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Updated: June 13, 2025
"No one can say the Billabong representative doesn't look fit." Murty turned on her, beaming again. "Well, indeed, he'll not be doin' the station any discredit, Miss Norah," he said happily, "an' if he don't win, well, we can't all be winnin', can we? Only we did win a race last year, whin none of ye were here to be watchin' us an' make it worth while.
"Bless you, I know one much more talented than ever he will be," said Murty. "I guess not, Murty," said he, shaking his head; "who is it?" "Why, the devil," said Murty, "beats him all to pieces. Your parson only opposes the pope, you say; whereas the devil opposes both the pope and the Almighty. What is any of your ministers to great 'Ould Harry'? I bet you are beat now.
"I want a lemon squash three feet long. There'll be one for you, Murty, if you come up." "I will that same," said Mr. O'Toole, promptly. "There's no vegetable loike the limon on a day loike this!" So they let Bobs go, and all trooped inside, where Cecil was found, well brushed, and wearing a martyred expression which, however, was not proof against refreshments.
Out in the open a Mulgoa man shrugged his shoulders, remarking, "He won't try!" and was promptly attacked furiously by three small boys of Cunjee, who pelted him with clods and abuse from a safe distance. Murty looked at Jim with a little half-apologetic gesture, and Jim grinned. "Play up, Murty, old chap!" he said. It was not in vain that he had schooled the stockman in the paddock at Billabong.
"If not eleven, then it's four," said Brownie placidly. "Strange, I can't never remember which, an' it don't sinnerfy, any'ow. Welkim 'ome an' you too, Master Wally." "How are you, Murty?" Jim shook hands with the stockman, while Wally bowed low over Brownie's hand. "I've lived for this moment," he said, fervently. "Brownie, you grow younger every time I go away!"
"I am an Irishman and a Catholic," said he; "and furthermore, if you wish to know my name, it is, sir, Murty O'Dwyer, Tipperary man and all." The reader will recollect the rollicking young attendant who drove Father O'Shane in the snowdrifts from Vermont, a specimen of whose oratory we have given in a preceding chapter. The antagonist of Parson Grinoble was no other than the same young man.
"You have been at a camp meeting then, I see," said the parson, glad that attention was turned from his own sect to one that was a rival of it. "Yes, sir, I have, I regret to be obliged to confess," said Murty; "and I must say that the Methodists, by their conduct there, showed themselves more ingenious in inventing the means of election than those of the church of Calvin." "How so, Murty?
"Oh, he's not used to stock; you mustn't be hard on him, Murty," Norah laughed. "Are you very hot, you poor boys?" as Wally and Jim came up, panting. Cecil had withdrawn towards the house, in offended dignity. "Hot!" said Wally, casting himself on the ground "'Far better in the sod to lie, With pasturing pig above, Than broil beneath a copper sky, In sight of all I love! That's me!"
Sure, it looks pale." Mrs. Brown cast a glance at the cup he held out, and gave a gasp of horror. "Well, not in all me born days 'ave I made tea an' forgot to put the tea in!" she exclaimed, snatching it from his hand. "Don't you go an' tell Dave and Mick, Murty, or I'll never hear the end of it. Lucky there's plenty of hot water."
She emptied the teapot swiftly, and refilled it, this time with due regard to the tea-caddy. "Now, Murty, don't you sit there grinnin' at me like a hyener it isn't every day I get Miss Norah home." "It is not," said Murty, taking his renewed cup and a large piece of bread and butter. "Sure, I'd not blame ye if ye fried bacon in the tea-pot not this morning.
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