“Well, Pat, my good man, what did you do?” inquired a patronizing stranger of the Irishman back in London on leave, with his arm in a sling.

The stranger’s air annoyed Pat, who blandly said:

“Faith, an’ I walked up to one of them an’ cut off his feet.”

“Cut off his feet! Why not his head?”

“Sure, an’ that was already cut off.”