This is a modern-English version of Mr. Dooley's Philosophy, originally written by Dunne, Finley Peter.
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and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
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MR. DOOLEY'S PHILOSOPHY
By Finley Peter Dunne
Illustrated by F. OPPER.
{Illustration: POOR PEOPLE 'LL HAVE SIMPLE MEALS.}
(Illustrations not
available in this edition)
To the Hennessys of the world who suffer and are silent
PREFACE
The reporter of these monologues would apologize for the frequent reappearances of Mr. Dooley, if he felt the old gentleman would appreciate an apology in his behalf. But Mr. Dooley has none of the modesty that has been described as “an invention for protection against envy,” because unlike that one of his distinguished predecessors who discovered this theory to excuse his own imperfect but boastful egotism, he recognizes no such human failing as envy. Most of the papers in the present collection of the sayings of this great and learned man have appeared in the press of America and England. This will account for the fact that they deal with subjects that have pressed hard upon the minds of newspaper readers, statesmen, and tax-payers during the year. To these utterances have been added a number of obiter dicta by the philosopher, which, perhaps, will be found to have the reminiscent flavor that appertains to the observations of all learned judges when they are off the bench.
The writer of these monologues would apologize for the repeated appearances of Mr. Dooley if he thought the old gentleman would appreciate it. But Mr. Dooley doesn’t have the modesty described as “a means of protecting oneself from envy,” because unlike a certain distinguished predecessor who came up with this theory to justify his own flawed but boastful self-importance, he doesn’t acknowledge envy as a human weakness. Most of the articles in this collection of the sayings of this great and knowledgeable man have been published in the press in America and England. This explains why they address topics that have been significant to the thoughts of newspaper readers, politicians, and taxpayers over the past year. Also included are several comments from the philosopher, which might evoke the kind of nostalgia typical of all learned judges when they’re not on the bench.
In some cases the sketches have been remodeled and care has been taken to correct typographical blunders, except where they seemed to improve the text. In this connection the writer must offer his profound gratitude to the industrious typographer, who often makes two jokes grow where only one grew before, and has added generously to the distress of amateur elocutionists.
In some cases, the sketches have been updated and efforts have been made to fix any typos, unless fixing them seemed to make the text worse. In this regard, the author would like to express his deep gratitude to the hardworking typographer, who often creates two jokes where there used to be just one, and has greatly increased the challenges for amateur speakers.
F. P. D.
CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A BOOK REVIEW
“Well sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I jus' got hold iv a book, Hinnissy, that suits me up to th' handle, a gran' book, th' grandest iver seen. Ye know I'm not much throubled be lithrachoor, havin' manny worries iv me own, but I'm not prejudiced again' books. I am not. Whin a rale good book comes along I'm as quick as anny wan to say it isn't so bad, an' this here book is fine. I tell ye 'tis fine.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I just got my hands on a book, Hinnissy, that I absolutely love, a great book, the best I've ever seen. You know I don't usually bother with literature, since I have plenty of my own worries, but I'm not against books. I'm not. When a really good book comes along, I'm just as quick as anyone to say it’s not so bad, and this book is excellent. I tell you it’s excellent.”
“What is it?” Mr. Hennessy asked languidly.
“What is it?” Mr. Hennessy asked lazily.
“'Tis 'Th' Biography iv a Hero be Wan who Knows.' 'Tis 'Th' Darin' Exploits iv a Brave Man be an Actual Eye Witness.' 'Tis 'Th' Account iv th' Desthruction iv Spanish Power in th' Ant Hills,' as it fell fr'm th' lips iv Tiddy Rosenfelt an' was took down be his own hands. Ye see 'twas this way, Hinnissy, as I r-read th' book. Whin Tiddy was blowed up in th' harbor iv Havana he instantly con-cluded they must be war. He debated th' question long an' earnestly an' fin'lly passed a jint resolution declarin' war. So far so good. But there was no wan to carry it on. What shud he do? I will lave th' janial author tell th' story in his own wurruds.
“'Tis 'The Biography of a Hero by One Who Knows.' 'Tis 'The Daring Exploits of a Brave Man by an Actual Eye Witness.' 'Tis 'The Account of the Destruction of Spanish Power in the Antilles,' as it fell from the lips of Teddy Roosevelt and was taken down by his own hands. You see it was this way, Hinnissy, as I read the book. When Teddy was blown up in the harbor of Havana, he instantly concluded there must be war. He debated the question long and earnestly and finally passed a joint resolution declaring war. So far so good. But there was no one to carry it on. What should he do? I will let the genial author tell the story in his own words.”
