“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!”