A poor lady the other day hastened to the nursery and said to her little
daughter:
"Minnie, what do you mean by shouting and screaming? Play quietly, like
Tommy. See, he doesn't make a sound."
"Of course he doesn't," said the little girl. "That is our game. He is
papa coming home late, and I am you."
The stranger advanced toward the door. Mrs. O'Toole stood in the doorway
with a rough stick in her left hand and a frown on her brow.
"Good morning," said the stranger politely. "I'm looking for Mr.
O'Toole."
"So'm I," said Mrs. O'Toole, shifting her club over to her other hand.
TIM--"Sarer Smith (you know 'er--Bill's missus), she throwed herself
horf the end uv the wharf larst night."