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Updated: June 8, 2025
O'Flannigan," began Jim eagerly, "maybe you did n't know that dad don't speak sharp. He ain't much for hurtin' folks' feelings; but he means it just the same that he won't do what you want him to do. He's square and straight dad is, an' he don't dodge; but maybe you thought 'cause he laughed that he was easy but he ain't. Why, dad would n't "
Occasionally, also, the better classes embellished their canvas by pasting pictures from Harper's Weekly on them. We had a carpet and a genuine queen's-ware washbowl. Consequently we were hated without reserve by the other tenants of the O'Flannigan "ranch." When we added a painted oilcloth window curtain, we simply took our lives into our own hands.
Even then it did not last long, for Bob broke it with a hoarse whisper. "It's Danny O'Flannigan, sure's a gun! It's gittin' mos' 'lection-time, an' he's drummin' 'em up. Now, jest watch pap. He hain't no use fur Danny. Oh, of course," he added, in hurried conciliation, "'t ain't as if it made any difference ter pap. Pap works fur the women-folks, an' women don't cut much ice in pol'tics."
He could tell Bob of it later how dad had sent Danny O'Flannigan to the right-about at once. Yes, that was the better way. So Jim schooled himself to hide his exultation, and he listened with well-feigned interest to Bob's animated account of the morning's fire. Two, three, five minutes passed, and Danny O'Flannigan had not come out.
"Sure! He's Danny O'Flannigan." "Well?" Into Bob's face came a look of pitying derision. "'Well," he mocked. "Mebbe 't will be 'well, an' then again mebbe 't won't. It all depends on yer dad." "On dad!" "Sure! He's Danny O'Flannigan, the boss o' this ward." "But what has that got to do with my dad?" "Aw, come off as if ye did n't know! It all depends whether he's nailed him or not."
The story which recurred to my mind was of a poor Irishman, who, in describing a visit which he paid to the home of his childhood after a long absence, said: "At the sober hour of twilight, I entered the lonely and desarted home uv me forefathers, an' as I gazed about the silent walls, I said, 'me fathers, where are they? an' did not echo answer, 'Is that you Pathrick O'Flannigan, sure?"
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