Adventure, February 1917 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BIRD was crying on the White Rock Strand. Small Jackie M’Neill, running home in the windy dusk by a short cut from the Bushmills Road, heard the crying. ““Mither,” he said, when he reached the reeking little house in Bazaar Street, ‘‘there was a boord greetin’ to itself by the strand —a geyan queer one.” “What like did it greet?’ asked the old fishwife. “Like this,” said Jackie, counterfeiting skilfully. His mother looked at him strangely. “Dade, that was no boord,” she said. “That would be to be a wumman.” “A wumman, out her lane in the sand- hills, comin’ on dark, and it spittin’ to rain!” “Ay,” said the fishwife, reaching forward for the slung pot in the chimney. “A wumman,” repeated Jackie, his eyes large with curiosity. ‘Have ye ever heard the like?” “Ay haveI. Give me the muckle spoon.”’ “Mither, what for do they be yelly-hooin’ like that?” “Because their man has gone away and left them.” y Februar eA 91°C) ey me) atsice Grimshaw “Will he come back when they greet?” “Na.” “Mither—it cudna be the wumman I saw, an’ I crossin’ the burn. She ran intae the hills—but she had a pairty dress on her, an’ dimons or somethin’ in her neck. She wud be from the big hotel.” “When it’s men an’ women, the quality in the big hotel is like the lave of us.” ‘“‘Aren’t people always men and women, mither?”’ “Na! Thank God. Hold yer whisht, an’ put yer plate on the table.” “Ts it mate an’ pitaties both, mither? Oh, mither!”’ “It is. Fill yer mouth, and shut it.” =) EVERY golfer in the United King- =<2z} dom knows the station of Portrush, that wide, gusty hill above the green Atlantic. There were red coats and Done- gal tweeds there by the score, in the fresh chill of the Autumn evening. Brown bags of clubs were being handed into carriages; . nailed boots clinked along the asphalt. Small Jackie M’Neill, again on the prowl, saw something that interested him among the sporting crowd. “Mither, aw, mither!”’ he chattered, as 0)(6)(6) (C@)