"'Well,' he says, th' dear man, 'ye may. On'y,' he says, ''tis Lent.'
"'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.
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