[Dan De Quille, Mrs. Brady's Christmas Conundrum, from "Comstock Christmas Croppers," New York Sun, January 24, 1886]

 

MRS. BRADY'S CONUNDRUM.

            Christmas morning sees Mrs. Timothy Brady on her unsteady way down Washington street. She is moving toward the residence of her longtime friend and gossip,   Mrs. Patrick O'Grady, and carries on her arm a covered basket of suspicious appearance. Mrs. O'Grady has left home and is moving irregularly up Washington street. Thus it happens that the two women meet about a block away from the O'Grady mansion, and with this result:

            "Good mornin' till ye, Misthress O'Grady, and a merry Christmas till ye."

            "A bad mornin', bad cess till ye, and a wursa Christmas till ye, Misthress Brady. Ye've been a-talkin' about me and mine, Misthress Brady, and Oi snaze at ye—Oi snaze in the face of ye, Misthress Brady!"

            "Och, murdther! Is it in my face ye'll snaze? Shure the nose of ye is long enough to snaze in the face of me a whole block away!"

            "May the ould horned divil fly away wid me before the risin' of the blessed sun of the morrow morn if Oi'd iver show the haid of me outside ov me own dure if Oi had betune me eyes an' mouth no more of a nose than's the flat ov me hand. Go along wid yer two noshtrils for a nose!"

            "Misthress O'Grady. I must say its an illegant way ye have ov addreshin' a dacent woman an' a good neighbor, who's the blesshed minit on her way to yer house wid a dthrap o' beautiful schtuff in the basket on her arrum, to be wishin' ov ye a merry Chrishtmas and all the blesshin's of the Howly Church !"

            "But ye've been talking about me and mine, Misthress Brady—ye've been talkin' about the dirthiness ov my family. Oi snaze at ye, Misthress Brady—Oi snaze in the face of ye!"

            "Och, but its bitter ye are wid me the day, Misthress O'Grady, an' me as innoshent of all harrum against ye, and them belongin' wid ye, as the babe unborn! Wad I be thish blessed minit on me way to yer house wid me bottle in me bashket to wish ye the complemints ov the saison if I'd been doin' ye dhirt?"

            "That's all foine to say, Misthress Brady, but ye talked about me and mine yistherday to my Ellen, and the puir choild kem home a wapin' the eyes out ov her haid. Ye lied about us, Misthress Brady, whin ye said we didn't wash our hands and faces wanst a year, and Oi snaze at ye !"

            "Ha! ha!—he! he! Why ye'll be the death of me, Misthress O'Grady, wid yer quare tukins on! Why, what I said to Ellen yistherday was but a bit joke I had schtudied up out of my own haid—a conundrum like."

            "A condunrum, was it? Oi snaze in the face of ye for all sich loike corundrums! Cordundums that brake the heart ov me choild! Be aff wid ye and yer conthumderums!"

            "Wait, Misthress O'Grady, dear—lishten till I exshplain what—"

            "Let go ave me schawl ! Be aff wid ye! Oi snaze at ye, Misthress Brady!"

            "I'll not! What I said to Ellen was a joke. Lishten till I tell ye. I was standin' at me front dure, whin Miss Ellen kim along, lookin' as clane and swate and rosy as a blessed angel—as she allers does, Misthress O'Grady—an' we two schtood talkin' and jokin' a bit. We'd bin shpakin' ov the grand fixins up for Chrishtmas, whin I said: 'But for all that, Miss Ellen, there's hundreds ov hands and faces in this town that's not washed wanst in the whole year, and ye've got some of thim in yer own house, Miss Ellen O' Grady!'"

            "Yis, that was phwat ye said, Misthress Brady, and Oi snaze in the face ov ye for it!"

            "Wait, darlin'—wait, Misthress O'Grady, till I make me explinashion. Ye go off jisht as Miss Ellen did, for she gave herself a fling and dashed away before I could say to her that it's the hands and faces of the clocks and watches of the town that are not washed wanst a year!"

            "The phwat?"

            "Shure the hands and faces of the clocks and watches are niver washed, and I belave ye have a few o' thim in yer own house, Misthress O'Grady?'

            "Divil take the fule choild! Shur, Oi'm ashamed ov her lack o' wit. Oi see the joke of it at wanst. And that was all ye said, Misthress Brady?"

            "It was ivery word I schpoke, Misthress O'Grady—ivery blesshed word !"

            "Och, murdther now, look at all the disthress and throuble brought onto all in the house by that fule choild. Come roight home wid me, dear an' Oi'll make Ellen O'Grady apologize till ye. Phwat have ye in the bit bottle, Misthress Brady, dear?"