John C. Hutcheson

Summary

John C. Hutcheson Young Tom Bowling

Jenny smiled.
“What,” said she—“a monkey?”
“No, Miss Jenny,” replied Mick, grinning, while Jocko chattered in sympathetic glee. “He ain’t a monkey at all, at all. Sure, he’s what I calls a Saint Michael’s canary!”
This was a settler for all of them; father leaning back in his chair and holding his sides, while mother and Jenny enjoyed the joke as much as we could both wish, ‘Ally Sloper’ adding to the merriment of us all by shrieking out at intervals alternately, “Say-rah! Say-rah!” and “Blest if I don’t have a smoke!” in father’s very own voice.
Source: Gutenberg

John C. Hutcheson Young Tom Bowling

Like a thunderclap, sharp, sudden, and rolling through the air with a concussion that shook the very ground under our feet, a murderous volley belched forth from our square, mowing down the Arabs as with the swath of a mower’s scythe, the mass of on-rushing, howling, swarthy Somalis sinking down to the ground, overborne by the avalanche of shot and shell we hurled at them; for, the rifles of us men, the guns of Mr Shrapnell’s battery, the revolvers of the officers, and the Maxim, all spoke at once and together.
Source: Gutenberg

John C. Hutcheson Young Tom Bowling

He was on duty at the gangway, when one of the new chaps, who, like Larrikins, had a great bent for practical skylarking, went to him with a smug face, as innocent as you please.
“I say, sir,” said he, in a tone of the deepest sympathy, “don’t you feel werry tired, sir, a-standing theer so long?”
“Aye, my son,” replies old Jellybelly, thinking to himself, no doubt, that the chap showed wonderful good feeling for a boy; he regarding them all as a rule, not without reason probably, as imps of mischief. “It is rather tiring sometimes. I feels it in my bones and all down my legs.”
Source: Gutenberg

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