“Beyond a doubt.”
“And thot little fella David and thot big slob Goliath—thim also, you think?”
“Surely.”
“And Brian Boru and Oliver Cromwell?”
“Of course, they will.”
“And the A.P.A.’s and the A.O.H.’s?”
“Naturally.”
“Father,” said the parishioner, “there’ll be dom little judgin’ done the first day.”
§ 50 Calling a Spade a Spade
A Christmas entertainment was being planned in a remote Nevada town. The affair was to take place at the church, and the local Sunday school superintendent, a mild and gentle man, with a temperamental Adam’s apple and an aggravated habit of wearing white string ties on week days, had charge. Up until the eleventh hour it looked as though the manager of the show must depend exclusively upon home talent in making up the bill. But late in the afternoon of Christmas eve, as though directed by Providence, a shabby stranger dropped off a passing freight train carrying a slender instrument case under his arm. He sought out the superintendent, introduced himself—modestly—as a distinguished musician on tour and volunteered to take part in the night’s program. Delighted at having enlisted a visiting star from out of the East, the superintendent assigned him the place of honor.