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Updated: May 27, 2025
Sure, we've just drew the foire, an' thim's the hot coals! Be careful o' the cinder poile!" "What did he say?" asked Hawkins superciliously. "'Be careful of the cinder pile, I think." "Oh, we won't hurt your old cinder pile!" called the inventor jocosely, as the wreck of the Anti-Fire-Fly swooped down with a rush. "But the cinders!" howled the man. "Bedad! They're into it! Mike! Mike!
"Ye kin see a poile uv 'em out yon, in the road, an' there's more uv 'em on the fince. But ye nade have no fear about gittin' wan. There's sthacks of 'em in the place. I'll jist run over to Mrs. Hogan's, wid ye. She's got sixteen or siventeen, mostly small, for Hogan brought four or five wid him when he married her, an' she'll be glad to rint wan uv 'em."
"We're not thirty feet from the ground and steering straight for that dirt-pile. Yes, sir, the wind's gone down completely. Hooray!" "Hey, youse!" shouted the man with the wheelbarrow, somewhat excitedly. "Well?" bawled Hawkins. "Steer away from it!" continued the workman, waving his arms at the pile. "We can't steer," replied Hawkins cheerfully. "But it's all right." "The poile! The poile!
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