Satarday
My dress is home. A Great Temptation came over me to shove it under the copper. I would have done it, only I knew it would not be the act of a Christian boy.
Tusday
We had a practise at the Hall. Not in our Ball cloths, but just in our school cloths. We had to march round in fours, then in twos and then in ones. I would much rather have been at school, doing sums and getting them rong and having Sister Pawl finding forlt with me all the time. The girls enjoyed it. They marched about with their heads in the air, and passed remarks about us. That Mary Dacey said I was out of step. I bet she was. And she told Dickie to tell me she wouldn't dance with me at the Ball. As if I'd let her. None of them need think I'd dance with them. I'll be a show enough without dancing about with girls.
The Ball is to-morrow night. I think I'll run away.
It isn't a bit fair having to go to a Fancy Dress Ball when you don't want to go.
Thursday
It's over.
Everything passes. The saints tell us that we should be patient and enjure trials and trubbles, for they pass away. Everything passes away on this earth. God only is changeless. That's on the card Sister AIlerwishes gave me for my birthday. Sister printed it and painted the picture. It's st. Tereesa's Book Mark.
The Ball was Terrible while it lasted. I never felt so uncomfitible in my life. Everything passes right enough; but it seems a long, long time while its passing. It's over, thank God, and I hope the nuns won't want any money for a long time. They must have got hundreds of two shillings last night. If they do want more money, I hope the Ladys' Cummittea will get it some other way next time-not by a silly ole Ball.
I did not run away that night.
Mum dressed me up.
I felt as if I were being got ready for the jail or for the cold grave, not for a seen of mirth and festivitty.
Mum said: "Don't have that hangdog look, Michael! Hold the book like this, as if you were absawbed in it.”
My father laughed at me. It is not fair! Parints have no rite to laugh at their children. It is their jooty to provide for them and bring them up in the fear and love of God. The catickism says nothing about parints having a right to make a holey show of their poor' children and then laugh at them after its done.
However, my father must have seen the abjeckt mizery in my eyes.
"Oh, mother, take those togs off and let the poor kid go as Mickey Daley" he said kindly.
My heart leapt with hope. I put my hands up to the collar to undo the retched thing.
"Michael!" my mother cried. So my hands came down, and so did my heart. My mother is a very determined woman. I had to go to that Ball as something. I did not like cullers and pretty stuffs, so I must go as a Professir in my black gown . My mother is generally a kind woman to everyone. You would not think she could be so cruil to her only child.
So we set off-the three of us. Six good shillings to buy mizery for me.
I did not speak all the way - I was dumb with misery - until my mother said:
"Michael, don't sulk."
"I'm not," I said.
My father made jokes and told me about all the Balls he had to go to when he was little, and how he was dressed in silk and satin and made a show of for some good corze or other.
"I'll bet it was always for the nuns," I said.
"I believe it was."
"Or for the unfortchinit orphans. They don't have to go to it, all the same. I wish I were an orphan."
"Michael! " my mother cried.
"Steady up, son," my father said.
"I wish I'd break my leg-then I couldn't go."
"Oh, Michael. That's wicked.”
"I've a good mind to run away now.”
Mother grabbed my arm- just like a pleeceman- and father grabbed the other.
That's how I arrived at the Ball, just as if I had broken the lors of the country and been arrested.
I know I was very wicked. But I couldn't feel sorry just then.
You never saw such a sight. You never heard such a noise. A millyin kids all dressed up, and all talking at once, it seemed like. I did not know half the boys and girls. They looked so different.
A big girl was dressed up as Mary Queen of Scots, and my mother said she looked beautiful. A little Kinder. girl was a doll in a box. She looked just like a doll. Freddie Croft was running about saying some giberish, and pretending it was blacks language. He was enjoying himself. He was in his bare feet - blackened, of corse-and had a torn shirt and ole pants on. 3 boys went as swaggies. They looked all right. But their dogs took the middle of the Hall and had a fite. The lady judges screamed. It was hard work getting the dogs to stop the fite. A little boy was a jockey. He was about five years old, and looked grate. He had a little satin jacket and riding britches, and a little cap and whip. He carried a tiny saddle- a little bute of a saddle, only big enough for a goat's back. The boy had "Hall Mark" printed on a ribbon across his chest. He got a prize, and I was glad. He de-served it.
