needn’t ‘tempt to say;
keep a-plodding onward—
road’ll turn some day!
that homesick feeling,
ache you bear alone,
the arm you leaned upon
bravely stifled moan.
ow the arm you leaned upon
Has not power to stay;
But just keep a-plodding onward—
For the road’'ll turn some day!
know
z
I know the structures you have hewn
Of youth-day dreams lie low;
I know you see their ruins stare
Everywhere you go.
I know the sunbeams round your path
Long since have ceased to play;
But just keep a-plodding onward—
For the road’ll turn some day!
There's a day a-coming shortly,
When there'll be no hills to climb;
When there'll be no weury burdens
To be tugging all the time;
When the heart will cease its aching,
And your sorrows melt away—
Bo just keep a-plodding onward,
For the road’'ll turn some day.
—— A ————
O'DONNELL UP
The superintendent of St. Jarlath's
O e scanned his annual report
and compared it with the report of
the year previous. He sighed. “The
world depression,” he said to his
secretary, “has had its effect on this
orphanage, We are suffering from
overproduction and a nonexistent
market.
“In 1931, we got rid of sixty-two
boys. In 1931 we got rid of twenty-
| that, under the
REE
of guardian
and empowered to sign a
boy. Look at beak on him.” i
The superintendent happened to be |
looking at Patrick at that moment.
He noted that the dark blue Celtic
eyes had suddenly turned black; he’
recalled having read that the late
John L. Sullivan had dark blue eyes
stress of emotion, |
turned black. Patrick's thin lips were |
even thinner now. He gazed coldly | borie ina four-stall van which he |
drove
upon Henry Helburn, who rambled |
on. :
“Jew boys, Mr. Superintendent,
will make good at most an
‘ceptin horses an’ sailorizin'. You |
never seen a Jewish sea captain, did
you? An’ I been around race tracks
all my life but I never seen a Jewish |
jockey or exercise boy. I think
| they're afraid o' horses.”
“I have heard a rumor to the
effect that one of the lost tribes—
that of Benjamin-—got into Ireland;
one. In 1930, we received sixty-nine but you can bet they never got into
boys, and in 1931, eighty seven. The
decreased riddance of boys means
that farmers have curtailed expenses,
even to the extent of denying them-
selves their favorite 1oible of taking
husky orphan boys to do a hired
man's work at a third of the hired
man's pay. The increased supply
means that orphan boys who, in nor-
mal times, would have been cared for
by relatives, are now sent to this
orphanage because the relatives are
retrenching. For the first time in
twenty years this orphanage is full.”
“No,” his secretary replied; “we
‘have one bed left.”
“And here,” announced the ma-
tron, is the young gentleman to fill
it.”
She led into the superintendent's
office a frail little boy with a shock
of jet-black hair, large, soulful, dark
blue eyes, a thin, artistic nose, a
square chin, thin, determined lips and
a brown complexion. He appeared to
be about thirteen years old and he
was wearing a suit that had been
. designed for a boy of sixteen.
“Hello, son,” the superintendent
greeted him. “What's your name?”
The thin lips parted in a friendly
smile, to reveal strong, even white
teeth. “Patrick Aloysius Valentine
O'Donnell, sir,” the boy replied re-
spectfully.
“A ward of the court,” the matron
explained. “The bailiff has just deliv-
ered him. Here are his papers. His
father was stevedore foreman who
fell down the hatch of a ship he was
discharging. Two weeks ago his
mother died of influenza. He is fif-
teen years old.”
The superintendent appraised the
poy. “I must say,” he remarked final-
y,
in the world except the son of a boss
stevedore.”
“Indeed? I have always had the
impression that to be a boss steve-
dore a man had to be able to thrash
all the other stevedores should oc-
casion arise.”
“My father could do that.” Pat-
rick Aloysius Valentine O'Donnell
made the statement pridefully. “He
couldn't hit as hard as the big fel-
Jows but he could hit hard enough
and oftener. He used to be the Pa-
cific Coast amateur lightweight
champion.”
“Bless my soul. And what do you
propose becoming when you get your
Browily A: hae stevedore 7”
“No, sir. I'll always be a flyweight.
Anyhow, that's what Pa used to say.
I want to be a jockey.”
“Sure you don't want to be a fly-
weight champion?”
