“Quick! Catch him!”

The horde chased the diminutive man, dressed in a green velour jacket and black top hat. He giggled and kicked his heels, then ran off again. His flaming red curls bounced under his hat.

Every March 17th, it’s the same thing. He’d come to love the chase, but it’s even funnier when he gets caught.

He swung around a lamp pole and splashed through a puddle as he passed the pub. He heard a cheer as he ran past.

“Go Paddy! Go!

Better be quick,

Or they’ll get your gold!”

The throng stumbled through the streets. Their drunken haze convinced them they’d seen a leprechaun.

He ducked into a doorway, just out of sight. Then, he watched as they entered the dead end alley.

Confusion came over the faces of the crowd. The rapscallion evaded them once more. Faces grew long as they each wandered back to the pub.

Paddy snickered as the group disappeared. The gold remained his for one more year.