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"Well, now, ye'd think that was all right, wudden't ye? Ye'd say Asthor acted mild whin he didn't take down his goold ice pick from th' wall an' bate th' Cap over th' head. Th' Cap, though a ganial soul, had no business there. 'Twas Willum Waldorf Asthor that paid f'r the ice cream an' rented th' chiny. But that's where ye'd be wrong, an' that's where I was wrong.
"Well, whin th' day come f'r th' Orangeys to cillybrate th' time whin King Willum may th' divvle hould him! got a stand-off, an' 'twas no betther, Jawn, f'r th' Irish'd 've skinned him alive if th' poor ol' gaby iv an English king hadn't ducked What's that? Don't I know it? I have a book at home written be an impartial historyan, Pathrick Clancy Duffy, to prove it.
You wouldn't decline to take it from Willum, would you?" "Indeed no; William Stout has always been so kind to us kinder than I have deserved." "Well, then, I'll write to Willum. I'll say to him, `Willum, my boy, here's your brother's widdy bin caught in a squall, had her sails blown to ribbons, bin throw'd on her beam-ends, and every stick torn out of her.
'Well, says Willum J. O'Brien, 'that was my majority, he says. 'Have a dhrink, he says." The approach of Christmas is heralded in Archey Road by many of the signs that are known to the less civilized and more prosperous parts of the city. The people look poorer, colder, and more hopeful than at other times. The bakeries assume an old country appearance of gayety. The saloons are well filled.
She was very good to me, that old 'oom was, when she was young, as I've told you before. You go an' give her my blessin' Willum's blessin' and this here bag and that there letter. `Yes, says I, `Willum, I'll do it, my boy, as soon as ever I set futt on British soil. I did set futt on British soil this morning, and there's the letter; also the bag; so, you see, old lady, I've kep' my promise."
"Now, I can't stand no more o' this," said Mrs Marrot, down whose face the perspiration was streaming; "I'm a'most roasted alive, an' don't understand your explanations one bit, Willum, so come along." "Oh, mother, do hold on a moment," pleaded Bob, whose mechanical soul was in a species of paradise.
Stay, I'll speak to Willum Garvie about it now," said Mrs Marrot, rising; "he's in the garding be'ind." "Pray don't call him in," said Netta, rising quickly; "we will go down to him. I should like much to see your garden." "You'll find my Loo there, too," said Mrs Marrot with a motherly smile, as she opened the door to let her visitors out. "You'll excuse me not goin' hout.
'All I've got to do, he says, 'is to set up at th' desk, he says, 'an' not recall th' names iv th' gintlemen on th' flure, an' me jooty's done, he says. 'I thank ye kindly, Willum; but I cannot accept ye'er gin'rous offer, he says. 'Go back to th' cell, he says, 'an' slave like a convict, he says. 'I will not rob me frind, he says, 'iv such an honor.
'Look at th' Willum Haitch Vanderbilts, says he, 'an' th' Gools an' th' Astors, says he, 'an' thin look at us, he says, 'groun' down, he says, 'till we cries f'r bread on th' sthreet, he says; 'an' they give us a stone, he says. 'Dooley, he says, 'fetch in a tub iv beer, an' lave th' collar off, he says. "Doolan 'd wake up with a start, an' applaud at that.
A lane led past the garden, if that could be called a lane which widened into a field and after rain was flooded so deeply as to be impassable to foot passengers. The morning we had chosen was fine; and after shaking hands with old Farmer 'Willum, whose shooting days were over, we entered the lane, and by it the fields.
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