OCR Text |
Show 1 He was an ardent lover, and a practically penniless pen-niless lover. It was St. Patrick's day. In his hand he bore a pot of Irish shamrocks. "They were raised in the ould sod," he said, as he presented pre-sented the pot to Maggie, "raised in the ould sod of Ireland." "Shure, now, Murphy," cried his lady in delight "how really sweet of yo it Is. How perfect per-fect they are and how fresh. Shure, I believe that there's a little dew on 'em yet." Murphy flushed slightly. "Begorra, I know there is," he reluctantly confessed, "but praise heaven it'll be paid tomorrow." What's Doing. |