ANOTHER DAY
It do be thray weeks to-day sinse Miss Claire’s after announsing her
ingagemint to Mr. Vandybilt. The family kept silinse upon the subjeck.
Its a straynge and sad house its after being now.
Both Mr. John and James wint back to there rayspictif places in the city
on Siptimber 1st after having spint the intyre summer doing there fine
riting at the hoose.
Mr. James do be a famiss riter and theres hardly a paper pooblished but
has a pichure of himself looking out frum the frunt page, bauld and
agrissive looking, for shure the lad do have his back oop aginst the
intyre warld. Hes joyned the Soshilist and Anykist ordher I’m after
reeding in the papers, and its intinded by him (ses wan of the papers,
which always nos a person’s plans befure there made) to live in the
slooms for the rist of his life, devoating himsilf to sittlemint wark
amang the Rooshin Jews.
Mr. Wolley’s masheen broak down aboot a fortnite ago, and the auld
gintleman is like a child widout his favrite toy. He do be wayting ivery
day for the new carbureater to arrive, and manewile he spinds all his
time fooling aboot wid the masheen that isn’t rooning anny longer. Mrs.
Wolley has dridful narviss hidakes, injooced so she told me in
confydunse as mooch by her wurry over Miss Claire as frum anny uther
cause.
As for Miss Claire hersilf. Puir child! She do be that quite and
shrinking in her ways. Theres skurcely a site I’m getting of the child
ixcipt at meal times.
Its not warth intering up the milincully ivints of the sad days, and
shure I’ll be glad indade whin we move back to town in a few weeks now.
There be no troo Nites abownding in this sad and loansum country, for
the Nites are an avarashus lot. Since the news wint abrord that I’m
having me little bit of forchune in the bank, I’ve been pestered wid the
dummed forchune hoonters till I begin to look wid soospischun on ivery
dummed man that spakes to me at all.
Ah, its a sad thing to be ritch in these days, for the lads cum
acoorting wid wan eye on yere pockit and the ither on yere face. Since
museer infarmed me of the greedy hart of Mr. Mulvaney its never a sivil
ward I’ve handed the lad since, and he pretinding to be beside himsilf
wid disthress and begging me ivery day to go wid him to the praste.
“Mr. Mulvaney” ses I, “whin Delia O’Malley is reddy to marry she’ll be
choosing a thrifty lad wid a forchune larger than her own. Do you tak me
for a nigger?” arsks I. “Ivery dummed one of those unforchunt crachures
do be washing after marruge, handing over there hardairned wages to the
cauld-harted goomps theyve been loonyticks enuff to marry. Larry
Mulvaney” ses I, “Its a smart lad ye are, but Delia O’Malley sees throo
yere thricks.”
“Delia, me darlint” ses he, wid such airnestness I’m almost like to
belave him, “I wish” ses he, “ye’d tak yere munney frum the bank and
drap it into the well” ses he. “Its you I want” ses he, “not yer auld
munney.”
“Mr. Mulvaney” ses I cauldly, “Anny wan but an eediot” ses I “cud fish
up a bit of munney put doon in a well.”
To musseer I likewise ixprissed mesilf consarning forchune hoonters in
gineral and furringer in pertickler.
“Museer” ses I “I oonderstand its the custum in yure cuntry for the
wimmen to guv over there bit of a forchune to there worthliss
hoosbunds?”
“May but me share Mumsell Delia” ses he, “Is it not thin a grand custom?
Think sharee” ses he, “Hoo shud be the custoadyun of the joynt wilth of
such a onion if not the hed of the family. Why sharee” ses he, sharee
being Frinch for mavorneen, “It is as it shud be.”
“Museer” ses I, “I may be auld-fashuned, but I shtand here riddy to
state the following facks. I’m a hard warking girl and befure I’d see me
hard airned savings parss into the hands of a good-fur-nothing disiloot
Frinch husbund I’d throw it into purgatry and burn it oop insted. Good
marning museer” ses I “Will you plase ixcuse me this avening.”
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