NEXT DAY
“An ortermobile” ses Mr. Wolley at the brikfust table “is the veehicle
of the moduns. Its a boom to soofering yumanity in this yumid and
turribly trying and hot summers of this climut. In my opinyon” ses he,
“its the greatest of modun invinshuns. Don’t interrupt James” ses he,
turning upon Mr. James, who was snickering noysily, “I confess” ses Mr.
Wolley “that I was want sometime ago to curse the horseliss vehicle, but
times are changed” ses he, “and we who wish to kape step wid the times
must grow wid it. An ortermobile is a cooltivated taste its like olives.
Whin first tasted we detist its flavour, but having thryed it wanse or
twice we becum its ardint slaves. Jimmy” ses he “pass me anuther musk
melon. John er—whats the news this marning?”
“O nothing par” ses Mr. John grinning behind his paper. “Our rickliss
pressydint is waring pink pyjamas and Roosel Sage is ded.”
As I was coming down the steps leading from the oopstares to the
bastemint, who should I see, standing outside me kitchen door, but Mr.
Moolvaney. The gintleman has his face aginst the closed dure, and hes
after serrynading the lady inside—namely, me warm frind Minnie Carnavan,
wid the folling sinseliss milody. I shstood still on the stares to
lissen:
“In Dublin’s fair city
The girls are so pretty
I wanse laid me eyes
On Miss Molly Malone,
Who wheeled a wheel barrow
The streets broad and narrow
Of cockles and mussels alive, alive, Ho!
Alive, alive, Ho, ho!
Alive, alive, Ho, ho!
Of cockles and mussels
Alive, alive, Ho!
She was a fish monger
But shure twas no wonder
For so was her father and mother before
And they both wheeled a barrow
The streets broad and narrow
Of cockles and mussels alive, alive, Ho!
She died of the fever,
Whin no wan cud save her
And that was the ind of Miss Molly Malone
But her gost wheels her barrow
The streets broad and narrow
Of cockles and mussel alive, alive, Ho!”
As the gintleman finished I shtepped down the stares, and joost thin he
toorned about and seen me caming tord him. He guv a shstart, and ses he:
“Why Delia, is it yersilf, indade? Well, well” ses he, “and shure I was
after thinking it was yersilf was inside the kitchin.”
I condisinded not wan ward, but I walked into me kitchin, past the false
craychure, and I shoot the dure bang in his face. Minnie’s seeted on a
chare, shsmiling from eer to eer.
“Its a grand voyse” ses she, “I’m after lissening to. Who is the handsum
gintleman Delia deer” ses she.
Joost thin the spaking chube rung out and I wint to it at wanse, and
shouted oop at the tap of me voyse:
“I refoose to ansswer!” and wid that I shstopped up the doomed thing wid
me dish towel.
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