“Yes.”
“And still farther along Saint Timothy?”
“Yes.”
“Young man,” demanded the Irishman, “since whin did all thim turn Protestant?”
§ 298 In One of His Tamer Moments
Fred Kelly, the writer, was standing on a street corner in Cleveland waiting for a car. A small man, densely grown up in whiskers and with a mild manner and a diffident way of speaking, sidled up to him.
“Excuse me,” he said, “are you acquainted with this town?”
“More or less,” said Kelly.
“Well,” said the stranger, “maybe you can tell me, then, where the street fair is going on.”
It so chanced that Kelly knew the location where a carnival company was holding forth for the week, and he gave the directions for reaching the spot. Then, as the little meek-looking man started off, Kelly was moved to put a question on his own account: