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Updated: May 1, 2025
'Two queens with but a single ace, Two sharps that beat as one. That's no hand to tackle a one-card draw with. Never you mind whether he's bluffing or not. There ain't enough in that pot to warrant the expense of testing the question. Take another deal. What did you say, Muldoon? Whiskey? No! Throw whiskey to the dogs; I'll none of it. Give me foaming lager. That's right, my doughboy ancient.
That beast of a Mexican horse thief he' shot Jim Muldoon down at Dolton's Bar. Jim caught he's stealing his horse and I'm afraid the dirty greaser's killed him. We got 'im, though, before he skipped. Somebody go down to Rattlesnake for Doc Miller. They're bringing 'em both here."
"The American flea no!" said the professor, haughtily. "The Irish flea no! The flea au naturel no! But the educate flea of la belle France? The flea I have love, and teach, and make like a sister, a sweetheart to me? The flea that have act up in front of the crowned heads of Spain; that have travel on the ocean; that travel on the land? Ah, Madame Muldoon, it is no common bunch of flea!
When Doc Miller saw Muldoon stretched on the barroom table, the same table which a few minutes before had served as an altar he shook his head. "He will be gone in half an hour," he said. The men standing about began taking off their hats. "I wish to write home," whispered Muldoon. The young mother handed her baby to its father and seizing pencil and paper, ran forward.
When he remained at home after dinner he did not sit with the other boarders on the porch, but walked up and down the walk, smoking innumerable cigarettes, and thinking, and waving his hands in mute conversations with himself. "I dunno what ails th' professor," said Mrs. Muldoon, one evening when she and Flannery sat at the table after the rest had left it. Flannery hesitated.
With the previous week's salary in his pocket, which, fortunately, had been undisturbed, Dennis Muldoon, on the day succeeding this unhappy interview with his sire, set out for New York City with his few belongings condensed, with campaigning foresight, in a satchel whose size and appearance would scarcely inspire the confidence man to claim previous acquaintance with its owner in order to investigate its contents later.
Muldoon had closed, closing them as carefully afterwards, so that she shouldn't notice: he liked oh this he did like, and above all in the upper rooms! the sense of the hard silver of the autumn stars through the window-panes, and scarcely less the flare of the street-lamps below, the white electric lustre which it would have taken curtains to keep out.
"I'm an alley cat you're offerin' to take in and feed, Tim Muldoon," she charged suspiciously. "Yuh're the girl my mother loves." He choked on the impulsive avowal he had almost made and finished the sentence awkwardly. It was impossible for him to escape the natural male instinct to keep his feelings out of words. The girl's face softened.
It was a light, yellow powder, and Flannery deluged the room with it. He stole stealthily about, shooting the curtains, shooting the bed, shooting the picture of the late Mr. Timothy Muldoon, shooting the floor. He bent down and shot under the bed, and under the washstand, until a film of yellow dust lay over the whole room, and then he turned to the closet and opened that.
A less convincing story than that by which the Professor sought to account to Mrs. Muldoon for the how and the why of Malvina it would be impossible to imagine. Mrs. Muldoon out of sheer kindness appears to have cut him short. "I'll not be asking ye any questions," said Mrs. Muldoon, "so there'll be no need for ye to imperil your immortal soul.
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