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Shure, 't is not for an O'Brien to be wastin' his toime thryin' to tache the loikes of him the great sacrets of thrade. It wud be castin' pearls afore swine, as Father Kinny says. Did iver ye hear tell of the Boible, now?" "Ay ban Lutheran." "An' what's that? It's a Dimocrat Oi am, an' dom the O'Brien that's annything else. But Oi niver knew thar was anny of thim other things hereabout.
Ivry few minyits th' kids 'd be sint out with th' can, an' I'd say to mesilf: 'There they go, carryin' th' thrade to Schwartzmeister's because I'm sick an' can't wait on thim. I was daffy, Jawn, d'ye mind. Th' likes iv me fillin' a pitcher f'r a little boy-bug! Such dhreams!
We're obliged to be punctual, too, or it's all up with the thrade. If I promise that your son will die as sure as fate to-morrow morning, unless I return home safe, our people MUST keep my promise; or else what chance is there for me? You would be down upon me in a moment with a posse of constables, and have me swinging before Warwick gaol.
"And why did you quit it?" "Because it's a low, mane thrade for a jintleman's son." "But, John, who told you that you were a gentleman's son?" "Och! but I'm shure of it, thin. All my propensities are gintale. I love horses, and dogs, and fine clothes, and money. Och! that I was but a jintleman!
'Th' raypublicans ar-re in favor iv expansion. 'Thin I'm a raypublican. 'Th' dim-mycrats ar-re in favor iv free thrade. 'Thin I'm a dimmycrat. 'Th' raypublicans ar-re f'r upholdin' th' goold standard. 'So'm I. I'm a raypublican there. 'An' they're opposed to an income tax. 'On that, says Cousin George, 'I'm a dimmycrat. I tell ye, put me down as a dimmycrat. Divvle th' bit I care.
'He's a Boohemian, he says. 'An' whin they come to ilictin' Boohemians f'r mayor, he says, 'I'll go back to me ol' thrade iv shovellin' mud, he says. 'Besides, says he, 'if this here Winter wint in, he says, 'ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Street an' hand him a peach on a window pole, he'd be that stuck up, he says.
Just then the cellar door swung open, and the great butter speculator, Mr. Michael Rafferty, walked in. He nodded his head, and gave an uneasy glance at the curtain, as much as to say "calicoes have ears." I understood it, and told him we had been very discreet. Upon which he said, "You see, they'll be afther staling my thrade, your ladyship, if they know how I manage about the butther."
'Please go out softly, so's not to disturb th' gintlemen at th' roulette wheel, he says, 'an' come back afther th' iliction, whin confidence is restored an' prosperity returns to th' channels iv thrade an' industhry, he says.
Let dem kum, kum an' git Schults when dey chuse. Don't let dem t'ink fur er moment I no prepare fer dem. Dem Ghermans who 'lows dem down bhroke ristocrats persuade dem gintz deir kullud frients who thrade mit dem an' keeps dem from starvin' when dese rich bocra thry ter dhrive dem frum des country deserbe de cuss ov Almighty Got!
'This is all ye'll need to equip ye f'r th' perfect life, onless, he says, 'ye intind bein' a dintist, in which case, he says, 'we won't think much iv ye, but we have a good school where ye can larn that disgraceful thrade, he says.
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