Mike, the hod-carrier, was still somewhat fuddled when he arose Monday morning, with the result that he put on his overalls wrong side to; with the further result, that he was careless while mounting the ladder later with a load of bricks, and fell to the ground. As he raised himself into a sitting position, a fellow workman asked solicitously:
“Are yez kilt intoirly, Mike?”
Mike, with drooping head, stared down dully at the seat of his overalls, and shook his head.
“No,” he declared in a tone of awe, “I’m not kilt, but I’m terrible twisted.”
* * *
A rustic visitor to the city made a desperate run for the ferry boat as it was leaving the slip. He made a mighty leap, and covered the intervening space, then fell sprawling to the deck, where he lay stunned for about two minutes. At last he sat up feebly, and stared dazedly over the wide expanse of water between boat and shore.
“Holy hop-toads!” he exclaimed in a tone of profound awe. “What a jump!”