So, every Friday, like clockwork, Jimmy O'Shea comes into his favorite pub, and orders pints of stout in quantities of three. Drinks 'em down, one by one, orders up three more, and then three more, depending on Jimmy's current mood and fortunes.

Finally, the publican can contain his curiousity no longer, and has to ask: "Jimmy O'Shea, why do you always order yer pints in quantity o' three? You know I'd still have enough Guinness left for you if you ordered 'em up one at a time."

"Oh, _that_. Well, I'll tell you, Pat, that's to honor me two brothers. One of 'em's off in Australia, and the other in Amerikay, so whenevers an individual one of goes to pub, he orders up in quantity of three, so that in a symbolical sort of way, we're drinking together, in each others' honor."

"Ah, that's a beautiful thing, there, Jimmy. Don't change it a bit. Three it is."

At last the day comes that Jimmy O'Shea orders only _two_ pints of Guinness when he sits down at his stool. Pat the publican looks at him with a long face full o' sympathy, and says, "I'm so sorry, Jimmy. On o' yer brithers has passed on, then?"

"Oh, heavens no," replies Jimmy O'Shea. "Me brothers are as fit as you could ask. It's just that I've quit drinkin'."