Jim Brennan looked good as Don Bradman. His big brother was dressed as a cricketeer, to. But he had his, arm in a sling, and one leg in a sling, and he had crutchers, and his head bandaged and blue marks all over his face. "Larwood's Leavings" was printed on him.
Mary Dacey was dressed as an Ijipshin Princess, all pearls all over her. Didn't she show off. Rosie Moran was an Old Time Ladye, and my mother said she looked sweet.
Tom Dacey was lucky. He was dressed as an American nigger 'and had a banjoe. Erin the Tea; and Erin the Smile looked nice, and got a good clap, There was a big girl as the "Far East" and another as Moreen, and a big boy from the Brothers' was the Twin. The little kiddies looked nice. I think I looked the most mizeribble, although I saw other poor chaps going about with dejeckted faces, espeshilly the ones who were dressed up in cullered cloths. Poor Mauri was an Indian Prince, and was not enjoying himself. A boy dressed as Prince Charming looked very unhappy, and another one, a Royilist, with a feathered hat, looked as if he were at his own funeril. Birlington Bertie had an eye-glass and gloves and a high hat and a walking-stick and a little black merstash. He looked nearly as mizerible as I did.
Mother whispered to me: "Don't look so gloomy, Michael."
"I'm not," I said,
Everyone, even Father Dale and Father Ryan, asked me to spell words and to tell them the Latin or the Greek for words. They all made fun of me.
There was a supper, but it was no good. Who could eat dressed up like a silly old goat in a long, black gown and a black cap and big glasses? I couldn't.
Well, it came to an end at last.
They call me Professir Daley at school now. Even Father Dale and Father Ryan do it. You would think they would spare me. Father Ryan asked me something about Arrah Stotil. I don't know what he was talking about.
Tom Dacey got hold of my notebook and wrote in it: Professor M. J. Daley, B.M.. Teacher of Fancy Dancing.
I just tore it out and suffered in silence. I hope that was a penance for my sins. I need to do some penince. I have got into bad ways with that Ball. I said dreadful things to my parints - about wishing to be an orphin and wishing to break my leg and going to run away. I am ashamed when I think of it. I'm afraid I broke the 4th Commandmint by not showing respect to my parints.
Arh, my diery. I have a pang of conshince. I have not been working hard against my faults trying to get ready for St. Columban's. I have been grumbling and showing disrespeckt to my good parints just because I was proud and did not want to be made a show of at the Ball. It was just my pride. And I blamed it on to my poor parints and I blamed it on to the poor nuns.
The nuns want money, goodness knows, they do. They wear old black habits with patches on them. They never have pretty shoes like other ladys. And I grudjed going to the Ball for them. I'm a meen, dispickible fellow. I heard my father say a man down our street is a despickible fellow. I know I must be it.
Friday
One good eyetim to kronickil. Freddie Croft is coming to our school on Munday. I hope that Sister Pawl will not frightin him away after all my hard work to get him. He can do as he likes. If he wants to leave he'll leave all right. He's a weak Catholic. They are a new since to the Church. The poor pagans are worth working for, but weak-need, milk-and-watery Catholics are a past. I heard a Missioner say so. And I know it is true. That Freddie Croft has been more trubble to me than 3 poor pagan Chinamen would have been, I'm sure.
But they have souls, these milk-and-watery Catholics, and that's what Missioners and Lay Apostils are for-to save souls. I hope Freddie won't nick off again to the state School when Sister Pawl comes down good and hard on him for something. His faith will be strengthened at our school, and he will not be milk-&-watery then. I must pray for him to get strong faith.
Me! Wish to goodness someone would pray for me to live up to my faith. I talk about poor, old Freddie - and then I go and fall back into my bad ways.
Another good eyetim:
Sister Allerwishes is going to teach me the Latin for serving Mass.
(To be continued)