A sudden screech of laughter came from the Evening Telegraph office. Know who that is. What’s up? Pop in a minute to phone. Ned Lambert it is.

He entered softly.

Erin, Green Gem of the Silver Sea

―The ghost walks, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the dusty windowpane.

Mr Dedalus, staring from the empty fireplace at Ned Lambert’s quizzing face, asked of it sourly:

―Agonising Christ, wouldn’t it give you a heartburn on your arse?

Ned Lambert, seated on the table, read on: