If ye cud, ye'd say: 'I'll not cash this in
at no dhrug store. I'll go over to Dooley's an' get th' rale thing.' So,
afther thryin' to decipher this here corner iv a dhress patthern, ye
climb into ye'er clothes f'r what may be ye'er last walk up Ar-rchy
Road. As ye go along ye begin to think that maybe th' Dock knows ye have
th' Asiatic cholery an' was onl'y thryin' to jolly ye with his manner iv
dealin' with ye. As ye get near th' dhrug store ye feel sure iv it, an'
'tis with th' air iv a man without hope that ye hand th' paper to a
young pharmycist who is mixin' a two-cent stamp f'r a lady customer. He
hands it over to a scientist who is compoundin' an ice-cream soda f'r a
child, with th' remark: 'O'Leary's writin' is gettin' worse an' worse. I
can't make this out at all.' 'Oh,' says th' chemist, layin' down his
spoon, 'that's his old cure f'r th' bellyache. Ye'll find a bucket iv
it in th' back room next to th' coal scuttle.'
"It's a gr-reat medicine he give ye. It will do ye good no matther what
ye do with it. I wud first thry poorin' some iv it in me hair. If that
don't help ye see how far ye can throw th' bottle into th' river. Ye
feel betther already. Ye ought to write to th' medical journals about
th' case.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82