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Updated: June 9, 2025
Hit it, if ye dahr. F'r two pins I'd push in th' face iv ye. An', mind ye, Hinnissy, Toolan had said not wan wurrud about th' beak, not wan wurrud. An' ivry wan in th' house was talkin' about it, an' wondhrin' whin it 'd come off an' smash somewan's fut. I looked f'r a fight there an' thin. But Toolan's a poor-spirited thing, an' he wint away.
'Tin dollars blind an' sivin days on the in the gyard-house, ma'am, says I; an' says she, 'Here's twinty for the tin they robbed ye of, and five for every day they kep' ye from yer masther an' Dandy. An', begorra, lootenant, she ran in the house before iver I could shpake another wurrud." "Go it, Mickey Free!" shouted Blake, roaring with laughter.
Whin a Japanese soordsman wint into a combat he made such faces that his opponent dhropped his soord an' thin he uttered a bloodcurdlin' cry, waved his soord four hundhred an' fifty times over th' head iv th' victim or in th' case iv a Samuri eight hundred an' ninety-six, give a whoop resimblin' our English wurrud 'tag, an' clove him to th' feet.
Yis, low be it sphoken, but 'thrapped' 's the wurrud," said the old woman, raising her voice to give emphasis that told a lurid tale. At this moment the door opened and in came Biddy, and as she was the daughter of the unspeakable Kitty the conversation turned.
'Tis a way I have, savin' your presince, Sorr, in action. "Let me out, bhoys," sez I, backin' in among thim. "I'm going to be onwell!" Faith they gave me room at the wurrud, though they would not ha' givin room for all Hell wid the chill off. When I got clear, I was, savin' your presince, Sorr, outragis sick bekaze I had dhrunk heavy that day.
"Thin I knew that man for the Dublin dockrat he was wan av the bhoys that made the lessee av Silver's Theatre grey before his time wid tearin' out the bowils av the benches an' t'rowin' thim into the pit. So I passed the wurrud that I knew when I was in the Tyrone an' we lay in Dublin. 'I don't know who 'twas, I whispers, 'an' I don't care, but anyways I'll knock the face av you, Tim Kelly.
'Twas him said, 'War is hell'; an' that's wan iv th' finest sayin's I know annything about. 'War is hell': 'tis a thrue wurrud an' a fine sintiment. An' Gin'ral Sherman says, 'Th' on'y good Indyun is a dead Indyun. An' that's a good sayin', too.
If you don't mind I'll just stay here and help you " "Sorra an objection," said the Irishman. "Pick up Tim's musket behind you there and get to wurruk!" "Bon jour!" said the other side. "One camarade ees always zee welcome!" An order rang down the line. "Sthop firing, is it?" remarked the Irishman. "And that's the first dacint wurrud I've heard this half hour! Wid all the plazure in life, captin!"
"There is no end of 'paddies' along this river, and I'm sure they cannot understand your lingo." "Is it paddies in this haythen oisland?" demanded Felix, suspending the operation of dressing himself, and staring at his fellow deck-hand. "I don't belayve a wurrud of ut!" "Are there no paddies up this river, Achang?" said Louis, appealing to the Bornean.
Whether 'tis these soft days, with th' childher beginnin' to play barefutted in th' sthreet an' th' good women out to palaver over th' fence without their shawls, or whether 'tis th' wan wurrud Easter Sundah that comes on me, an' jolts me up with th' thoughts iv th' la-ads goin' to mass an' th' blackthorn turnin' green beyant, I dinnaw. But annyhow I'm as gay as a babby an' as fresh as a lark.
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