"But ye have a great head, Gran'pop," she would say. "Cully, ye
blatherin' idiot, why don't ye brace up an' git some knowledge in
yer head? Sure, Gran'pop, Father McCluskey ain't in it wid ye a
minute. Ye could down the whole gang of 'em." And the old man
would smile faintly and say he had heard the young gentlemen at
the college recite the stories so many times he could never forget
them.
In this way the boys grew closer together, Patsy cramming himself
from books during the day in order to tell Cully at night all
about the Forty Thieves boiled in oil, or Ali Baba and his donkey,
or poor man Friday to whom Robinson Crusoe was so kind; and Cully
relating in return how Jimmie Finn smashed Pat Gilsey's face
because he threw stones at his sister, ending with a full account
of a dog-fight which a "snoozer of a cop" stopped with his club.
So when Patsy came limping up the garden path this morning,
rubbing his eyes, his voice choking, and the tears streaming, and,
burying his little face in Cully's jacket, poured out his tale of
insult and suffering, that valiant defender of the right pulled
his cap tight over his eyes and began a still-hunt through the
tenements. There, as he afterwards expressed it, he "mopped up
the floor" with one after another of the ringleaders, beginning
with young Billy McGaw, Dan's eldest son and Cully's senior.
Pages:
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72