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Updated: June 22, 2025
Capt'n Sahib's order, sez I, 'Going to the station we are, I sez, an' wid that I laid my finger to my nose an' looked the schamin' sinner I was. "'Bote acchy, says she; so I knew she was in the business, an' I piled up all the sweet talk I'd iver learned in the bazars on to this she-bullock, an' prayed av her to put all the quick she knew into the thing.
Capt'n Sahib's order," sez I. "Going to the station we are," I sez, an' wid that I laid my finger to my nose an' looked the schamin' sinner I was. "Bote acchy," says she; so I knew she was in the business, an' I piled up all the sweet talk I'd iver learnt in the bazars on to this she-bullock, an' prayed av her to put all the quick she knew into the thing.
Now d'ye ondhershtand who's masther, ye idle, skulkin', schamin', disrespictable baste?" Misther Henay was favourably disposed towards the Protestant settlers of Dugort, but another Sounder was very bitter indeed. "A set of Soupers an' Jumpers an' Double-Jumpers. What's the manin' iv it ye ask? Soupers is Catholics that's turned Protestants for the sake of small pickin's sich as soup.
'Robbin' the nets, you spalpeen; if you throw them salmon you're hidin' undher your coat into the wather, be the tare-o-war 'What salmon, Sir? interrupted the lieutenant. 'Why, salmon's not in season, Sir. 'None iv yer flummery, you schamin' scoundrel; but jest come here and give yourself up, for so sure as you don't, or dar to stir an inch from that spot, I'll blow you to smithereens!
Well, whin I first knew O'Leary he wurruked down on a railroad section tampin' th' thrack at wan-fifty a day. He was a sthrong, willin' young fellow, with a stiff right-hand punch an' a schamin' brain, an' anny wan cud see that he was intinded to go to th' fr-ront. Th' aristocracy iv th' camp was Mrs. Cassidy, th' widdy lady that kept th' boordin'-house.
"A first-class rifle-shot an' a good little man av your inches you are," said Mulvaney. "But you niver had a head worth a soft-boiled egg. 'Tis me has to lie awake av nights schamin' an' plottin' for the three av us. Orth'ris, me son, 'tis no matther av a few gallons av beer no, nor twenty gallons but tubs an' vats an' firkins in that sedan-chair.
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