Saturday, June 7, 2008

An Experience In Ireland


"Well," said the returned traveler, I had an experience in Ireland which will lead me far toward believing anything that I may over hear or read about some Irishmen's utter illogicality. It happened out in the hotel of a little town in Galway called Westport. I was one of a party of four that had gone across from Dublin to look for a deserted silver mine that was said to lie in the coast hills back of the town, and we agreed, as it was a long drive over there, that we would start early the next morning.

"Seven was set for the breakfast hour and half past 6 for the rising hour, so we called in the solitary waiter of the hotel and told him to rouse us all at 6:30, sharp. I slept in a bed that was as gloomy as a hearse and in a room that was as cold as an ice chest and was dreaming of New York and steam heat when a knock at the door awoke me.

'Who's there?' I cried.

" 'Shure, it's me, sor,' answered the waiter. 'It's twinty minits past foive, sor. Will I wake ye now, or will I wait till half past sex?'

"At first I was angry, but when I realized the full topsy turviness of the fellow's deduction I just roared. And it's a fact too." — New York Sun.

McPhun's Joke

McPhun entered the club a few mornings ago, his chin and cheeks plainly showing that he was freshly emancipated from the hands of the barber.
"Been havin' a shave, old man?" asked McKan lazily.
"Yes, and had my hair cut, too," was the reply. "Always have my hair cut when I have a shave."
"And how often do you get shaved?" was the languid inquiry.
"Every morning," answered McPhun.
"And have your hair cut, too, every day?" said the other.
"Don't you find it rather expensive?"
"No; only costs twopence."
"What? Only twopence for a shave and hair cutting?"
"That's all. Barber couldn't shave me without cutting my hair, don't you know?"
And it took poor Mac 7½ minutes by the club clock to see why. — London Tit-Bits.

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