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Updated: June 12, 2025
I had an idea that I ought to help in the work, and was trying to do so, altho so weak from illness that it required some effort to walk straight. But a big, black haired, black bearded Irishman, Owen McGrath of my company, one of the squad, objected. He laid a big hand kindly on my shoulder, and said: "Carparral, yez is not sthrong enough for this worrk, and yez don't have to do it, ayether.
Then they filled the grave. "Mac, wouldn't it be dacent to mark where Larry King's buried? A stone or wooden cross with his name?" McDermott wrinkled his red brow and scratched his sandy beard. Then he pointed. "Casey, wot's the use? See, the blowin' sand's kivered all the graves." "Mac, yez wor always hell at shirkin' worrk. Come on, now, Drill, ye terrier, drill!"
They express the deepest interest in the shape your worrk will take; and that reminds me. I myself have drafted a rough scenario of the forrm it appeared to me the 'Life' might with advantage be cast in. A purely private opinion, ye'll understand, Harrison, which ye'll be entirely at liberty to disregard...." "Well, let's finish with the work first," I said.
"I remimber all uv yez when yez used fer ter worrk fer Schmitt, here," said Pete. "It reminded me of that when I came along." "Yer fayther, he used fer ter drive th' wagon fer 'im. Big Bill 'n' Little Bill, we used fer ter call him 'n' yer bruther. Yer fayther wuzn' fond uv worrk, I guess." "He used to get cramps," said Tom simply. "He used fer ter lick yez, I'm thinkin'."
"Some av the New Catholics, I'll warrant ye!" exclaimed Higgins, indignantly. "Some of thim blatherskites av the Döllinger school, come over here to stir up sedition in the Church, as though they hadn't made worry enough in the owld counthries. An' what business has Dutchmen here, annyway, whin an Irishman has begun the good worrk?
The first day all he could say was, "Weel, weel, I never did" at intervals. The second day he had recovered himself sufficiently to look round and take a little notice. "Ye're one o' them artists, I'm thinkin'," he said, eyeing my panthers disparagingly. "No, you mustn't think that," I said apologetically. "Ha ye no men to do yon dirty worrk for ye?" and he nodded in direction of the cars.
"I must kape 'em stirrin' their stoomps, or ilse, sure, the spalpeens 'ud strike worrk the minnit me back's toorned," said he on resuming his talk with me, as if in explanation of this little interlude. "Yez aid y'r name's Grame, didn't ye? I once knew a Grame belongin' to Cork, an' he wor a pig jobber. S'pose now, he warn't y'r ould father, loike?" "Certainly not!" cried I, indignantly.
He replied in a high-keyed Irish intonation, at the moment rather feeble in volume. "C'u'd ye give a man a bite to eat fer some worrk, now?" he asked. I was relieved. If he had demanded my purse I should not have been surprised. I nodded eagerly. "Yes, indeed. We need some wood. If you'll cut a little, I'll see that you have some breakfast.
I'm done with him an' Father Dumphy an' the whole dang lot o' yuz. Slavin' an' savin' fer nothin' at all. I'll worrk fer mesilf now, an' none other. Neither Cregan ner the choorch ner no one ilse 'll get a penny's good o' me no more. I got no one in the wide worrld but mesilf to look to, an' I'll go it alone." Mrs.
Fenelby thought of it himself, and he told me to tell you about it, because, really, you know, you are just like one of the family " "Barring I have t' be in at ten o'clock and have t' sleep in th' attic," Bridget interposed. "And don't eat with th' family. And a few other differences. But go ahead and tell me what is th' extry worrk." "Well, it isn't extra work at all," said Mrs.
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