So they did. But Donahue, bein' a quite man,
niver minded that, but let her go on with her do-se-does an' bought
her a bicycle. All th' bicycles th' poor man had himsilf whin he was
her age was th' dhray he used to dhrive f'r Comiskey; but he says,
'Tis all th' thing,' he says. 'Let th' poor child go her way,' he says
to his wife, he says. 'Honoria,' he says, 'she'll get over it.'
"No wan knowed she had th' bicycle, because she wint out afther dark
an' practised on it down be th' dump. But las' Friday ev'nin', lo an'
behold, whin th' r-road was crowded with people fr'm th' brick-yards
an' th' gas-house an' th' mills, who shud come ridin' along be th'
thracks, bumpin' an' holdin' on, but Molly Donahue? An' dhressed! How
d'ye suppose she was dhressed? In pa-ants, Jawn avick. In pa-ants. Oh,
th' shame iv it! Ivry wan on th' sthreet stopped f'r to yell. Little
Julia Dorgan called out, 'Who stole Molly's dhress?' Ol' man Murphy
was settin' asleep on his stoop. He heerd th' noise, an' woke up an'
set his bull tarrier Lydia Pinkham on her. Malachi Dorsey,
vice-prisident iv th' St.
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