The things we do!

"Come, Freddy, me child," he admonished Wessner, "it's time little boys
were going home. I've me work to do, and can't be entertaining you any
more today. Come back tomorrow, if you ain't through yet, and we'll
repate the perfarmance. Don't be staring at me so wild like! I would eat
you, but I can't afford it. Me earnings, being honest, come slow, and
I've no money to be squanderin' on the pailful of Dyspeptic's Delight it
would be to taking to work you out of my innards!"
Again an awful wrenching seized McLean. Freckles stepped back as
Wessner, tottering and reeling, as a thoroughly drunken man, came toward
the path, appearing indeed as if wildcats had attacked him.
The cudgel spun high in air, and catching it with an expertness acquired
by long practice on the line, the boy twirled it a second, shook back
his thick hair bonnily, and stepping into the trail, followed Wessner.
Because Freckles was Irish, it was impossible to do it silently, so
presently his clear tenor rang out, though there were bad catches where
he was hard pressed for breath:
"It was the Dutch.


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