“‘Soft was your horn, my little fellow; your offer don’t shoot.’
“‘I’ll give you fifty.
“‘No.’
“‘A hundred.’
“’T won’t do. If you were to offer me all the money in the Cork bank I wouldn’t take it.’
“‘What the diaoul will you take then?’ says the little ould chap, reddening like a turkey-cock in the gills with anger.
“‘I’ll tell you,’ says I, making answer; ‘I’ll take the three best gifts that you can bestow.’”
(To be continued.)
Why is a butcher like a language master?—Because he is a retailer of tongues.