McKenna
came in.
"Bad night, Jawn," said Mr. Dooley.
"It is that," said Mr. McKenna.
"Blowin' an' storming', yes," said Mr. Dooley. "There hasn' been a can
in tonight but wan, an' that was a pop bottle. Is the snow-ploughs
out, I dinnaw?"
"They are," said Mr. McKenna.
"I suppose Doherty is dhrivin'," said Mr. Dooley. "He's a good
dhriver. They do say he do be wan iv the best dhrivers on th' road.
I've heerd that th' prisident is dead gawn on him. He's me cousin. Ye
can't tell much about what a man 'll be fr'm what th' kid is. That
there Doherty was th' worst omadhon iv a boy that iver I knowed. He
niver cud larn his a-ah-bee, abs. But see what he made iv himsilf! Th'
best dhriver on th' road; an', by dad, 'tis not twinty to wan he won't
be stharter befure he dies. 'Tis in th' fam'ly to make their names.
There niver was anny fam'ly in th' ol' counthry that turned out more
priests than th' Dooleys. By gar, I believe we hol' th' champeenship
iv th' wurruld. At M'nooth th' profissor that called th' roll got so
fr'm namin' th' Dooley la-ads that he came near bein' tur-rned down on
th' cha-arge that he was whistlin' at vespers.
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