“No,” said Pat, “only par-rt of a suit.”
“What part?”
“The sleeves iv the vest!”
O’Brien died, and at the wake his friends got filled up with good whiskey. They finally took O’Brien’s body down to Kelly’s saloon and sat it in a chair at a table and drank his health. After several rounds they left the place, forgetting O’Brien’s body, which they left sitting at the table where they had placed it. Kelly wanted to close up, so he walked over to O’Brien and shook him, trying to wake him up. Failing in his efforts to arouse him, he became angry, and securing a club from behind the bar, smashed O’Brien over the head with it. O’Brien fell to the floor, and just at that moment his friends came back to get the corpse, having remembered him. They pretended to be horrified, and charged Kelly with having killed O’Brien with a club. “You’ve murdered him in cold blood,” said one of the gang. “You’re a liar,” said Kelly, “he pulled a razor on me first.”
OLD FRIENDS.
“I tell you,” said Pat, “the ould friends are the best, after all, and I can prove it.”
“How?”