The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1891-07-24
TIMMY'S RALLY.


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
champions Nv all de 9-year-olds on de
ives -side"-a nine which, through Capt.
TlInmy's mastery inshoots, had attained
proud pre-eminenee. 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 a banana.
Jimmy was as sturdy a youngster as
EVER the west side turned out; he was as
manly and self reliant as the average
Chicago 9-year-old. He vas the cock of
the walk among all his comprehensive
best swimmer, the best fighter and the
best pitcher in the ward. The neighbor.
hsDd was lonesome without Jimmy.
People could not imagine what was on
she boy" once o hearty and vigorous,
to keep to his bed.
The little invalid lay stretched out on
his couch as fiat and pallid as a pancake,
in the front room away up in Sylvester
Mulligan's ten story fiat building. The
neighbors were comi.g in droyes ia
cheer up the ailing youngster.
You're not goan to lave me, yer poor
Duld mither, are We, Jimmy ashoregr
walled his mother, rocking from side to
side in her frenzy of grief, like a ship in
a storm, her voice choked with grief, her
eyes drowned in tears.
"Ye were allus a dutiful child Il me,
Jimmy alanna, and ye wud not be afttar
LAWN yer poor old mither to fight the
wurld alone, now wud ye? You're the
only boy | have left, Jimmy, and yen
not lave me now afther raisin' ye as long
as l have. Sphake to him, Father Muir
ply; phase do, yer rivirince-he1l moind
you. He wuz aIlus a good hearted boy,
though a 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 ] am"
whats this 1 hear, Timmy, about
your talking of dying?' eh~eerfully sung
u the good Father Murphy, approach
ing the bedside of the little sufferer and
taking the boys wasted hand in his own.
fsWhy, you're worth a dozen dead men
yet. | could never spare you in the
world. Who could put in your place
as monitor in the school? Who else could
I get to run my errands and to bring me
my Evening News. ell? Why, Jimmy,
my boy, You are indispensable to the
parish a little pillar of the
church-all by yourself. You're only
pretending to be sick-you who were al
ways SO strong and hearty, with the rosi-
est cheeks and the brightest eye of all
the lads for squares around. Brace up,
and leave all thoughts of dying to old
folk like your mother and myself. Dc
you hear, Tim?'
Tim did hear, nodding his head fever
ishly upon his clammy pillow. His eyes
burned with an unnatural fire. They
had the appealing glance of a wounded
deer; it would melt your heart but to
look at them.
The little invalid tossed uneasily upon
the bed; his curling hair, damp with
perspiration and pain, strayed uneasily
DER the pillow; his thin hands beat the
coverlid with the petulance of a sturdy
youngster unused to such close confine-
ment. Yet he spoke not a word.
Haven't you a word for your old
teacher, Tim, my boyg" asked Father
Murphy, softly.
where's Corkey O'Neill?" yelled out
Jimmy suddenly, needless of the worthy
priests entreaty. Il wanter see orkey;
bring i'm up ere immediate"
Corkey was instantly produced, shut
fling shamefacedly across the room 10
the bedside of his stricken comrade.
Tins brow WA knitted in meditation.
His fingers played a tattoo on the
blanket. He had a load on his mind he
wanted to dump. Turning restlessly,
he unburdened himself thus;
Il done We up two weeks ter day,
Corkey."
Corkey admitted the 'doing up"
But fout ye lair, Corkeyi ] didn't
use brass knucklesr'
Corkey was forced TO declare that
youthful encounter.
Eye sed l wuz a 'snide, Corkey, didn't
ye:'
1t appeared that Corkey had said SO.
II Jumped We pretty hard. blacked
both o. yer eyeS-or wuz it ony ones"
1t was ''ony one" for Corkey still bore
the echo of it on his tinted left optic.
well, wot l wsnter say, Corkey, is
I'm sorry / bunged you up so bad. l
don't believe l could whip you the way
am here, but eff you want satisfaction
We can take it out o me now--if you
bear emmy hard feelings"
Il wouldn't hit a dying kid, not fer de
hull west side,a cried out Corkey, sob
bling as if his heart would break; I'VE
only guy me wot l deserved, Jimmy. |
had no right roastin' you de way | did.
"Who duz the Red Hots play a Sun
dayT'
I'VE wuz a goan to play de Hard
Times, Jimmy, but now dat you're sick
an can't pitch we've declared the match
off; we'd git skunked."
"Wot did We do dat fors' savagely ex-
claimed Jimmy. I've good mind to
black yer other eye for ye."
well, we all made up we wudn't play
till We got we'll. Tim; its no use going
out on de diInund unless you're pitchin'.'
MI. Mulhgan appeared TO see matters
in the proper light
well. | guess you're about right,
Corkey," he was moved to admit. II
puess I'll hay ter get well. | wanter