Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

eR | ae Fe , 5 ~~ 7% TIM BUMBLE’S CHARGE. », “Td have to march, wouldn’t I?” laughed Bridget. “ Oh, don’t I wish I'd see him doing it?” , SF ) “You may talk as you please ; I'll bet mother dees marry him, and that before long,” said the boy, excitedly. _ “ Perhaps ye’ll git in a scrape, and run in debt for hundreds of dollars, and thin git him to lend you money, and thin, for the sake of that; to kape your good name up, when you ain’t got any, she’d marry him. I’ve heard tell of such doin’s, indade I have; but the curse o’ that. thing "ll follow, ye to your grave, me lad.” “You’ye no. right to talk to me so,” cried the’ boy, “ve a right to tell ye the thruth,” replied Bridget, pick- ing her potatoes over with great composure ; “an’ ye ought to thank me for it, an’, mabbe, some day ye will. Mr. Syl- vester isn’t a man fit for a lady like your mother, and sad would be the day I'd see sich a match. Your father, poor man, couldn’t abide the sight of him, nor I aither, from the “He shall marry her, if I can help him,” cried the boy, angrily ; and flinging down his cigar, he left the kitchen. “There goes the lump of laziness,” soliloquized Bridget, picking up the nuisance, and throwing it with a significant “ugh !” into the fire. ‘“ What wid his laying abed till the folks are all gone, and obliging his sister to wait on him; what wid being imperdent to his mother, poor lady, and saucy to me; what wid pawning things to go pleasuring wid, and tazing the whole house, an’ borrering money from Mr. Syl- vester, he’s like to harry the heart out of us all. Oh, sure, the times is different from the good ould times, whin there was plinty to the fore, an’ I got me three dollars a week and board, and the lady lived illigantly. There niver was sich pies an’ cakes as I made wid me own hands for her fine par- ties. And Mr, Harrison, that I seemed to love as me own son, he to be lyin’ cold and drownded in the black river, wid the fishes in his hair—oh! it:makes me heart-sick to think of it.. Ldon’t belave the mistress’ll marry that horrid man wid thé marble face; an’ I’m sure his heart is marble, too. I can see it in his eyes.”’ 7 At that moment Mrs. Lattison came in. She neyer had \ - : comicbooks.conn a