“No, sir. Fa taught me how to box
but I don't like fighting for fun or
for money. If a fellow has a sound
reason to fight, it’s all right.”
“So you like horses, eh?”
“I love ‘em.
school at the St. Francis Riding
Academy in San Francisco, I grocom-
ed horses and cleaned their feet, and |
fed and exercised them on days when
nobody hired them.”
“And you can ride?”
to buck me off.”
“How about your education? What
“" All A'S, sir,
I'm no good in that.”
like a
er aga bar nt to
y mo me, sir, no
O'Donnell
The
“Same name as your father, eh?
“No, sir.”
“Well, what's the difference be-
O'Donnell of The O'Donnels?”
“A lot. The O'Donnells were chiefs
just belonged to the clan. Or maybe
they didn't.”
the famous Trish warrior, O'Donnell
Dhu.”
“Yes, sir.” So gravely did he say
He glanced at the matron.
“You meet an Irishmen like this
“Oh, yes, sir. It takes good horses
marks?”
except in algebra.
“J observe you speak up
do that. She was an O']
No relation, I hope?"
tween a plain O'Donnell and
of their clan, but the plain O’Donnels
“Then you must be descended from
it that the superintendent smiled.
chap once in a while, but very sel-
“that he resembles everything
the Clan O'Donnell. This boy is an
O'Donnel! of The O'Donnells. His name
is Patrick Aloysius Valentine and if
| you utter another reflection on his
ancestry, Mr. Helburn,
you right on the eye.”
“No, sir,” Patrick corrected him,
right on the nose.”
Mr. Helburn sat down and con-
sidered the boy. “Full o' pep, ain't
he? All right, kid, you ain't no Jew,
My mistake—sorry. Still, you ain't
just the type I'm looking for. I like
red Irish. Reds are smart an’ they
got courage. They crowd their horses
through an openin’ other boys would
be afraid to tackle. Gettin’ through
holes wins horse races.”
“Red hair and light blue eyes in
the Irish,” Patrick Aloysius spoke
| up, “are a sign of impure ancestry.
My mother told me so. She says the
| Swedes swooped down on Ireland in
‘the ninth century and left their red
“hair and light blue eyes behind them.
The O'Donnells are pure bred Celts.”
“This boy is built like a reed bird,”
Helburn commented. “I doubt if he's
got the strength to ride a tough
horse.” He got up and felt of the
boy as he would feel of a horse, run-
ning facile fingers over his skinny
arms and legs. “Small-boned,” he
murmured. “True jockey type. Slow
to take on weight. I doubt if this
shrimp will ever weigh more’'n a hun-
dred an’ ten. Lemme feel your mus-
cle, kid.”
The O'Donnell flexed his biceps,
then raised his arms and squared his
shoulder muscles,
“He's in the pink,” Helburn mur-
mured. Hit me” he commanded.
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| the supreme effort. He's got to know
which horses can be whipped an’
| which can't. An' for them reasons,
One extra box did duty as a com.
bination tack
and as sleeping quarters for Old
room and feed room,
, advice, Patrick.
Man Carmody’s Negro swipe and ex-
exercise boy.
rted their horses from track to
while Katie followed in a
son, a premier race rider just has to
be born that way, I reckon.”
The O'Donnell pygmy nodded his
comprehension. “I'll have to stand
for a lot from Mr. Helburn in order
to get the experience, Mr. Carmody.”
“Well, I'll give you one piece of
You'll never be a
premier race rider unless you're hon. '
‘est. As long as you live don't ever
Old Man Carmody and Katie trans-'
light truck made from a cutdown,
secondhand touring car. They lived
in an old Sibley army tent which, |
together with their household effects,
was carried on Katie's light truck.
They were a sweet-hearted pair of
old optimists and
followers of fortune, Both believed
men and women, the finest thing
incurable camp-'
pull a horse after he's won his first
race. O' course, in the case of a two-
year-old maiden the owner ain't anx-
ibus to show up for a while, an’
the public ain't bettin’' on, it ain't
considered a crime to fail to win
with him, even if you know you can.”
“Will Mr. Helburn expect me to
pull horses for him?”
“Well, I don't know. If he ever
gives you the leg up on somethin’,
| you'll find that out for yourself.”
that, with the exception of a few
God ever had created was a thor.
ough-bred horse.
