They was a band outside, an' he thought it was a grand openin'. So he
come in with a cigar in th' side iv his mouth an' his hat hangin' onto
his ear. It was th' last night iv th' fair, an' ivrything was wide
open; f'r th' priest had gone home, an' we wanted f'r to break th'
record. This Burke was f'r lavin' whin he see where he was; but we run
him again th' shootin' gallery, where ye got twinty-five cints, a
quarther iv a dollar, f'r ivry time ye rang th' bell. Th' ol' gun we
had was crooked as a ram's horn, but it must 've fitted into Burke's
squint; f'r he made that there bell ring as if he was a conducthor iv
a grip-car roundin' a curve. He had th' shootin' gallery on its last
legs whin we run him again th' wheel iv fortune. He broke it. Thin we
thried him on th' grab-bag. They was four goold watches an' anny
quantity iv brickbats an' chunks iv coal in th' bag. He had four
dives, an' got a watch each time. He took a chanst on ivrything; an'
he won a foldin'-bed, a doll that cud talk like an old gate, a pianny,
a lamp-shade, a Life iv St. Aloysius, a pair iv shoes, a baseball bat,
an ice-cream freezer, an' th' pomes iv Mike Scanlan.
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