United States or Cabo Verde ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Perkins looked at him inquiringly. "Givin' me, Mike Finn, song an' dance about not bein' home, wid me fri'nds outside on the lawn watchin' him troo de windy, laffin' loike a hayeny." "Excuse me like a what?" said Thaddeus. "A hayeny," repeated Mr. Finn. "Wan o' thim woild bastes as laffs at nothin' much. 'Is he home? sez oi. 'Are yees a pershonal fri'nd? says the gurl. 'Oi'm not, sez oi.
"The Land of the Whispering Hills!" "Thrue, 'tis th' Injun word, but a woild, woild land f'r all that." "But beautiful, Madame, oh! it is beautiful, is it not?" "Fair, wid high hills an' a great blue lake an' woildness! Ah!" But the tall leader was calling and camp was breaking for another stretch.
She reassured them as best she could, and made a cup of tea for Mrs. Thropp and told Mr. Thropp there was a young fellow lived in the house who was working for a private detective bureau. He'd find the kid sure, for it was a small woild, after all. There was a lull in the European-war news the next day only a few hundreds killed in an interchange of trenches.
'Tis hard crool hard even for us. Fwhat must it be for these? Wake up, Nonie, your mother will be woild about you. Begad, the child might ha' fallen into the ditch! He picked her up in the growing light, and set her on his shoulder, and her fair curls touched the grizzled stubble of his temples. Ortheris and Learoyd followed snapping their fingers, while Norah smiled at them a sleepy smile.
It has had forty other new, good names since then, and I don't know what they are, but I do know that it is forever gay, and that the electric signs are still blazing all along the street, and the street-cars are still killing people in the good old fashion, and the news-boys are still dodging under the automobiles to sell you a Woild or a Choinal or, if it's after twelve at night, a Morning Telegraph.
“Take my lamb away,” Granny wailed. “Sure, she’ll be tuk sick in those woild counthries! You’ll have to take me wid you, Misther Westabrook—only—only—” She did not finish her sentence but her eyes went anxiously to her daughter’s face. “No, Granny, you’re not to go,” Mr. Westabrook said decisively; “You’re to stay right here with your daughter and her children.
There was a little pause; then his head tilted back and he burst into the soft, thick brogue: "Ah-h, I was afther bein' woild about the schooners blowin' out to sea wid their sails shook out like clouds. An' then I'd look down to the wather around the pier, an' it was green, deep green, ah-h, the deep sea-green av it! An' I would look into it an' dream. Whin I seen your eyes "
Chames," protested Spike. "Dere was a goil, dough. Only I was never her steady. And she married one of de odder boys." "Why didn't you knock him down and carry her off?" "He was de lightweight champion of de woild." "That makes a difference, doesn't it? But away with melancholy, Spike! I'm feeling as if somebody had given me Broadway for a birthday present." "Youse to de good," agreed Spike.
Wot devil's work 'ave you led me into? 'Hall right, sez we, 'you catch that there pony an' come along. This Sahib's been decoited, an' we're going to resky 'im! Says the driver, 'Decoits! Wot decoits? That's Buldoo the budmash' 'Bhuldoo be shot! sez we, ''Tis a woild dissolute Pathan frum the hills. There's about eight av thim coercin' the Sahib.
These leather necks of Macaroni Dagos we've seen a swarmin' all over Mulberry Bend an' Five Points; the Sauerkraut Dagos looks fer all the woild like they was goin' ter a Schützenfest up by High Bridge; the Froggie Dagos you'll find packed in them Frenchy restaraws in the Thirties where yer git blue wine and them Vodki Dagos only needs a pushcart ter make yer think yer in Baxter Street.
Word Of The Day