Once in a while somebody would
give them a broken-down old mare
which Old Man Carmody would
| breed, hoping always that she would
give him a stake horse. This had
‘never happened, but God had been
"good to the extent of providing three
rather good platers. They owned a
twenty-acre farm on the California
| side of Tia Juana valley, where they
wintered their young stock and tried
out broken-down horses.
Fat old Katie Carmody did not
like Helburn because of his treat-
ment of orphan boys. She had moth-
ered too many of the waifs not to
know the sort of creature Helburn
was. She had given his last acquisi-
tion ten dollars the night before he
had run away,
' delightful dinner and for the
time in two weeks The O'Donnell had |
enough to eat. And when the dishes
had been cleared away and Katie
lad,” said Jim. “He has brains. Hel 4
fi ’ :
and for three days. or he's not
she had been expecting his successor.
“Henry Helburn's got another boy,
Jim,” she remarked on the third
night Jim came in for his supper.
“Poor brat!” old Jim murmuréd. monke
“Another redhead, I suppose?”
“No, a DPlack-head--black and
shiny as & raven's wing. Sort o' rus-
“I'll never pull a horse,’ said the
ODonnell firmly, and his host smiled. |
The strangely assorted trio had a
commenced darning her husband's
socks, Old Man Carmody produced a
flute and began to play ‘Bender-
meer's Stream.”
Valentine sang it, and Jim and Katie
were entranced.
At parting Katie put her arms
around him and pleaded: “Kiss me,
darlin’.” And he kissed her, eagerly
and without embarrassment, thank.
ed them both and betook his lonely
little self off to the hard cot in Hen-'
ry Helburn’'s tent.
“I'm going to keep an eye on that
observe an’ learn fast,
happy with the scrub Helburn.”
Henry Helburn was quick to real-
| ize he had a more than ordinarily clev-
er boy. Before the season was half
rover he was riding well and with the
set complexion, blue-black eyes an’
a high, thin nose. He has the loveli-
est teeth and the sweetest smile.
Such a dear boy! His name is Pat.
rick Aloysius Valentine O'Donnell.
He's fifteen and looks twelve, an’
weighs in at eighty-five.”
Jim Carmody knew his Irish. Hen-
ry Helburn had better look out how
he treats that boy,”
“He's never had a ‘Mac’ or an ‘O.
They're the fighting breed of Irish.”
“He came over this mornin’ an’
jaked me if I'd sew a button on for
m."”
“Here, in the chest. I want to see “1 we'll be the
how strong you are.” boy pre regular,” Jim made pre-
Mr. Helburn should have been tense of growling,
“more specific, but he was not famil-
iar with any anatomy save that of a
horse. Patrick balanced on the ball
of his left foot and punched straight.
--a blow that did not travel more
than five inches. It had snap to it;
every ounce of Patrick's eighty-five
pounds was behind it.
Helburn grunted and sat down,
| abruptly and without volition. He sat
, his face screwed in agony;
the breath had been knocked out of
‘him. The O'Donnell half faced the
superintendent and slightly closed
one eye. Cool and triumphan
t he
was, as became an O'Donnell of The
O'Donnells.
When Helburn scrambled to his!
feet he said: “Shrimp, yau're a mar-
vel. You're what's left over from a |
| half-portion but you'll do. Then to
the superintendent he announced: |
“Well, Katie retorted defiantly,
he remarked.
“what if we do? You'd be glad of a
chance to get away from Henry Hel-
burn’s cookin’ once in a while,
wouldn't you?”
Henry Helburn was thrifty and,
like the Carmodys, lived in a tent
and did his own cooking. Inasmuch
as he emplc
race- parlance for grooms), he
permitted his orphan
and presently Jim saw her
yed Negro guinneys (the |
boys to eat
‘with him and sleep in his tent, as box or
Katie knew.
Now she waddled to her little oil ror, she struck at the guinney
stove. She put a skillet on the fire a forefoot,
Patrick Aloysius looked in just in’
y Seat; when Helburn ordered
him to set a horse down for a half
mile or five eighths at a certain rate,
Patrick carried him along so close to
that rate that Helburn was delight-
ed with him.
At the summer meeting at Agua
Caliente, Helburn claimed a “sleep-
er” for a thousand dollars. He had
been watching her for two weeks; he
suspected she could step.
