(which were encased in loose, black kid gloves) with unflagging vigor.
He wore a pair of heavy boots, the soles of which made a noble thud
on the floor.

"Ain't it wonderful the like of them young craters can talk like that!"
he cried; "shure, Molly, that young lady who'd the essay--
where is it?"--a huge black forefinger travelled down the page--
"'_Music, The Turkish Patrol_,' No--though that's grand,
that piece; I'll be spakin' wid Professor Von Keinmitz to bring
it when we've the opening. Here 'tis, Molly: '_Tin, Essay.
The Darkest Night Brings Out the Stars, Miss Mamie Odenheimer_.'
Thrue for you, mavourneen! And the sintiments, wasn't they illigant?
and the lan-gwidge was as foine as Pat Ronan's speeches or Father--
whist! will ye look at the flowers that shlip of a gyirl's gitting!
Count 'em, will ye?"

"Fourteen bouquets and wan basket," says the little woman,
"and Mamie Odenheimer, she got seventeen bouquets and two
baskets and a sign. Well," she looked anxious, but smiled,
"I know of siven bouquets Tommy will git for sure.
And that's not countin' what Harry Lossing will do for him.
Hiven bless the good heart of him!"

"Well, I kin count four for him on wan seat," says the man, with a nod
of his head toward the gay heap in the woman's lap, "barrin' I ain't
on-vaygled into flinging some of thim to the young ladies!"

Harry Lossing, in the seat behind with his mother and Mrs. Carriswood,
giggled at this and whispered in the latter lady's ear, "That's Tommy's
father and mother. My, aren't they excited, though! And Tommy's