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Updated: June 23, 2025
'And what was that? 'Well, yo' see, said Malachi, 'Betty were a dipper, an' I were a sprinkler. And when I axed th' old mon for Betty he said as dippin' and sprinklin' wouldn't piece up. And then hoo were a Calvin an' I were a Methody, and that were wur and wur.
At the time she accepted the affair with stoical pessimism, as one who has learned what to expect of the world, though her moral sense was not profoundly disturbed by the reflection that she had indulged in the delights of Slattery's and Gruber's and a Sunday at "the Beach" at the expense of the Cascade Sprinkler Company of Boston. Mr.
Then two Terajewiczes and four Stypulkowskis and three Mickiewiczes shouted, “Vivat equality,” taking the side of Skoluba. Meanwhile Buchmann was crying, “Agreement will be our ruin!” Sprinkler yelled: “We can get along alone without you; long live our marshal, the Maciek of Macieks!
Both cried, “Long live Sprinkler and his brush.” The Prussian tried to speak, but he was drowned by uproar and laughter. “Away, away with the Prussian cowards,” they shouted; “let cowards go and hide in Bernardine cowls!” Then once more old Maciej slowly raised his head, and the tumult began somewhat to subside. “Do not scoff at Robak,” he said; “I know him; he is a clever priest.
They say he's rather a bad one, that he can't be fired. We'll see about that. There's a steamer for Belize next Thursday. I'm going to sail on her. Will you go along too?" For a minute they stood there, Mother and Sonny boy, gazin' into each other's eyes without sayin' a word; and then well, we turns our backs as they goes to a clinch and Mother turns on the sprinkler.
“I too want to fight,” he shouted, pounding his breast with his fist; “though I don’t carry a sprinkling-brush, yet with a pole from a river barge I once gave a good christening to four Prussians who tried to drown me in the Pregel when I was drunk.” “Good for you, Bartek,” said Sprinkler, “good for you; sprinkle, sprinkle!”
“There’s the rub,” shouted Sprinkler; “if I could only jump to the throne, and with my brush—splash—once moisten the Tsar, then he wouldn’t come back, either through the Kiev tract or the Minsk tract, or by any one of Buchmann’s contracts; the Russian priests would not revive him either by the power of God or by that of Beelzebub—the only brave way is to sprinkle.
He kept an alcohol lamp in his room, and a French coffee-pot, and his wife made coffee for him at any hour of the night he happened to want it. Most Black Hawk fathers had no personal habits outside their domestic ones; they paid the bills, pushed the baby carriage after office hours, moved the sprinkler about over the lawn, and took the family driving on Sunday. Mr.
Then he would breakfast leisurely. Thus he incurred the enmity of the cook and cookee. Those individuals have to prepare food three times a day for a half hundred heavy eaters; besides which, on sleigh-haul, they are supposed to serve a breakfast at three o'clock for the loaders and a variety of lunches up to midnight for the sprinkler men.
Now, do you think you'd like to hear, in the next story, about a queer adventure which Brighteyes had? Well, I'll tell it to you if the water sprinkler man gives us a nice big piece of ice to bake in the oven for a pudding. It was a very hot day.
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