Irish -- United States -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Runaway wives -- Fiction
“Vell, den, I don't vant no receipt for de money. Here comes a customer.
Don't you go yet. I know her. She comes most every day. She only vants
to look around. Such a lot of peoples only vants to look around.
Dey don't know vat dey vant and you never have it. No, it ain't no
customer--it's Bobby.”
The door was burst open, and a boy in a blue jumper, his cap thrust so
far back on his head that it was a wonder it didn't fall off, cried out:
“Say! One of the sideboards is stuck on the iron railing and we can't
get it furrards or back. Them two weiss-beers ye got down-stairs can't
lift nothin' but full mugs. Send somebody to help.” And the door went to
with a bang.
Kling was about to call for assistance when Hans--one of the
maligned--shuffled in from the rear of the store, carrying a wooden
image very much in want of repair.
“Oh, dots awful good you brought dot! Set it here on dis chair--now you
go avay and help vid dem sideboards. See here vunce, mister. You see,
dey vas makin' de altar over new, and one of de mens come to me last
week and he says: 'Mister Kling, come vid me and buy vot ve don't vant.
De school is too small, and some of de children got no place to sit down
in. Ve got to sell sometings, and maybe now ve don't vant dem images.'
And so I buy dem two and some olt vestments dat my Masie make so good as
new, vid patches. Now, vot can I do vid dis--?”
Again the door was burst open, shutting off all possibility for
conversation. Bobby's voice had now reached the volume of a fog-horn.
“What do ye take us fur out here--lobsters? Dad and I can't wait all
day. He's got to go down to Lafayette Place for a trunk.”
Kling looked at his companion, as if to see what effect the talk had had
upon him, and broke out into a suffocating chuckle. “Dot's vot it is all
day long--don't you yonder I go crazy? First it is sideboards and den it
is vooden saints. Here you, Bobby! Come inside vunce! I vant to ask you
sometings.”
“Say the rest, Skeesicks,” returned the boy, eying the stranger.
“Has your mudder got empty dot room yet?”
“Yep--the shyster got to swearin', and the mother wouldn't stand for it
and she fired him. We ain't keepin' no house o' refuge nor no station
parlor fer bums. Holy Moses! look at the guy that's been robbin' a
church! And see the nose on him all busted! Have ye started them mugs?”
Kling cleared the air with his fat hands as the boy made for the door,
and turned to his visitor once more. “Dot boy make me deaf vid his noise
like a fire-engine! Now, vunce more. Vat shall I do vid dis image?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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