Sweet music was a little thing,
nervous as a witch, but affectionate,
and her reflection took the form, not
of gently nipping her handlers, but
of licking their hands like a dog. Al-
so, she was perfectly p rtioned, a
beautiful two-year-old filly. Patrick
Aloysius promptly fell in love with
her and spent all his spare time at
her box,
To the negro guinney who rubbed
her, however, the filly was just
another horse. The guinney was a
rough fellow and when his grooming
made the filly nervous, he would slap
her. From slaps he sometimes de-
scended to punching: if he was suffi-
ciently irritated, he not infrequently
kicked her.
Naturally, to the sensitive, high-
strung filly such treatment was ter-
rifying. She would cower back in her
struggle against the halter
shanks, and one morning, in her ter.
with
hit him and hurt him.
three stakes into it. Fifteen minutes time to see the negro put a twitch
later the
ted guest arrived and on her nose, hold her with his
left
deluged the Carmody's with a ravish- hand and larrup her brutally over
ing smile.
“I'm Mr. Helburn's
boy, sir,”
he announced to Jim. *
y name is and stab the
the head with a surcingle.
A to seize a pitchfork
guinney h the
“Five-year apprenticeship on con- Patrick Aloysius Valentine O'Donnell. vitals swept over Patrick Aloysius
of
|
| tract. Twenty the first month, with! Carn
board, lodgin’, medical e an’, “Welcome, son. Are Jou
‘clothing. Ten- every nell o' The O'Donnells ?”
ar.” | “Yes, sir. My mother told me to
“Suppose you sell his contract” remember it always.”
“Well, I might at that.” '
“How about ten to his
to be held in trust for the
The O'Donnell.”
a"
Hello,
do you feel after gallopin’ six horses
today 7”
“A little sore, Mrs. Carmody, but
an’ trot out his clothes, an’ we'll go. I didn't fall off once.”
‘I got a hotse in the second race at’ “Wait till you ride
Tanforan this afternoon, so lét's stirrup,” Jim warned.
scram. Remember, kid, you got to, “I'm glad ; invited me over,”
obey me an’ keep my racin’ secrets.”
tm TF feo em, J
Mr. Helburn? You can break
| contract if I don't live up to my part |
‘of it, can’t you?”
| break it if Mr.
whistling
grand ris Instantly |
sing In a lovely
song, “O'Don-
| run
an guest be-
can.”
Lf
is sounding,
Loudly the war cries arise on the
gale,
Fleetly the steeds by Lough Swill
y the by y
are »
Yo the thick squadrons on——"
on Jim intéerrupted. “That's
the thing that brought you hers!
Trumphets an’ boundin’ steeds an’
H
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“Take a seat, Patrick. Katie, here's way of being tho
darlin,” said Katie. “How ing
f
with a short | entine
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spoiled, and it occurred to Patrick
Aloysius that the filly was in a fair
spoiled. He
noted her timidity and shrink-
of late. p knew
But
‘he
But who
had
ir
the
wis
Helburn ever done
Ally ‘in a
X pon. 190
the paddock, Whither her
swipe had preceded him, to be on
her over to
soprano:
the note of the trumphet | hand to hold her while Helburn sad- dred for her.”
died ner.
She entered her box quietly,
when the guinney came up, she rear-
ed and struck at him, pulled back
and flung herself from side to side
in a of terror. Finding
herself unable to escape, she threw
herself down, }
“A cut-up in the paddock, eh?”
but
83
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Patrick Aloysius
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after, understand? Clear out with
her.”
“You and Monk go away and leave
her to me, Mr. Helburn,” Patrick
pleaded. “She likes me. I can do
things with her, I'll get her quiet in
a few minutes and lead her back to
the barn.” He glared at the Negro,
who moved away while he went up
to the filly, snapping his fingers and
murmuring words of endearment.
Presently, as she quieted a little,
he thrust out his open palm and in
anoher minute the pink tongue was
licking it. He led her home, while
Helburn followed, cursing.
When Helburn reached the barn
he found the filly, blindfolded, stand-
ing quietly while Patrick and the
guinney washed her off and blanket-
ed her. This done, Patrick cooled her
out.
That night The O'Donnell of The
O'Donnells dined again with the Car-
modys. After dinner they played cas-
sino, but presently, wearying of the!
game, Jim sat back and got out his
flute. “Sing us somethin’, Patrick,”
he urged.
“All right, sir, but first I'd like to
tell you a story.”
