hoes, a baseball bat,
an ice-cream freezer, an' th' pomes iv Mike Scanlan.

"Th' comity was disthracted. Here was a man that 'd break th' fair,
an' do it with th' best iv humor; f'r he come fr'm another parish. So
we held a private session. 'What 'll we do?' says Dorgan, th' chairman.
They was a man be th' name iv Flaherty, a good man thin an' a betther
now; f'r he's dead, may he rest in peace! An' Flaherty says: 'We've
got to take th' bull be th' horns,' he says. 'If ye lave him to me,'
he says, 'I'll fix him,' he says.

"So he injooced this man Burke to come down back iv th' shootin'
gallery, an' says he to Burke, 'Ye're lucky to-night.' 'Not so very,'
says Burke. ''Twud be a shame to lave ye get away with all ye won,'
says Flaherty. ''Twill be a great inconvanience,' says Burke. 'I'll
have to hire two or three dhrays,' he says; 'an' 'tis late.' 'Well,'
says Flaherty, 'I'm appinted be th' parish to cut th' ca-ards with
ye,' he says, 'whether ye're to give back what ye won or take what's
left.' ''Tis fair,' says Burke; 'an', whoiver wins, 'tis f'r a good
cause.' An' he puts th' watches an' th' money on th' table.

"'High man,' says Flaherty. 'High man,' says Burke. Flaherty cut th'
king iv spades. Burke, th' robber, cut th' ace iv hearts. He was
reachin' out f'r th' money, whin Flaherty put his hands over it. 'Wud
ye take it?' says he. 'I wud,' says Burke. 'Wud ye rob th' church?'
says Flaherty. 'I wud,' says Burke. 'Thin,' says Flaherty, scoopin' it
in, 'ye're a heretic; an' they'se nawthin' comin' to ye.'

"Burke looked at him, an' he looked at th' comity; an' he says,
'Gintlemen, if iver ye come over in th' Sixth Ward, dhrop in an' see
me,' he says. 'I'll thry an' make it plisint f'r ye,' he says. An' he
wint away.

"Th' story got out, an' th' good man heerd iv it. He was mighty mad
about it; an' th' nex' sermon he preached was on th' evils iv
gamblin', but he asked Flaherty f'r to take up th' colliction."

THE WANDERERS.

"Poor la-ads, poor la-ads," said Mr. Dooley, putting aside his
newspaper and rubbing his glasses. "'Tis a hard lot theirs, thim that
go down into th' sea in ships, as Shakespeare says. Ye niver see a
storm on th' ocean? Iv coorse ye didn't. How cud ye, ye that was born
away fr'm home? But I have, Jawn. May th' saints save me fr'm another!
I come over in th' bowels iv a big crazy balloon iv a propeller, like
wan iv thim ye see hooked up to Dempsey's dock, loaded with lumber an'
sla