“Well, it seems this Irishman was standing on a scaffolding, laying bricks,” commenced Tom, “and while thinking of something else he stepped back a little too far, and fell off. He landed with an awful thud, and a friend who happened to be near ran to his assistance.
“‘Mike, me poor bye, are yez dead?’ he asked.
“Mike’s eyelids fluttered. ‘Oi am,’ he said.
“‘Shure, and Oi think you’re lyin,’ said Pat.
“‘That proves Oi’m dead,’ says Mike, ‘fer if Oi wuz alive, you’d be scared to call me a liar.’”
The boys could not help laughing, and Steve expressed his belief that the story was O. K.
“I don’t think your jokes are half as bad as these two Indians say they are,” declared Steve.
“They couldn’t be half as bad as that,” said Tom, laughing ruefully. “They’d be terrible jokes if they were.”
“Well, you can try it on the rest of the gang, if you want to take a chance,” said Steve. “You’ve got to be mighty sure a joke’s good, though, before you spring it on them. They’re all pretty handy with a six-shooter, you know.”
“I’ll risk it,” said Tom, “let’s go over to the bunkhouse, and I’ll give them all a treat.”