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Updated: June 18, 2025
"An' what did your friend God say?" he had demanded innocently. Mr. Quinn sat back in his chair, when he had finished telling the story, and roared loudly with laughter. "You ought to have seen the oul' snob turnin' red, white an' blue with rage," he shouted at Henry. "Such a take-down! My God, what a take-down!
"I was thinking it doesn't matter whether it's one girl or a dozen you're after, you'll get into bother just the same!" "Aye, but what am I to do, John? I'll have to tell the oul' fella, and he'll be raging mad when he hears about it. He's terrible against that sort of thing, and dear knows I'm an awful one for slipping into trouble.
You ... you might be the means of turnin' the Provost into an Irishman an' start him takin' an interest in his country. The oul' lad might turn Fenian an' get transported or hung!..." When he had ceased to speculate on what might happen if Henry began an Irish crusade in Trinity, he spoke again of Marsh. "You'll like him," he said. "I know you will.
Our next call was at Willie Withero's stone-pile. There, when I remembered the nights that I passed in my new world of starched linen, too good to shoulder a bundle of his old hammers, I was filled with remorse. I uncovered my head and in an undertone muttered, "God forgive me." "Great oul bhoy was Willie," he said. "Aye."
"Ye can haave whativer benefit ov th' doubt there is, Jamie, but jist th' same any oul throllop can be a father, but by G it takes a rale wuman t' be th' mother ov a rale maan! Put that in yer pipe an' smoke it." "He seems t' think," said Jamie, appealing to me, "that only quality can projuce fine childther!"
He was inclined to be an extravagant man like the rest of us before that bother he got into in Belfast over the head of the oul' Queen, but he changed greatly after. The money'll be useful to you, boy, when you start off in life!" "I'll come into the shop with you, Uncle William," John said, glancing towards the scullery where his mother was. "I want to have a word or two with you!"
"After all, it is much more fun to dance than to learn grammar...." "But this is the Irish language," Marsh persisted, as if the Irishness of the tongue transcended the drudgery of learning grammar. Mr. Quinn crumpled the Northern Whig and threw it at Marsh's head. "You an' your oul' language!" he exclaimed. "What good'll it do anybody but a lot of professors.
If you started clearin' out the English, you'd mebbe clear me out, for my family was planted here by William of Orange ... an' the damnedest set of scoundrels they were, too, by all accounts!... an' mebbe, Marsh, you yourself 'ud be cleared out!... Aye, an' you, too, Ernest Harper, for all you're waggin' your oul' red beard at me. You're Scotch, man, Scotch, to the backbone!..."
Ballyards never yielded an inch of its pride of place to Millreagh or to Pickie. "What's an oul' harbour when there's no boat in it?" Ballyards said to Millreagh; and, "Sure, the man makes his livin' sellin' sausages!" it said to Pickie when Pickie bragged of the great grocer who had joined the Yacht Club in order that he might issue a challenge for the Atlantic Cup.
"Anna," he said, "if aanybody brot me here th' night it was th' oul divil in hell." "'Deed yer mistaken, Felix," she answered sweetly. "When God sends a maan aanywhere he always gets there, even if he has to be taken there by th' divil." When all was ready we gathered around the table. "How I wish we could sing!" she said as she looked at us. The answer was on every face.
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