Four generations of my family, old Sing lived to
serve - but I must get on with my forty-niner's tale of the hanging of
Charlie Price!
"Eh, mon, but the spring is here again," said Jim "Hutch" (Hutchinson)
to Old Man Greeley.
"Is it so, now?" returned the little man, gazing off through the sunny,
velvet air to a world which had been painted clean, new green. His
shrewd, blue eyes returned to the ponderous Scotchman.
"And how came you to realize that it was spring?" he asked maliciously.
"How came you to lick Sandy McArthur-r-r?" Hutchinson came back at him.
"Tell me that."
"Well, but whisper, man," said old Jimmie plaintively, "what else could
a man be after doin'? Me boots were on, an' I could not run away an'
climb a tree, so I used them on McArthur."
"Ye're a wild fightin' Irishman with no regard for the Sabbath,"
returned Jim Hutch, sternly. Now Greeley had a fear of what the dour old
Scotchman might tell upon him. It would not pay to lose his Celtic
temper.
"It was to church I was goin'.
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