Do you know, said the foreman, that we start a house here in the morning and it’s finished and a tenant in it before evening.
That’s all you can do, is it? Well, said Pat, in Ireland we start a house in the morning and the landlord is evicting the tenant for back rent before evening.
Strange as it may seem, there is a public man in this city who is blessed or cursed with a tender conscience that worries him in small matters as well as in great. Among the things that he cannot justify to himself is the bidding a servant to say he is not at home when, in reality, he is inside his house. At the same time he is not able to receive the many visitors who call upon him, and his only recourse was to give instructions that polite excuses should be given to a maid, an Irish girl, gifted with the readiness and good-will of her nation.
Then I’m to be saying, sir, that you’re not at home? the maid inquired.
No, Mary, no! was the reply; that would not be true. If anyone should ask for me, you must just put him off—give him some evasive answer, you know.
I’ll do it, sir, never fear, was the maid’s reply. Mary was as good as her word.
That afternoon a person of importance made his appearance, and was duly sent away. The faithful maid reported the circumstance to her employer.
What did you do, Mary? inquired the latter with some trepidation.