a thin ye are, he says. 'D'ye mean to call me that? says Mulcahey. 'Come out, an' have a dhrink, I says; an' we wint down. "Well, Jawn, we had wan iv th' liveliest political argumints ye iver see without so much as a blow bein' sthruck. Evenly matched, d'ye mind, with a chair f'r ivry man. An' th' bar-tinder was a frind iv mine.

"'Daniel Mulcahey Watson, what wud you like? she says, and Danny ups and says, 'Chockaluts and candy men and taffy and curren' buns and ginger bread, and she had every wan of them." "'Robert Roblin Watson, him as they call Bugsey, what would you like? and 'Patrick Healy Watson, as is called Patsey, what is your choice? says she, and "

I knowed him whin he was with Schwartzmeister. A good la-ad, a good lad." "But what about th' opera?" asked Mr. McKenna. "Th' op'ra wus gr-reat," said Mr. Dooley; "but I think Mulcahey was right. Dorsey can't win." "Wanst I knew a man," said Mr. Dooley, laying down his newspaper, "be th' name iv Burke, that come fr'm somewhere around Derry, though he was no Presbyteryan. He was iv th' right sort.

Clay, with Danny Watson gravely perched beside him, drove along the river road after saying good-bye to Pearl, they met Miss Barner, who had been digging ferns for Mrs. McGuire down on the river flat. The doctor drew in his horse. "Miss Barner," he said, lifting his hat, "if Daniel Mulcahey Watson and I should ask you to come for a drive with us, I wonder what you would say?"

"When's he goin' to begin?" he asked, sleepily. Mrs. Francis watched Danny eagerly. The musical sense was liable to wake up any minute. But it would have to hurry, for Daniel Mulcahey was liable to go to sleep any minute. Pearl was disgusted with the professor and her thoughts fell into vulgar baseball slang: "Playin' to the grand stand, ain't ye? instead o' gettin' down to work.

"That's Larry Mulcahey," remarked the reporter, with a grin. "He keeps bar." "I'm hungry," observed Darrow. "Haven't eaten since noon." "Free lunch," suggested the reporter practically. "You won't be able to get any service anywhere. How about that interview? Got anything to say?" "You're the busy little bee to-night," said Darrow. "But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you a tip.

'He have th' Civic Featheration again him. 'Who cares f'r th' Civic Featheration? says Mulcahey. 'They don't vote, he says. 'What 'll kill Dorsey, he says, 'is his bein' an Apee-a. 'He's no Apee-a, says Mike O'Neill. 'I wint to th' Brothers' school with him, he says. 'Whiniver a man comes up that can't be downed anny way, he's called an Apee-a, he says.

Watson broke in, hastily, "John is no hand for books and has always had his suspicions o' them since his own mother's great-uncle William Mulcahey got himself transported durin' life or good behaviour for havin' one found on him no bigger'n an almanac, at the time of the riots in Ireland. No, ma'am, John wouldn't rade it at all at all, and he don't know one letther from another, what's more."