“They was a man be th’ name iv Daheny, Jawn, a cousin iv th’ wan ye know, that started to walk up th’ r-road fr’m th’ bridge.  Befure he got to Halsthed Sthreet, his shoes was on fire.  He turned in an alarm; but th’ fire departmint was all down on Mitchigan Avnoo, puttin’ out th’ lake, an’”—­“Putting out what?” demanded Mr. McKenna.

“Puttin’ out th’ lake,” replied Mr. Dooley, stolidly.  “They was no insurance—­A good avnin’ to ye, Mrs. Doyle.  Ye’re goin’ over, thin?  I was there las’ night, an’ a finer wake I niver see.  They do nawthin’ be halves.  How was himsilf?  As natural as life?  Yes, ma’am, rayqueem high mass, be carredges to Calv’ry.

“On th’ twinty-fifth iv Siptimber a change come.  It was very sudden; an’, steppin’ out iv th’ ice-box where I slept in th’ mornin’, I got a chill.  I wint for me flannels, an’ stopped to look at th’ thermomether.  It was four hundherd an’ sixty-five.”

“How much?” asked Mr. McKenna.

“Four hundherd an’ sixty-five.”

“Fahrenheit?”

“No, it belonged to Dorsey.  Ah! well, well, an’ here’s Cassidy.  Come in, frind, an’ have a shell iv beer.  I’ve been tellin’ Jawnny about th’ big thaw iv eighteen sixty-eight.  Feel th’ wind, man alive.  ’Tis turnin’ cool, an’ we’ll sleep to-night.”

KEEPING LENT.

Mr. McKenna had observed Mr. Dooley in the act of spinning a long, thin spoon in a compound which reeked pleasantly and smelt of the humming water of commerce; and he laughed and mocked at the philosopher.

“Ah-ha,” he said, “that’s th’ way you keep Lent, is it?  Two weeks from Ash Wednesday, and you tanking up.”

Mr. Dooley went on deliberately to finish the experiment, leisurely dusting the surface with nutmeg and tasting the product before setting down the glass daintily.  Then he folded his apron, and lay back in ample luxury while he began:  “Jawn, th’ holy season iv Lent was sent to us f’r to teach us th’ weakness iv th’ human flesh.  Man proposes, an’ th’ Lord disposes, as Hinnissy says.

“I mind as well as though it was yesterday th’ struggle iv me father f’r to keep Lent.  He began to talk it a month befure th’ time.  ’On Ash Winsdah,’ he’d say, ‘I’ll go in f’r a rale season iv fast an’ abstinince,’ he’d say.  An’ sure enough, whin Ash Winsdah come round at midnight, he’d take a long dhraw at his pipe an’ knock th’ ashes out slowly again his heel, an’ thin put th’ dhudeen up behind th’ clock.  ‘There,’ says he, ‘there ye stay till Easter morn,’ he says.  Ash Winsdah he talked iv nawthin but th’ pipe. ’’Tis exthraordinney how easy it is f’r to lave off,’ he says.  ‘All ye need is will power,’ he says.  ’I dinnaw that I’ll iver put a pipe in me mouth again.  ’Tis a bad habit, smokin’ is,’ he says; ‘an’ it costs money.  A man’s betther off without it.  I find I dig twict as well,’ he says; ‘an’, as f’r cuttin’ turf, they’se not me like in th’ parish since I left off th’ pipe,’ he says.