MULDOON
One day while I was working with an Irishman named Muldoon, the proprietor, Mr. Benjamin, came along, leading his little daughter, who, pointing to Muldoon, said, "Papa, what makes you hire paddies? I do not like them." Muldoon resented the innocent prattle, and turning to Benjamin, said: "Will ye allow that wee bit of a brat to spake that way of a gintleman?"
"You are no gentleman to call a child a brat, and if you answer back I'll discharge you at once."
Pat tugged away in silence and when Benjamin had gone he said: "I niver knew but one mon in me life as mane as ould Benjamin and that was Cotton Mather himself."
"What do you know about Cotton Mather?" I eagerly inquired.
"Nothing good, sir."
"Were you ever at Salem?"
"Do yees think that auld Ben aught to larn that wee bit of a snipe to insolt the loikes of me?"
"But, Pat, that does not answer my question."
"Thin why should a gintlemin aloix yee be axen meself quistions which I niver knew a-tal-tal?"