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"I asked the little shoeboy, but he said: 'Oh, now, Mr. Henchy, when I see work going on properly I won't forget you, you may be sure. Mean little tinker! 'Usha, how could he be anything else?" "What did I tell you, Mat?" said Mr. Hynes. "Tricky Dicky Tierney." "O, he's as tricky as they make 'em," said Mr. Henchy. "He hasn't got those little pigs' eyes for nothing. Blast his soul!
When we express a dislike to the shoeboy reading his newspaper, I apprehend we do so because we fear that the shoeboy is coming near our own heels.
Henchy, "I think he's travelling on his own account.... God forgive me," he added, "I thought he was the dozen of stout." "Is there any chance of a drink itself?" asked Mr. O'Connor. "I'm dry too," said the old man. "I asked that little shoeboy three times," said Mr. Henchy, "would he send up a dozen of stout.
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