§ 2 The Prudent Mr. Finnerty
The lawyer picked his way to the edge of the excavation and called down for Michael Finnerty.
“Who’s wantin’ me?” inquired a deep voice.
“I am,” said the lawyer. “Mr. Finnerty, did you come from Castlebar, County Mayo?”
“I did.”
“And was your mother named Mary and your father named Owen?”
“They was.”
“Then Mr. Finnerty,” said the lawyer, “it is my duty to inform you that your Aunt Kate has died in the old country, leaving you an estate of twenty thousand dollars in cash. Please come up.”
There was a pause and a commotion down below.
“Mr. Finnerty,” called the lawyer, craning his neck over the trench, “I’m waiting for you!”
“In wan minute,” said Mr. Finnerty. “I just stopped to lick the foreman!”
For six months Mr. Finnerty, in a high hat and with patent leather shoes on his feet, lived a life of elegant ease, trying to cure himself of a great thirst. Then he went back to his old job. It was there that the lawyer found him the second time.
“Mr. Finnerty,” he said, “I’ve more news for you. It is your Uncle Terence who’s dead now in the old country; and he has left you his entire property.”
“I don’t think I can take it,” said Mr. Finnerty, leaning wearily on his pick. “I’m not as strong as I wance was; and I’m doubtin’ if I could go through all that again and live!”