“All wanderin’ Irish minstrels can
tell a story as well as they can sing
a song, Out with your story, son.”
“Remember that chestnut filly,
Sweet Music, that Mr. Helburn
claimed last week? She's a sleeper.”
“Yes. How did he get onto that
filly?"
“They never let her all out in the
mornings when the doctors were at
the rail, but one Sunday afternoon,
iwhen they thought nobody was
(around the track except guinneys,
they got her out and set her down
for six furlongs with Gunner's mate.”
“Sweet Music lost him
quarter pole. The eighth in eleven,
| at the quarter in twenty-four and a
| fifth, and three-eighths in thirty-four
‘and a fifth, the half in forty-six, the
| five eighths in fifty-nine and finish-
ing in one-twelve and a fifth. They're
| running six furlongs at this track
in one-thirteen and a fifth to four-
teen and a half. When I saw the
horse out on the track I thought
| they were going to work her as fast
as she could go, and I ran and call-
|ed Mr. Helburn, who got the watch
| on her. So he knew she was a ‘slee
er,’ and that they'd been pulling her
in all her races except that first
| maiden race she won by a nose. Then
| they dropped her out of her class,
' knowing she'd trot in but never
anybody would claim her.
“Mr. Helburn bet her heavily away
from the track and claimed her when
she won. He couldn't get one of his
own horses entered in the race with
her and he nearly went crazy be-'
cause, unless he was owner in the
race, he couldn't claim. So finally he
‘bought an old skate that was enter-
ed-—and claimed Sweet Music. And
today, when he entered Sweet Music
‘in the first race she
after the field started parading to
the post.”
“There's a good horse,” Jim opin-
at the
P- lend you the twenty to bet.
was scratched
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3 ki!
Said Jim Carmody in awed tones:
“Bles my mildewed heart! Patrick
Aloysius Valentine O'Donnell, wasn't
it your duty to tell this to ybur
employer? It was one o' his secrets.”
“And I kept it,” The O’Donneii
shrilled. “He's broken his contract
with me. He wouldn't buy me riding
trousers or boots; I have to beg for
my wages and he's two weeks over-
due on this month's pay. He's no
good. He's no gentleman and an
O'Donnell can't associate with him.
I'm through.”
“Where you think you're goin’,
son?”
Katie reached over and cuffed Jim
on the side of the head. “To our tack
room, you old idiot,” she snapped,
“And Sweet Music'll be entered in
your name in the twenty-five-hun-
dred-dollar stake for two-year-old
fillies next Saturday. The stake
closes tomorrow and the starting
fee is twenty-five dollars. The nom-
ination fee is ten. Nominate Sweet
Music tomorrow. You're her trainer.”
“Who'll ride on her?” }
“Ride, me,’ The O'Donnell pleaded.
“I guess I can ride my own horse,
can't I? And I'll get the five pound
apprentice allowance in the wi ts.”
“Good gracious!” said Jim, “She'll
get in with ninety pounds. We'll fix
it for you, Patrick. All you'll have
to do will be to get her off on top an’
keep her there.”
“With Patrick up—an exercise boy
of three months’ ridin’ experience
nobody will look at her,” Katie
shrilled. “Jim, we'll empty the old
sock to bet on her,” We'll play The
O'Donnell 0° The O'Donnells, This
boy is too smart to lose.”
“I've got four hundred and thirty
dollars left and I'll have twenty more
‘when Henry Helburn pays me in the
morning,” said The O'Donnell. ‘I'm
going to bet it all on her nose.”
“How do you know he's goin’ to
pay you?”
“Because I'll lick him to death if
he doesn't, Fiat justitia, ruat coe-
lum,” The O'Donnell cried hotly.
“What's that foreign language
you're talkin'?"
“Latin. It's the motto of Clan
O'Donnell. It means, “Justice
the heavens fall.” ha :
“Say it again,” Katie begged, and
| kept mumbling the phrase over and
over.
, “Lordy, boy, I'd hate to be your
enemy,” Jim soothed humorously.
“Well, don't ask him in the mornin’.
Wait until after the race. He might
make trouble over your contract. I'll
Sweet
think we're all as t
| Music.”
