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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Condensed Novels: New Burlesques"

Whin I say 'thick' I
mane it, sorr! We wor that jammed together, divil a bit cud we
shoot or cut! At fur-rest, I had lashed two mushkits together wid
the baynits out so, like a hay fork, and getting the haymaker's
lift on thim, I just lifted two Paythians out--one an aych baynit--
and passed 'em, aisy-like, over me head to the rear rank for them
to finish. But what wid the blud gettin' into me ois, I was
blinded, and the pressure kept incraysin' until me arrums was
thrussed like a fowl to me sides, and sorra a bit cud I move but me
jaws!"
"And bloomin' well you knew how to use them," said Otherwise.
"Thrue for you--though ye don't mane it!" said Mulledwiney,
playfully tapping Otherwise on the head with a decanter till the
cut glass slowly shivered. "So, begorra! there wor nothing left
for me to do but to ATE thim! Wirra! but it was the crooel
worruk."
"Excuse me, my lord," interrupted the gasping voice of Pi Bol as he
began to back from the pool, "I am but a horse, I know, and being
built in that way--naturally have the stomach of one--yet, really,
my lord, this--er"-- And his voice was gone.
The next moment he had disappeared. Mulledwiney looked around with
affected concern.
"Save us! But we've cleaned out the Jungle! Sure, there's not a
baste left but ourselves!"
It was true. The watering-place was empty.


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