Pat Molloy came in for his evening’s beverage, and paper in hand, as usual. The crowd kept quiet to hear the latest war news. Pat said the war had reached a crisis, and that there was only one obstacle between the Allied Forces and Berlin. His listeners were dumfounded, and one of them, recovering quicker than the others, asked:
“And what might that be, Pat?”
“Oh,” said Pat, emptying his glass; “it’s nothing but the Germany army.”
IRISH VS. GERMAN
The Irish Tommy, prisoner, was feeling very wroth with the destroyers of Louvain, when a German officer dashed by on what Paddy termed “a rare bit of horseflesh.”
“Faith, that’s an Irish horse,” said Paddy, and his eyes glinted maliciously at the Teutonic soldier, who had a fair knowledge of English, and at once took up the glove. They would probably have come to blows, in spite of Paddy’s precarious position, had not a compatriot of his proposed that whoever could tell the biggest lie might claim the horse for his country. Paddy forthwith began a tale which was one lie from beginning to end, and stopped triumphantly. Then his Teutonic opponent began, in slow, but correct, English:——
“There was once a German gentleman——”
“That settles it,” said Paddy, with a sigh of resignation; “the horse is a German one!”