Just while I was interviewing the contractor the other morning, who should come along but Moriarty.
The foreman was mad clean through, and I thought only Reddy's ready Irish could save him from a hauling over the coals.
It did the same, by the powers.
"Nine o'clock!" snarled the foreman, "what d'yer mean by coming at this time of day? It's a wonder a man of your independence troubles himself about coming at all. Now, then, what's your excuse?"
Moriarty considered a moment, and at last the excuse came.
"Sure, sor," he said, "I dramed last night I was at a baseball match, betwane the giants and the Champions, that ended in a tie. So the umpire ordered extra innings to be played, and, begorra, sor, I only stopped to see the finish!"
Moriarty was once a pilot.
"Faith," says he to me, "time was when I piloted all kinds of ships into harbor, but I've redooced it all down to a system, and the only sort I take over the bar now is schooners sor."
