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Dyson, Edward, 1865-1931

"The Gold-Stealers A Story of Waddy"


'Meaning this.' The trooper waved a white glove over the congregation.
'Sure, it's a bit of a game only--a bit of a friendly game o' football,
as ye may see wid the own eyes of ye.'
Dick's football had just bounced in between the opposing bodies. The
officer ran an eye over the crowd, noting the bloodstains.
'You play football in a funny way at Waddy,' he said.
'We play it wid enthusiasm.'
'Enthusiasm! I should say you played it with shillelahs. Do you always
get cracked skulls and black eyes when you play football?'
'It's our pleasant way, sor.'
'Is it? Well, how the devil do you play football? What is the meaning of
this pile of logs?'
'Meaning the fines, sergeant? It's this way: we of Waddy stands on this
side, an' thim of Cow Flat forninst us on the other side, an' we kicks it
over t' thim, an' they kicks it back to ourselves, an', sure, the side
what kicks it over the most frequent wins. Would you like t' see,
sergeant?'
The miners grinned, the troopers giggled, and the sergeant began to feel
huffy.
''Tention!' he cried. 'Who won this precious game?'
Devoy pinched hi chin tenderly and grimaced. It was hard to abandon the
glory of a well-won battle, but there was no option.
'It was a dthraw,' he said manfully.
'And what were you playing for?'
'Playin' for? Oh, fer natural love an' affection, nothin' more, barrin' a
few goats.


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