Mrs. Nora Mulvaney met her old friend, Mrs. Bridget Carr, carrying in her
arms her twelfth child.
“Arrah, now, Bridget,” said Nora, “an’ there ye are wid another little
Carr in yer arms.”
“Another it is, Mrs. Mulvaney,” replied her friend, “an’ I’m hopin’ ’tis
the caboose.”
* * * * *
Mike sat busily engaged in copying the names of the male population of
the immediate vicinity. His good wife, noting the apparent industry of
her lord, asked what he was doing.
“Begorra, an’ it’s wroitin’ the names o’ the min phwat Oi kin lick, so Oi
am!” he exclaimed.
A few minutes later the woman put on her shawl and went to Pat O’Leary’s
humble home, where she informed Pat that she saw his name on the list.
Without waiting to don his coat, O’Leary sallied forth in search of Mike,
who was found still engaged at the list.
“Moike,” said Pat, in a tone that sounded like the thunders of heaven,
“they say as how yez air makin’ a lisht o’ the felleys yez kin lick an’
thot me name’s on it.”
“An’ so ’tis,” retorted Mike.
“But, rist yer sowl,” exclaimed Pat, shaking his fist close to Mike’s
proboscis, “yez can’t do it!”
“Thin I’ll scratch yer name off,” said Mike, feebly, and he continued
adding to the list.
* * * * *
An old widdy woman went to the undertaker’s to order a coffin for her
deceased husband.
“He was very, very good to me,” she said,“and I’ll have a coffin of the
best yellow pine.”
“Yes, madam. That’ll be $14,” said the undertaker. “And what kind of
trimmings will you have on the coffin?’ ’
“Trimmin’s!” cried the widdy woman. “And right well ye know, ye spalpeen,
that I’ll have no trimmin’s at all, when it was the trimmin’s that the
poor lad died of, bad luck to ’em!”
* * * * *
Mistress—“You don’t seem to know anything about finger-bowls, Norah. Did
they not have them at the last place where you worked?”
Maid—“No, ma’am. They usually washed themselves before they came to the
table.”
* * * * *