A Long Way to Cork
THEY were spelling in the shade of a bush fence, or pile of cut scrub, or something, and Pat O'Brien had a place that ought've bin covered by his pants, or a patch; and it was in the sun with Pat's outlying regions. And Dave Regan had a burning glass. Whispered Dave to his mate lazily—
"I'll pop the glass onter Pat, Joe, an' when he jumps you jump too, an' yell 'Snake!'"
"Uh-um," murmured Joe, and he reached carelessly for a new axe handle, which he fingered abstractedly.
Joe rolled over very lazily on to his elbow, and applied the glass like a magnifying glass to a common print.
In a little while Pat got up like a nervous horse that had thought it was miles away from man, and alone, till suddenly yelled at. And his language was bad about bull-dog ants. But at the same time, almost, Joe jumped up, yelled "Snake!" and started to slash the bushes with the axe handle.
"Beggod, boys," said Pat, "I'm bit!"
They were all up now.
"I'm bit, boys; an' where ye can't tie it!"
