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Isn't it time to stop this travelin', | for it dark and the child shiverin'?
"Ha, ha," says I.
Get along with ya, ya lazy devils. | I'll be layin' me whip on your backs.
Chicago will not be movin'...
I'll not be held back | by your tongue.
"I'll rest there tonight," | I said to myself.
The hub. Yes, the hub | of the country...
fillin' all | this prairie land...
and you boys | living to see it.
Come on. | Get along with ya.
Look, Pa. | It's a train.
Come on, Pa. | Let's race her.
By the twinklin' stars | of heaven, I will.
- Come on, boys. | - You'll do no such.
Go on, Pa! | You can lick it!
Whoa! Whoa there!
Hold on, boys! | Whoa, boy. Whoa there.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
- Pat. Pat! | - Pa.
Pat. Jack, | fix the water, quick.
Dion, my petticoat, | tear it.
- Ma. | - Shh!
Dion, take off your coat | and put it under his head.
- Is he hurt bad? | - How should I be knowin'?
That's enough. | Dion, get the whiskey.
Never mind me. | Are the rest unharmed?
'Twas me own fault | and no other.
Ain't it the devil's | own doin', though...
to be draggin' me down and then | bumping the life out of me?
Just when the smell | of Chicago's in me nose.
and mind what | I have to say.
'Tis a grand new place, | this Chicago.
And them that grow with it | will be rich and strong...
'Tis a boom, | and you'll boom with it.
Someday you'll be | fine, big men...
a credit to me name...
and how they grew up with the city | and put their mark on it.
You're wastin' yourself, Patrick. | You with your fine talk.
It's me last breath I'm usin', | and I'll have me say.
- Help me put him in the wagon. We've got to find a doctor. | - No.
No, it's no use.
Just bury me here...
and let Chicago | come to me...
that couldn't come to it.
- Patrick. | - Ma!
Holy Mary, Mother of God, | help my Pat rest in peace...
him that was so restless on Earth, | for he was a good man...
for all his fine | ambitions.
And if there ever was to be food | to be got or shelter...
But I need not | be tellin' you all this...
who know it better | than I do.
Get the horses ready, | boys.
Someday, I'll be | sendin' the priest...
Ma, I'll | take care of ya.
Sure, Ma, we'll | take care of ya.
Hush it, | the both of you.
Get in the wagon.
- It's a job I'm looking for first. | - Look!
There's a theater.
Maybe I could get | to be an actor.
You an actor, and your father | not cold in his grave.
School, at my age.
I won't be a minute away.
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"In Old Chicago" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 18 Feb. 2020. <https://www.scripts.com/script/in_old_chicago_10721>.