The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1891-03-25
TIMMY'S RALLY.

Little Jimmy Mulligan was very sick
Some Of his chums said in an awed
whisper, "He is dyin' dis time, sure
pop"
No more would his 9-year-old war
whoop resound around the corner. No
more would the lake front know Jimmy,
his bare feet, and his stone bruises.
Never again would he occupy the pitch
er's box and captain the ''Red Hots, de
cnampeens Nv all de 9-year-olds on Do
ives -side"--a nine which, through Capt.
Timmy's mastery inshoots, had attained
proud pre-eminence. Never again would
Jimmy refresh his jaded spirits by
throwing rocks at the Italian on the cor
ner, who had incurred his enmity by
once refusing him banana.
Jimmy was as sturdy youngster as
ever the west side turned out; he was as
manly and self reliant as the average
Chicago 9-year-old. He was the cock of
the walk among all his COMPREHENSIVE
best swimmer, the best fighter and the
best pitcher in the ward. The neighbor-
hood was lonesome without Jimmy.
l.
the boy" once so hearty and vigorous,
to keep to his bed
The little invalid lay stretched out on
his couch as fat and pa1lid as a pancake,
IN the front room away up in Sylvester
Mulligan's ten story fiat building. The
nefghbors were coming in droves to
cheer up the ailing youngster.
you're not goan to lave me, yer poor
ould lnither, are We, Jimmy ashore?"
walled his mother, rocking from side to
side in her frenzy of grief, like ship in
a storm, her voice choked with grief, her
eyes drowned IN tears.
''Ye were allus dutiful child to me,
Jimmy alanna, and We WIND not be afther
lawn yer poor old mither to fight the
wurld alone, now w=ud we? You're the
only boy l have left, Jimmy, and yen
not lave me now afther raisin' We as long
as | have. Sphake to him, Father Muir
ply; phase dosyer rivirince-he'H moind
you. He WIZ allus good hearted boy,
though trife wild. Rayson wild him,
father. The fayver has rachel his brain,
and he turns his face TO the wall from
me. He won't sphake to me. Oh, it's
heart scalded | ami"
What's this I hear, Jimmy, about |
your talking of DYING" cheerfully sung
out the good Father Murphy, approach
ing the bedside of the little sufferer and |
taking the boys wasted hand in his own. |
Why, you're worth dozen dead men |
1 -
world. Who could l put in your place
as monitor in the SCHOOL, Who else could |
L get to run my eTTandS and to bring me I
my Evening News, eh? Why. Jimmy, |
my boy, You are indispensable to the |
parish you're little pillar of the
church-all by yourself. You're only
pretending 10 be sick-you who were al
ways so strong and hearty, with the rosi-
est cheeks and the brightest eve of all |
the lads for squares around. Brace up,
and leave ali thoughts of diving to old |
folk like your mother and myself. Do
You hear, Tim:"
Tim did hear. holding his head fever
shly upon his clammy pillow. His eyes
burned with an unnatural FIRE They
had the appealing glance of wounded
ieer: II would melt your heart but to
ook at them.
The little invalid tossed uneasilv upon
he bed; has curling hair, damp with
respiration and pain. strayed uneasily
FER the pillow: his thin hands beat the
o7erlld with the petuiance of a sturdy |
'ounSster unused to such close confine- |
nsnt. Yet he spoke not a word
Haven't you a word for your old
eacher, Inn. my boy:" asked Father
iurphy, softly.
Where's Corkey O'Neill?" yelled out
lnmy suddenly, needless of the worthy
RESTS enereaty. Il wanter see Corkey;
ring I'M up ere immediate.
Corkey was instantly produced. shut
ing sha1nefacedly across the room to
ne bedside of his stricken comraie
inns brow was knitted in meditation.
LIS fingers played tattoo on the
ianket- He had load on mis- mind he
'anSed to dump. Turning restlessly,
e unburdened himself thus:
Il done We up two weeks ter day,
orkey."
CorAey admitted the doing up"
But / fout We fair, Corkey; | didn't
Sc brass knuckleslr
EorkeY wis forrAd Ia .-Aia,A that