He had listened to the
melancholy experience of others who went before and came away not only
with blighted hopes, but soiled garments and abraded shins.
Nevertheless, PUNCHINELLO felt that, as it was his duty, he would not be
affrighted by the formidable character of the undertaking, but go and
judge of the difficulties in the way for himself. Accordingly he went.
Arriving within three hundred yards of the portal which conducted to the
charmed circle where "Big Six" held court, he was not astonished at the
spectacle of fourteen hundred Irishmen, twenty-seven Germans, and three
boys, all crowding, in no little confusion, to get a glimpse of the
space behind the door. The approach of PUNCHINELLO was announced by a
portly policeman with a round red nose and a black eye, who hung upon
the outskirts and occasionally cursed those Irishmen who seemed to
forget the proprieties of the place by making such remarks as--
"Arrah, PADDY O'NEILL, will ye jist keep aff me toes, or be gorrah I'll
giv' ye a clout in the shnoot."
"An' do ye take me for a fool, BARNEY RYAN, that I'd be afther lettin'
ye do the like o' that?"
"Moind yersilves there!" "Howld yer tongues!" "May the divil ate yez!
but the best of yez hashn't the manners of a pig!" Amid such pleasant
ebullitions of Celtic amiability, PUNCHINELLO succeeded in carving his
way to the door, when it suddenly opened, and a tall, lean, cadaverous
man, who looked like the ghost of some Fenian leader, bawled at the top
of his voice:
"Go an out o' this, all of yiz; Mr.
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