“‘Yes,’ says I.

“‘Well, thin,’ he says, ’by ye’er lave I’ll take but half a lump iv sugar in mine,’ he says.”

THE QUICK AND THE DEAD.

Mr. Dooley and Mr. McKenna sat outside the ample door of the little liquor store, the evening being hot, and wrapped their legs around the chair, and their lips around two especially long and soothing drinks.  They talked politics and religion, the people up and down the street, the chances of Murphy, the tinsmith, getting on the force, and a great deal about the weather.  A woman in white started Mr. McKenna’s nerves.

“Glory be, I thought it was a ghost!” said Mr. McKenna, whereupon the conversation drifted to those interesting phenomena.  Mr. Dooley asked Mr. McKenna if he had ever seen one.  Mr. McKenna replied that he hadn’t, and didn’t want to.  Had Mr. Dooley?  “No,” said the philosopher, “I niver did; an’ it’s always been more thin sthrange to me that annywan shud come back afther he’d been stuck in a crate five feet deep, with a ton iv mud upon him.  ’Tis onplisint iv thim, annyhow, not to say ongrateful.  F’r mesilf, if I was wanst pushed off, an’ they’d waked me kindly, an’ had a solemn rayqueem high mass f’r me, an’ a funeral with Roddey’s Hi-beryan band, an’ th’ A-ho-aitches, I have too much pride to come back f’r an encore.  I wud so, Jawn.  Whin a man’s dead, he ought to make th’ best iv a bad job, an’ not be thrapsin’ around, lookin’ f’r throuble among his own kind.

“No, I niver see wan, but I know there are such things; f’r twinty years ago all th’ road was talkin’ about how Flaherty, th’ tailor, laid out th’ ghost iv Tim O’Grady.  O’Grady was a big sthrappin’ Connock man, as wide across th’ shoulders as a freight car.  He was a plastherer be thrade whin wages was high, an’ O’Grady was rowlin’ in wealth.  Ivry Sundah ye’d see him, with his horse an’ buggy an’ his goold watch an’ chain, in front iv th’ Sullivans’ house, waitin’ f’r Mary Ann Sullivan to go f’r a buggy ride with him over to McAllister Place; an’ he fin’lly married her, again th’ wishes iv Flaherty, who took to histin’ in dhrinks, an’ missed his jooty, an’ was a scandal in th’ parish f’r six months.

“O’Grady didn’t improve with mathrimony, but got to lanin’ again th’ ol’ stuff, an’ walkin’ up an’ down th’ sidewalk in his shirt-sleeves, with his thumbs stuck in his vest, an’ his little pipe turned upside down; an’, whin he see Flaherty, ’twas his custom to run him up an alley, so that th’ little tailor man niver had a minyit iv peace.  Ivry wan supposed he lived in a three most iv th’ time, to be out iv th’ way iv O’Grady.

“Well, wan day O’Grady he seen Flaherty walkin’ down th’ sthreet with a pair iv lavender pants f’r Willum Joyce to wear to th’ Ogden Grove picnic, an’ thried to heave a brick at him.  He lost his balance, an’ fell fr’m th’ scaffoldin’ he was wurrukin’ on; an’ th’ last wurruds he said was, ‘Did I get him or didn’t I?’ Mrs. O’Grady said it was th’ will iv Gawd; an’ he was burrid at Calvary with a funeral iv eighty hacks, an’ a great manny people in their own buggies.  Dorsey, th’ conthractor, was there with his wife.  He thought th’ wurruld an’ all iv O’Grady.