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Thereupon he took his rifle, loaded it, and pointed it at the head of Major Boulton. "Major," he shouted, "your eye is covered. Divil resaive me if I couldn't knock it out quicker nor you could wink." Then he lowered his piece, waved his greasy hat around his big sorrel head and yelled, "Veeve lah!
There was no other word for it. The "joie de veeve" was so intense that it was not to be borne. She had days of stupor now that followed fits of fury. He didn't know which was the worse, the fury or the stupor. She had brought it on herself by asking what he wanted now when he had broken the frightful silence by addressing her affectionately as "Vikey."
But whether it was clean or whether it was dirty, Ranny loved it, and became more and more absorbed in it. And with Ranny's absorption Violet's irritability returned and increased, and sullenness set in for days at a time without intermission. "This," said Ranny, "is the joie de veeve." Three more months passed.
"Boy hivins and airth," he said, "but it's moyself that's itching to get at those lick-shpittle loyalists. Veeve lah Republeekh," he shouted, tossing his filthy hat, "and God save Oirland." "We must return, my men," Major Boulton said. "If these well-armed rebels were to come against us now, they would butcher us like sheep."
"All I seem to remember is my marchin’ in the boolyvard along with a guy in baggy red pants, and my chewin’ the rag in a big, hot room full o’ soldiers; an’ Heinie an’ Joe they was shoutin’, ’Wow! Lemme at ’em. Veeve la France!’ Wha’ d’ye know about me? Ain’t I the mark from home?" "You didn’t realize that you were enlisting?"
Veeve lah Republeekh, God save Oirland! Surrender me brave lick-shpittle. What's this? Tare en nouns, if it isn't Tom Shkott. Divil resaive me you'll not get off this time. Lay down your arms, traitors and crown worshippers. Lay thim down. Drop thim in the shnow. There, don't be too nice. Down wid thim. Or will ye foight? But it's meself that would loike a bit of a shindy wid ye."
"Believe me," he said, "a guy can veeve himself into any kind of trouble if he yells loud enough. I’m getting mine." "Well, Duck," I said, "it’s a good game " "Aw," he retorted angrily, "it ain’t my graft an’ you know it. What do I care who veeves over here? An’ the 50th Ward goin’ to hell an’ all!" I strove to readjust my mind to understand what he had said.
O'Donoghue quickly turned his horse around and, with a sudden movement, squirted a jet of tobacco juice in the eyes of the tempestuous little loyalist. "Now, take him up to the fort, my min, wid the rest. Forward, march. Veeve lah Republeekh, and God save Oirland, Major Boulton," delivering the latter part of the sentence close to the ear of the captive leader.
"Me and Heinie and Joe was follerin’ the races down to Boolong when this here war come and put everything on the blink. Aw, hell, sez I, come on back to Parus an’ look ’em over before we skiddoo home meanin’ the dames an’ all like that. Say, we done what I said; we come back to Parus, an’ we got in wrong! Listen, Doc; them dames had went crazy over this here war graft. Veeve France, sez they.
"We've got thim. Veeve lah Republeekh; God save Oirland," and set out over the plain, followed by a host of little Frenchmen, bristling like porcupines, with their war-like inclinations. "Surround the lick-shpittles, Mounsieurs," shouted the big, red Irishman. "Veeve lah, Veeve lah!" he screamed, and beat the flanks of his horse with his monster feet.
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