Milligan takes especial delight in introducing me to all the visitors who inspect the works, but never by any chance does he tell who I am. Not a bit of it. "This is our new mailing clerk: he is just from Harvard," is the neat way he puts it. And then they look me over and say, "Harvard? Oh, indeed!" and the look passed out with it—you'd think I was a new line of prize pig. I've come to believe that I'm[Pg 86] under suspicion here in Chicago; and I've locked up all my college pins and insignia in a closet down cellar, and couldn't be roped into confession of my alma mater with a lariat. Education is evidently not a thing to brag of in Chicago. [Pg 86] I can't quite get on to what it is, but Milligan is up to some game. He's very chummy with the visitors and insists upon showing them about himself. An English lord who was here the other day, chatted with him for fully half an hour in your private office. Think of it—in your private office. I shall have it deodorized before you return. As usual, Milligan boasted and, as the door was open, we all heard. Something was said of the Irish land bill, and this opened the throttle of the super's conversation. "It's no more than roight to do somethin' for Ireland. Who won the Boer War for ye? Kitchener, Lord Roberts,—both Irish." "Really, you don't tell me?" drawled his lordship. "And were all our great fighters Irishmen? Was—was Wellington?" "Certainly," said Milligan. "And Nelson?" [Pg 87] [Pg 87] "Shure. All great fightin' min were Irish." "How about Alexander?" asked the Englishman. "Celtic, for shure." "So? And say now, how about—well, Balaam?" lisped the peer.
Prev.
Back
Top