savages holds out."

At this juncture one of the men in the hold lifted his sooty
countenance and, with the vehemence of a lunatic, delivered this:

"Whythilldonye'veaharseut'lldothwark?"

"Dry up," said Mike, pulling the brick from his pocket. "Dry up or I'll
hurt yer feelin's."

The man shrank back out of sight, and Mike put the brick back in his
pocket.

"What did he say?" queried John.

"He objicts to the speed o' the harse on the dock. He can fill buckets,
ye see, faster than the harse can h'ist 'em. That's what ails him."

"And he's afraid o' the brick?"

"Yis; but o' nothin' else. Thim fellers don't fear a gun, so I don't
carry one. Why, a while back, there was a bad time at the corner whin
the two gangs got mixed up, and the police cum down. They used their
guns, but--hill! the bullets just punctured their skins, and they
picked thim out wid their fingers and wint for the coppers and done
thim up. I tell ye, Jawn, that a wild Irishman, frish from the bogs and
the hills, can outwork, outfight, and outeat any man alive."

"Outeat?"

"I give thim mate three times a day. If it wuzn't for the profits o'
the bar, it wud brek me. And, say, Jawn, they can't say 'mate' whin
they ask for more. They say 'mate.'"

"'Mate'? And can't they say 'mate,' whin they ate it so much?"

"No, Jawn, they sing out for mate. It's no use; they can't spake the
language, and it's no use t'achin' thim. They're good min to
wurruk--all bone and sole leather, but ye can't refine thim."

"You can't, Mike, but I kin."

"How, ye skeptic? Luk at 'em. Scratch 'em, and they won't bleed. Shoot
'em, and they'll pick out the bullets and paste ye wid 'em. Reason wid
'em, and they'll insult ye. Refine 'em, Jawn! Ye're crazy. Luk at thot
felly down there under the hatch. He's here on his weddin' trip, but he
lift his wife behind in the old country."

"That makes no difference," answered John, ruminatively; "I can refine
'em. Make sure, Mike, that whin they come to New York they come to my
house in Front Street. I'll feed 'em mate three times a day again' the
time they take the ship for the old sod. I'll be good to thim, Mike.
Send thim to me."

"Ay, John, I will thot. But ye'll nade to square yerself wid yer
butcher in advance if ye think to feed thim wolfs. They're hungry and
they're thirsty be nature."

"Never mind. Send thim on, both factions. I'll take care o' thim.
They're a fine lot o' min, and I'll be good to 'em."

John ver