Tarry Flynn Read Online Free PDF

countryside was listening to his vile suggestion.
    â€˜Hello,’ answered Molly. Her hello was a wild animalistic cry.
    â€˜Fierce great weather, Molly,’ said Tarry, going towards the edge of the stream.
    â€˜I’m looking for a nest of oul’ eggs,’ said Molly with a pout of bitterness which was aimed at some hens unknown, ‘and bad luck from the same hens how well it’s here they have to come to lay. How’s your mother?’
    â€˜Damn to the bother, Molly. They wouldn’t by any chance be laying on this side of the drain. Do you know what it is, Molly, I kind-a thought I saw one making a nest on this side.’
    Molly was standing in the rushes with her legs wide apart and the pot-stick stuck between them, like a witch ready to take off on her broom. Tarry in his mind was crouching nearer his prey. If he could get her out on this side of the stream he would have the battle three-quarters won. But first he had to make his escape sure. If she started to screech what excuse would he make? Would he be able to pass the thing over as a joke?
    Suddenly he realized that this game would take hours to develop. The game wasn’t worth the trouble. That was it; any man could have any woman provided he was willing to be patient. He decided to put the affair off until some other time. Molly would be liable to be visiting Flynn’s house one of these nights and he’d have a better chance if he waited and waylaid her as she went home alone through the meadows.
    As he reasoned to himself – sure, good God, a man would be mad to try a thing like that on in the middle of the day.
    When Molly went on her way and Tarry was halfway up the drill he remembered the technique which always worked in his daydreams. It would work in real life, too, if be had the gumption to put it to the test.
    â€˜I’m the two ends of a gulpin,’ he said aloud to himself.
    And all through that day he kept cursing himself for his cowardice.
    At tea-time in Flynn’s the mother was chastising Bridie, and Bridie was not behind-hand in replying in similar coinage. The argument which was well under way when Tarry entered, had been started by Bridie, who accused her mother of going about with a face on her like the bottom of a pot.
    â€˜Go lang, ye scut, ye,’ said the mother, ‘how dar ye say a thing like that to me.’
    â€˜Oh nobody can talk to you,’ said Bridie with a pout, ‘if a person only opens their mouth ye ait the face off them.’
    â€˜The divil thank ye and thump ye, Bridie, ye whipster, ye. Your face is scrubbed often enough and the damn to the much you’re making of it. I could be twice married when I was your age.’
    â€˜A wonder ye didn’t make a better bargain.’
    â€˜Arra what?’ the mother was rising in her anger, ‘arra what? Is it making little of your poor father – the Lord have mercy on him – ye are? May bad luck to ye into hell and out of it for a tinker that… Go out one of yez and bring in a lock of sticks for the fire… Oh a brazen tinker, if ever there was one. Oh a family of daughters is the last of the last. Half of the time painting and powdering and it would take a doctor’s shop to keep them in medicine.’
    â€˜Will ye shut up.’
    â€˜I will not shut up. There’s that poor fella there (Tarry) and he didn’t get a drop of tay and him tired working in the field all day. Go now and put on the kettle, Bridie, and make him his tay.’
    â€˜He’ll die, poor chap, if he doesn’t get his tay. Nothing for the mother here only the big fella. There’s no talk of making tay for us when we come in. And we’re doing more than him.’
    â€˜What are yez doing? what are yez doing? I don’t see much of your work… How did ye get on the day, Tarry?’
    â€˜Nearly finished.’
    â€˜Ye shouldn’t try to do a bull-dragging day. Isn’t there more