"He haven't a spoonful of dirt in his barry!" said another.
"Be jazez, we'll chuck him into the drink!" said a third.
"And the dyvil fly away wid the bones of the little ferrit!" cried a fourth.
These remarks were directed at a little withered-up old man who was "fore-barrow man," or leader of the gang.
"If McCarty don't take that lad and put him to sturring pots in the soup house, we'll murther him!" exclaimed an exasperated levee builder in the line.
"Can't he purt a dacent man that'll do a dacent day's wurruk in the lade, and not be havin' that canary there killin' of the min wid his 'up alls' an' his own barry without the bottom of it covered?"
"Dyvil blow McCarty and dyvil blow little Dinny, but I'll crish the skull av him in wid a blow of me shovel if he don't be loadin his barry, and not running the feet off av us!"
The little man treated the remarks with dignified indifference, and his "up alls" continued to be a theme of hot maledictions. He was a little used up old levee builder, whose only usefulness now consisted in his being able to hurry the rest of the gang, as a "fore-barrow"; a position that no good laborer would have cared to have filled with the intention of imposing on his co-laborers.
The third time Ben wheeled his "buggy" up the steep incline of planks, he wheeled it off, and both he and the barrow had a fall of six feet much to the hilarity of the gang. This happened to him twice in succession, and as he was ascending the third time off he went, and toppled the plank over with him, bringing three other barrows and their navigators to the ground. A loud howl of execrations greeted this catastrophe. Our hero was called a "watchmaker!" "a flute-player!" "a dancing-master!" "a mud-clark!" "a 'sodden'!" "To go tip the plank over on the min!" "Waz it their loif he waz afther!" "Sure it's graves he should be using his shovel at, and not livyin'!"
The howlings attracted the walking-boss to the spot.