In the morning Jim led Sweet
Music over to his own barn. Henry
Helburn gazed after him. *
old fool on this circuit,” he remark-
ed to Patrick Al us, and smiled
at the boy. y,” I thought you
had dark blue eyes, but they're
black as my hat now.”
| “Mr. Carmody is my friend, Don't
you call him an old fool, Mr. Hel-
burn. I won't stand for it.” :
“Oh, no? Well, he is an old foel,
ja, Yat are you goin’ to do about
t? £4 :
“You wait and see,” dnd The
O'Donnell moved off, fearing to trust
himself.
crazy as
“Yes, T heard all about that, Pat.
rick. Helburn knows why they drop-
“ped her into a thousand-dollar claim-
in’ race, They didn't care if she was
claimed, T suppose, after they had
cleaned up on her. I bet they more
than won the vixen out, an’ now
,Helburn's stuck with her. I'm glad
of it!”
to the first man who offers him a
couple of hundred dollars for her.”
“I wouldn't have her in my barn
for a gift, Patrick. By the way, how
did you know the time she ran that
'trial six furlongs in? I'll bet a new
Mrs. Carmody invited me to dinner.” | Valentine O'Donnell. In three months hat Helburn didn't tell you.”
an O'Don- he had learned that of all horses
| “No,” said The O' +. “he
didn’t. I looked over his shoulder.”
| “An’ you remembered her time
for each furlong?"
| “Yes, sir. Didn't you tell me once
a jockey had to have a clock in his
DO? rick hy didn't come
“ , wi y ’ you
‘over and let me in on the good
| thing ?” ki Ya
i Wo that would have been oetray-
ling my employer's secret, Mr. Car-
dy.”
SE
TOT a ane ln
’ m -
got bet 4 Sweet Music the day he
‘claimed her,” The O'Donnell confid-
ed. “Was that wrong of me, Mr.
Carmody ?"
“No; you had a perfect right to do
80,
“I had thirty dollars saved from
‘my first three month's pay and I
(pet it on her nose in the machines
| Got eighteen to one for my money. |
| I've got it with me. Henry Helburn's
| over in his tent—and now's the time
‘to buy Sweet Music. Please buy her | DY
| for me. Offer him up to five hun-
Jim looked at Katie. “The O'Don-
|nell,” he said “has bats in his bel-
i 0
| “The O'Donnell,” said Katie, “is
| more than nine years old an’ knows
his way around. Go over an’ buy
| Sweet Music for him. An’ get her
cheap as you can.”
“Please,” Patrick Aloysius plead-
i
“Mr. Helburn’s so sore he got)
drunk tonight. He'll sell Sweet Music
{ “I say he's an old fool,” Helburn
Salled after ihe, box: “an’ you know
why I say it? Because he's bought
‘that mad hatter of a filly an he
‘wants you to ride her’ in the handi-
cap on Saturday. An’ I'm goin’ to
let you. I never argue with a fool.”
Henry Helburn was down at the
dock to see the fun when Jim
Finody ould try to saddle Sweet
usic. To h ent he fi
1
her : ng quietly in the box. Then
ke tes ng bel Far ‘nd Bach
Aloysius Valentine nell fllew
| down from the jockey room and
‘danced around like a dickey bird
while the valet ansled Jim the num-
. bered leclo! t
Es
M
‘weigh
a dle. The iy
‘merely yawne Jim cinched her.
| “How'd you o get her en-
| tered, Jim?” Helburn asked.
| Old Man Carmody smiled like a
: . “You ought to
know any horse that the paddock
| judge or starter bars from overnight
ron,
cap, A . 4
uy a tten,” Helburn mumbled.
i t did you give her—soothin”
om
“Only kind words, Henry— an’ if
| that big dinge guinney o' yours had
done that, instead o' beatin’ her
with a surcingle, she wouldn't have
gone crazy with fear at the sight o’
”
H Helburn made a grab for
The Il. “You Irish rat” he
snarled, “why didn't you tell me
| that?”
“Why didn't you live up to your
contract?” The O'Donnell snarled
back. ;
The dock judge came briskly
. “Put your boys up, put your
boys up,” he was re . He
paused in front of Sweet Music. “By
George, Jim, you were right about
| this filly. She's a perfect lamb.”
| Henry Helburn appeared about to
burst into tears when Jim Carmody
tossed The O'Donnell up on the filly
and she went prancing out. Sitting
there like a monkey on her withers
Patrick Aloysius Valentine O'Donnell,
(Continued on page 3, Col. 4.)