O'Toole volunteered to take care of his numerous children so that Mom could have an evening out. At bedtime he sent the youngsters upstairs to bed and settled down to read. One child kept creeping down the stairs, but O'Toole kept sending him back up.
At 10 o'clock the doorbell rang. It was the next door neighbor, Mrs. O'Brien. She asked if her son was there and O'Toole said no. Just then a little head appeared over the banister and a voice shouted. "I'm here Mom, but he won't let me go home."
In hearing an Irish case of assault and battery, counsel, in cross examining one of the witnesses, asked him what they had the first place they stopped at.
"Four glasses of ale," was the reply.
"Two glasses of whiskey."
"One glass of brandy."
McCuen stumbled out of a saloon right into the arms of Father Logan. "Inebriated again!" declared the priest. "Shame on you! When are you going to straighten out your life??"
"Father," asked McCuen. "What causes arthritis?"
"I'll tell you what causes it! Drinking cheap whiskey, gambling and carousing around with loose women. How long have you had arthritis?"
"I don't," slurred McCuen. "The Bishop has it!"
The taxi passenger tapped O’Malley, the driver, on the shoulder to ask him a question. O’Malley screamed, lost control of the car, nearly hit a bus, went up on the footpath, and stopped centimeters from a shop window.
For a second everything went quiet in the cab, then, O’Malley said, "If you would please be so kind as to not ever do that again. You scared the bejeebers out of me!"
The passenger apologized and said, "I didn't realize that a little tap would scare you so much." O’Malley replied, "Think nothing of it, it's not really your fault. Today is me first day driving a cab. I've been driving a hearse for the last 25 years."