Can any one direct me to the Orewell sports?"`Or he'd pass a raffle,lottery,lucky-bag,or golden-barrel business of some sort,--`"No gamblin'for the Flour.I don't believe in their little shwindles.
It ought to be shtopped.Leadin'young people ashtray."`Or he'd pass an Englishman he didn't like,--`"Look at Jinneral Roberts!He's a man!He's an Irishman!
England has to come to Ireland for its Jinnerals!Luk at Jinneral Roberts in the marshes of Candyhar!".
`They always had sports at Orewell Creek on New Year's Day --except once --and old Duncan was always there,--never missed it till the day he died.
He was a digger,a humorous and good-hearted "hard-case".
They all knew "old Duncan".
`But one New Year's Eve he didn't turn up,and was missed at once.
"Where's old Duncan?Any one seen old Duncan?""Oh,he'll turn up alright."They inquired,and argued,and waited,but Duncan didn't come.
`Duncan was working at Duffers.The boys inquired of fellows who came from Duffers,but they hadn't seen him for two days.
They had fully expected to find him at the creek.He wasn't at Aliaura nor Notown.They inquired of men who came from Nelson Creek,but Duncan wasn't there.
`"There's something happened to the lovely man,"said the Flour of Wheat at last."Some of us had better see about it."`Pretty soon this was the general opinion,and so a party started out over the hills to Duffers before daylight in the morning,headed by the Flour.
`The door of Duncan's "whare"was closed --BUT NOT PADLOCKED.
The Flour noticed this,gave his head a jerk,opened the door,and went in.
The hut was tidied up and swept out --even the fireplace.
Duncan had "lifted the boxes"and "cleaned up",and his little bag of gold stood on a shelf by his side --all ready for his spree.
On the table lay a clean neckerchief folded ready to tie on.
The blankets had been folded neatly and laid on the bunk,and on them was stretched Old Duncan,with his arms lying crossed on his chest,and one foot --with a boot on --resting on the ground.
He had his "clean things"on,and was dressed except for one boot,the necktie,and his hat.Heart disease.
`"Take your hats off and come in quietly,lads,"said the Flour.
"Here's the lovely man lying dead in his bunk."`There were no sports at Orewell that New Year.Some one said that the crowd from Nelson Creek might object to the sports being postponed on old Duncan's account,but the Flour said he'd see to that.
`One or two did object,but the Flour reasoned with them and there were no sports.
`And the Flour used to say,afterwards,"Ah,but it was a grand time we had at the funeral when Duncan died at Duffers.".
`The Flour of Wheat carried his mate,Dinny Murphy,all the way in from Th'Canary to the hospital on his back.Dinny was very bad --the man was dying of the dysentery or something.The Flour laid him down on a spare bunk in the reception-room,and hailed the staff.
`"Inside there --come out!"
`The doctor and some of the hospital people came to see what was the matter.
The doctor was a heavy swell,with a big cigar,held up in front of him between two fat,soft,yellow-white fingers,and a dandy little pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses nipped onto his nose with a spring.
`"There's me lovely mate lying there dying of the dysentry,"says the Flour,"and you've got to fix him up and bring him round."`Then he shook his fist in the doctor's face and said --`"If you let that lovely man die --look out!"`The doctor was startled.He backed off at first;then he took a puff at his cigar,stepped forward,had a careless look at Dinny,and gave some order to the attendants.The Flour went to the door,turned half round as he went out,and shook his fist at them again,and said --`"If you let that lovely man die --mind!"
`In about twenty minutes he came back,wheeling a case of whisky in a barrow.
He carried the case inside,and dumped it down on the floor.
`"There,"he said,"pour that into the lovely man."`Then he shook his fist at such members of the staff as were visible,and said --`"If you let that lovely man die --look out!"`They were used to hard-cases,and didn't take much notice of him,but he had the hospital in an awful mess;he was there all hours of the day and night;he would go down town,have a few drinks and a fight maybe,and then he'd say,"Ah,well,I'll have to go up and see how me lovely mate's getting on."`And every time he'd go up he'd shake his fist at the hospital in general and threaten to murder 'em all if they let Dinny Murphy die.
`Well,Dinny Murphy died one night.The next morning the Flour met the doctor in the street,and hauled off and hit him between the eyes,and knocked him down before he had time to see who it was.
`"Stay there,ye little whipper-snapper,"said the Flour of Wheat;"you let that lovely man die!"
`The police happened to be out of town that day,and while they were waiting for them the Flour got a coffin and carried it up to the hospital,and stood it on end by the doorway.
`"I've come for me lovely mate!"he said to the scared staff --or as much of it as he baled up and couldn't escape him.
"Hand him over.He's going back to be buried with his friends at Th'Canary.
Now,don't be sneaking round and sidling off,you there;you needn't be frightened;I've settled with the doctor."`But they called in a man who had some influence with the Flour,and between them --and with the assistance of the prettiest nurse on the premises --they persuaded him to wait.Dinny wasn't ready yet;there were papers to sign;it wouldn't be decent to the dead;he had to be prayed over;he had to be washed and shaved,and fixed up decent and comfortable.Anyway,they'd have him ready in an hour,or take the consequences.
