mposed a picture
of unutterable woe, his wide mouth drawn mournfully down at the
corners, his forehead wrinkled in perplexity. Somewhat to the right of
these two more central figures, the young Mexican girl contributed a
touch of brightness, lolling against the bank in graceful relaxation,
her black eyes aglow with scarcely repressed merriment. However the
existing controversy may have originated, it had already attained a
stage for the display of considerable temper.

"Now, ye see here, Swanska," growled the thoroughly aroused Irishman
vehemently. "It's 'bout enough Oi 've heard from ye on that now. Thar
's r'ason in all things, Oi 'm tould, but Oi don't clarely moind iver
havin' met any in a Swade, bedad. Oi say ye 're nothin' betther than a
dommed foreigner, wid no business in this counthry at all, at all,
takin' the bread out o' the mouths of honest min. Look at the Oirish,
now; they was here from the very beginnin'; they 've fought, bled, an'
died for the counthry, an' the loikes o' ye comes in an' takes their
jobs. Be hivins, it 's enough to rile the blood. What's the name of
ye, anny how?"

"Ay ban Nels Swanson."

"Huh! Well, it's little the loikes o' ye iver railly knows about
names, Oi 'm thinkin'. They tell me ye don't have no proper, dacent
names of yer own over in Sweden,--wherever the divil that is, I
dunno,--but jist picks up annything handy for to dhraw pay on."

"It ban't true."

"It's a loiar ye are! Bad cess to ye, ain't Oi had to be bunk-mate wid
some o' ye dhirty foreigners afore now? Ye 're _sons_, the whole kit
and caboodle o' ye--Nelsons, an' Olesons, an' Swansons, an' Andersons.
Blissed Mary! an' ye call them things names? If ye have anny other
cognomen, it's somethin' ye stole from some Christian all unbeknownst
to him. Holy Mother! but ye ought to be 'shamed to be a Swade, ye
miserable, slab-sided haythen."

"My name ban Swanson; it ban all right, hey?"

"Swanson! Swanson! Oh, ye poor benighted, ignorant foreigner!" and
Mike straightened up, slapping his chest proudly. "Jist ye look at me,
now! Oi'm an O'Brien, do ye moind that? An O'Brien! Mother o' God!
we was O'Briens whin the Ark first landed; we was O'Briens whin yer
ancestors--if iver ye had anny--was wigglin' pollywogs pokin' in the
mud. We was kings in ould Oireland, begorry, whin ye was a mollusk, or
maybe a poi-faced baboon swingin' by the tail. The gall of the loikes
of ye to call yerselves min, and dhr