Kelly, O’Skelly, McGinnis, McGinn.
Pat came to the wake. He walked up to the bier and looking at the remains of his buddie, Mike, he burst out laughing. He was prompt-hustled out of the room by many strong hands and when he got his breath he explained: Well, you see, the last time I talked with Mike he argied with me that there wasn’t no heaven and there wasn’t no hell, and I couldn’t kape from laffin’ when I see him lyin’ there all dressed up and no where to go.
Two Irishmen were on a ship coming over to America. One night Mike awoke Pat and said, Pat, get up quick, the ship is sinking. Pat said, what do we care? It’s not ours.
The little Irishman was being examined for admission to the army. He seemed all right in every way except one. The doctor said, you’re a little stiff. Quickly the Irish blood mounted as the applicant replied, You’re a big stiff!
R. Hinton Perry, the sculptor, is responsible for the following story of the scrublady who cares for his studio.