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"Not von vord, señor; he only vink von eye like maybe he flirt vid me." "The Swade did that! Holy Mother! an' wid an O'Brien here to take the part of any dacent gurl. Wait till I strip the coat off me. It's an O'Brien that'll tache him how to trate a lady.
Him there leerin' and scoffin'! One bang at his nose was worth forty dollars to me that minute! How did you stand it, Bill?" "How did I stand it?" cried the cowboy in a quivering voice. "How did I stand it? Oh!" The old man burst into sudden brogue. "I'd loike to take that Swade," he wailed, "and hould 'im down on a shtone flure and bate 'im to a jelly wid a shtick!"
Holy Mother! but ye ought to be 'shamed to be a Swade, ye miserable, slab-sided haythen." "My name ban Swanson; it ban all right, hey?" "Swanson! Swanson! Oh, ye poor benighted, ignorant foreigner!" and Mike straightened up, slapping his chest proudly. "Jist ye look at me, now! Oi'm an O'Brien, do ye moind that? An O'Brien!
"Where the hell is Swanson?" blurted out the foreman suddenly. "He belongs in this gang. Here you, Ole, what 's become o' Nelse Swanson?" The fellow thus directly addressed drew his hand across his mouth, straightening up slightly to answer. "Eet iss not sumtings dot I know, Meester Burke. He seems not here." "Not here; no, I should say not, ye cross-oied Swade.
Be the powers, but it's the foinest runnin' Oi 've sane fer a whoile. Saints aloive! but wud ye moind thim legs! 'Twas a kangaroo, begorry, an' not a monkey he come from, or Oi 'm a loiar. Go it, Swanny, ould bye! Howly St. Patrick! but he 'll be out o' the State afore dhark, if he only kapes it up. It 's money Oi 'm bettin' on the Swade!"
"Work, is it? Sure, an' it's all the loikes of ye are iver good for. It 's not brains ye have at all, or ye 'd take it a bit aisier. Oi had a haythen Swade foreman oncet over at the 'Last Chance. God forgive me for workin' undher the loikes of him. Sure he near worked me to death, he did that, the ignorant furriner.
Then he dashed forward to face the victim of his righteous wrath. "Ye dom Swade, ye!" He shook a dirty fist beneath the other's nose. "Shmell o' that! It's now Oi know ye 're a thafe, a low-down haythen thafe. What are ye sittin' thar for, grinnin' at yer betthers?" "Two tollar saxty cint." The startled Irishman stared at him with mouth wide open. "An' begorry, did ye hear that, seeñorita?
However the existing controversy may have originated, it had already attained a stage for the display of considerable temper. "Now, ye see here, Swanska," growled the thoroughly aroused Irishman vehemently. "It's 'bout enough Oi 've heard from ye on that now. Thar 's r'ason in all things, Oi 'm tould, but Oi don't clarely moind iver havin' met any in a Swade, bedad.
Dom me sowl, but Oi'll make that Swanson think the whole dom mounting has slid down on top o' him the lazy, dhrunken Swade." The heavy pick-handle swinging in his hand his grim, red face glowing angrily beneath the sputtering flame of the lamp stuck in his hat, the irate Burke strode swiftly back into the gloomy passage, muttering gruffly.
Work! why, Oi 'm dommed if a green Swade did n't fall the full length of the shaft one day, an' whin we wint over to pick him up, what was it ye think the poor haythen said? He opened his oies an' asked, 'Is the boss mad? afeared he 'd lose his job! An' so ye was workin' for a thafe, was ye? An' what for?" "Two tollar saxty cint."
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