“Hello, fellers!”
“Hello, Tim!”
“Wot’s de matter wid ye, Philly Burke? Wot are ye snivellin’ for? Didn’t ye ever see a sick kid before? An’ you, too, Patsy Carroll—why, I nivir see sich weakeners as you kids before in all me life. You’re a nice gang to let yourself be bluffed by them Hard Times crowd. Ye have no more sand in yer craw than a chicken. I’ve a good notion to sick me poodle on de hull gang o’ ye. Cum up yere, Danger!”
The little black-and-tan that had retreated under the bureau, where he kept up growling and showing his teeth at the crowd of strange visitors, jumped up on the bed and began licking his youthful master’s hand. Then, turning round, he glared fiercely at the roomful of sympathizers, his tail lashing the bed, his little black nose uplifted defiantly. He showed his teeth in a subdued and dangerous snarl, as if looking out for the shins of the undertaker. All through little Tim’s sickness the dog had hung around his master’s room in a subdued and listless manner. When not squatting on the sick boy’s pillow, licking Tim’s hot and feverish hand, and vigilantly guarding his restless slumber, the dog would slink away under the bed, as if the boy’s illness had affected him, also, and had cowed his honest bark and native pluck into a cowardly snarling and showing of his vicious teeth.
“If that dood of a doctor comes a-monkeying around here enny more a-pizening me with the medicines he makes me swaller, we’ll giv him hydrophoby—won’t we, Danger?”
Danger showed his red gums in fierce assent.
“Where’s me ould woman?”
“Here I am, Timmy asthore; what is it?”
“Sind out the kittle for a quart o’ beer. I wanter do the right thing and treat de gang as has called on me. I guess it’ll be about square. Whin ye go over with the growler to Danny Shay’s, Corkey, mind ye scoop in all the free lunch as ye can crib. I guess I could go a little cheese sandwich meself. Be sure you tell Danny Shay to pack the growler as tight as he can, Corkey,” was the latter part of the languid yet hospitable injunction of the stricken Timmy, as he turned over on his side for a refreshing slumber, the vigilant Danger snugly perched on his fifth rib.
Mr. Mulligan, I am pleased to state, recovered in time to give the Hard Times the worst skunking they ever got.