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Updated: June 14, 2025
O'Flannagan had brought his banjo. Rivers and Richardson both sang creditably; and Quita herself was in one of her 'inspired' moods.
"We don't want to engage," said Martin; "we wish to speak with you, sir." "Oh, beg pardon!" cried Mr Jollyboy, leaping off the stool with surprising agility for a man of his years. "Come in this way. Pray be seated Eh! ah, surely I've seen you before, my good fellow?" "Yis, sir, that ye have. I've sailed aboard your ships many a time. My name's Barney O'Flannagan, at yer sarvice." "Ah!
After they had been in New York a day or two they learned that their passports had not been issued and therefore there was no immediate prospect for sailing. They were then ordered to a training conference for ten days, which many attended for months, retaining their rooms and eating at an expensive hotel at the expense of Mrs. O'Flannagan.
But Barney O'Flannagan questioned Bob Croaker closely, and took particular note of the point of the compass at which Martin had disappeared; and when the Firefly at length got under weigh, he climbed to the fore-top cross-trees, and stood there scanning the horizon with an anxious eye.
Before the perplexed merchant could come at any conclusion on this knotty subject the door opened and Martin Rattler entered the room, followed by his friend Barney O'Flannagan. "You've come to the wrong room, friends," said Mr. Jollyboy with a benignant smile. "My principal clerk engages men and pays wages. His office is just opposite; first door in the passage."
Yes, well might they gaze and gaze again in surprise and in excessive admiration; and well might Barney O'Flannagan under the circumstances, with such sights and sounds around him, and the delightful odours of myrtle trees and orange blossoms and the Cape jessamine stealing up his nostrils deem himself the tenant of another world, and evince his conviction of the fact in that memorable expression "I've woked in paradise!"
"Horace, climb out and tell whoever lives here to come to the car." The chauffeur knocked on the door and when Mrs. O'Flannagan opened it, delivered his message. She came out, wiping her wet, water-wrinkled hands upon her flour-sack apron, supposing that here was another lady looking for a laundress. "I am Mrs. Weissinger Robinson and this is Mrs. Decatur Jones.
Ah! then, isn't it my heart that's been broken for months an' months past about ye?" Reader, it would be utterly in vain for me to attempt to describe either the words that flowed from the lips of Martin Rattler and Barney O'Flannagan on this happy occasion, or the feelings that filled their swelling hearts.
Then he made Barney O'Flannagan an overseer in the warehouses; and when the duties of the day were over, the versatile Irishman became his confidential servant, and went to sup and sleep at the Old Hulk; which, he used to remark, was quite a natural and proper and decidedly comfortable place to come to an anchor in.
But Martin's great friend was Barney O'Flannagan, the cook, with whom he spent many an hour in the night watches, talking over plans, and prospects, and retrospects, and foreign lands.
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