Here is an excerpt from the first chapter:
PATRICK HARTIGAN, having swept a fellow porter, Martin Doyle, from his feet with a heavily laden truck looked gloomily at his prostrate colleague and enquired sarcastically if 'twat mesmerised he was.
Mr. Doyle, rising with heated cheeks, rubbed himself angrily-he had been taken hard from the rear-and finding his hurts slight, fell again into an interested fit of staring.
The south-bound mail panted, steam up, upon the rails, and an irate passenger had his head out, awaiting his light luggage, but Patrick Hartigan placidly left his truck to see what was amiss.
"Some kind of a furrener, isn't it-ye're lookin'at-that ye never heard me bawlin'? " he asked hurriedly."Did ye see a bomb- shell on him or what, Marty ?-God save us-I'm tould they do be throwin' them things for the fun ov it out beyant."
His comrade's gaze was fixed on a slight youth, who stood looking about him with the interested eyes of a stranger. He was brown-skinned, cleanly built, a bowtie of light shade and a green hat making him, in Mr. Doyle's judgment, a " furriner."
"No, 'tis a musicianer he is," said Doyle absently. For he axed me if his castanets was safe in the van.
| Price | $3.00 |
|---|---|
| Shipping & Handling | $3.00 |
| Total | $6.00 |
