"There was forty-sivin times I thought I had mine," admitted Flannery,
"but every time whin I took up me thumb he had gone some other place.
But I will have him to-night!"

"But mebby he has gone by now," said Mrs. Muldoon.

"Never fear, mam," said Flannery. "He's not gone, mam, for he has been
close to me every minute of th' day. I could put me thumb on him this
minute, if he would but wait 'till I did it."

"Well, as for that, Mike Flannery," said Mrs. Muldoon, mischievously, as
she arose from the table, "go on along with ye, and don't be bringin'
th' blush t' me face, but whin I want t' find th' one I was speakin' of,
I won't have t' walk away from meself t' find him this minute!"

The trained flea is one of nature's marvels. Everyone says so. A Bobby
Burns might well write a poem on this "wee, timorous, cowerin' beastie,"
except that the flea is not, strictly speaking, timorous or cowering. A
flea, when it is in good health and spirits, will not cower worth a
cent. It has ten times the bravery of a lion--in fact, one single little
flea, alone and unaided, will step right up and attack the noisiest
lion, and never brag about it. A lion is a rank coward in comparison
with a flea, for a lion will not attack anything that it has not a good
chance of killing, while the humble but daring flea will boldly attack
animals it cannot kill, and that it knows it cannot kill. David had at
least a chance to kill Goliath, but what chance has a flea to kill a
camel? None at all unless the camel commits suicide. And dogs! A flea
will attack the most ferocious dog and think nothing of it at all. I
have seen it myself. That is true bravery. And not only that--not only