An' whin I got to be a man, I
come over here with a ham and a bag iv oatmeal, as sure that I'd return
in a year with money enough to dhrive me own ca-ar as I was that me name
was Martin Dooley. An' that was a cinch.
"But, faith, whin I'd been here a week, I seen that there was nawthin'
but mud undher th' pavement,--I larned that be means iv a pick-axe at
tin shillin's th' day,--an' that, though there was plenty iv goold, thim
that had it were froze to it; an' I come west, still lookin' f'r mines.
Th' on'y mine I sthruck at Pittsburgh was a hole f'r sewer pipe. I made
it. Siven shillin's th' day. Smaller thin New York, but th' livin' was
cheaper, with Mon'gahela rye at five a throw, put ye'er hand around th'
glass.
"I was still dreamin' goold, an' I wint down to Saint Looey. Th' nearest
I come to a fortune there was findin' a quarther on th' sthreet as I
leaned over th' dashboord iv a car to whack th' off mule. Whin I got to
Chicago, I looked around f'r the goold mine. They was Injuns here thin.
But they wasn't anny mines I cud see. They was mud to be shovelled an'
dhrays to be dhruv an' beats to be walked.
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