“'Th' sicrety iv war had offered me,' he says, 'th' command of a rig'mint,' he says, 'but I cud not consint to remain in Tampa while perhaps less audacious heroes was at th' front,' he says. 'Besides,' he says, 'I felt I was incompetent f'r to command a rig'mint raised be another,' he says. 'I detarmined to raise wan iv me own,' he says. 'I selected fr'm me acquaintances in th' West,' he says, 'men that had thravelled with me acrost th' desert an' th' storm-wreathed mountain,' he says, 'sharin' me burdens an' at times confrontin' perils almost as gr-reat as anny that beset me path,' he says. 'Together we had faced th' turrors iv th' large but vilent West,' he says, 'an' these brave men had seen me with me trusty rifle shootin' down th' buffalo, th' elk, th' moose, th' grizzly bear, th' mountain goat,' he says, 'th' silver man, an' other ferocious beasts iv thim parts,' he says. 'An' they niver flinched,' he says. 'In a few days I had thim perfectly tamed,' he says, 'an' ready to go annywhere I led,' he says. 'On th' thransport goi'n to Cubia,' he says, 'I wud stand beside wan iv these r-rough men threatin' him as a akel, which he was in ivrything but birth, education, rank an' courage, an' together we wud look up at th' admirable stars iv that tolerable southern sky an' quote th' bible fr'm Walt Whitman,' he says. 'Honest, loyal, thrue-hearted la-ads, how kind I was to thim,' he says.”
“‘The security of war had offered me,’ he says, ‘the command of a regiment,’ he says, ‘but I couldn’t agree to stay in Tampa while perhaps less daring heroes were at the front,’ he says. ‘Besides,’ he says, ‘I felt I was unqualified to command a regiment raised by someone else,’ he says. ‘I decided to raise one of my own,’ he says. ‘I chose from my acquaintances in the West,’ he says, ‘men who had traveled with me across the desert and the stormy mountains,’ he says, ‘sharing my burdens and sometimes facing dangers almost as great as any that challenged my path,’ he says. ‘Together we had confronted the terrors of the vast but violent West,’ he says, ‘and these brave men had seen me with my trusty rifle shooting down the buffalo, the elk, the moose, the grizzly bear, the mountain goat,’ he says, ‘the silver man, and other fierce animals from those parts,’ he says. ‘And they never flinched,’ he says. ‘In just a few days I had them perfectly trained,’ he says, ‘and ready to go anywhere I led,’ he says. ‘On the transport going to Cuba,’ he says, ‘I would stand next to one of these rough men threatening him as a brother, which he was in everything but birth, education, rank, and courage, and together we would look up at the beautiful stars of that pleasant southern sky and quote the Bible from Walt Whitman,’ he says. ‘Honest, loyal, true-hearted guys, how kind I was to them,’ he says.”
{Illustration: Read the articles by Roosevelt and Davis in the Car Fare Magazine}
{Illustration: Check out the articles by Roosevelt and Davis in the Car Fare Magazine}
“'We had no sooner landed in Cubia than it become nicessry f'r me to take command iv th' ar-rmy which I did at wanst. A number of days was spint be me in reconnoitring, attinded on'y be me brave an' fluent body guard, Richard Harding Davis. I discovered that th' inimy was heavily inthrenched on th' top iv San Juon hill immejiately in front iv me. At this time it become apparent that I was handicapped be th' prisence iv th' ar-rmy,' he says. 'Wan day whin I was about to charge a block house sturdily definded be an ar-rmy corps undher Gin'ral Tamale, th' brave Castile that I aftherwards killed with a small ink-eraser that I always carry, I r-ran into th' entire military force iv th' United States lying on its stomach. 'If ye won't fight,' says I, 'let me go through, 'I says. 'Who ar-re ye?' says they. 'Colonel Rosenfelt,' says I. 'Oh, excuse me,' says the gin'ral in command (if me mimry serves me thrue it was Miles) r-risin' to his knees an' salutin'. This showed me 'twud be impossible f'r to carry th' war to a successful con-clusion unless I was free, so I sint th' ar-rmy home an' attackted San Juon hill. Ar-rmed on'y with a small thirty-two which I used in th' West to shoot th' fleet prairie dog, I climbed that precipitous ascent in th' face iv th' most gallin' fire I iver knew or heerd iv. But I had a few r-rounds iv gall mesilf an' what cared I? I dashed madly on cheerin' as I wint. Th' Spanish throops was dhrawn up in a long line in th' formation known among military men as a long line. I fired at th' man nearest to me an' I knew be th' expression iv his face that th' trusty bullet wint home. It passed through his frame, he fell, an' wan little home in far-off Catalonia was made happy be th' thought that their riprisintative had been kilt be th' future governor iv New York. Th' bullet sped on its mad flight an' passed through th' intire line fin'lly imbeddin' itself in th' abdomen iv th' Ar-rch-bishop iv Santiago eight miles away. This ended th' war.'
“We had barely landed in Cuba when I needed to take command of the army, which I did right away. I spent several days scouting the area, accompanied only by my brave and articulate bodyguard, Richard Harding Davis. I discovered that the enemy was heavily entrenched on top of San Juan Hill, directly in front of me. At this point, it became clear that I was hindered by the presence of the army," he says. "One day, when I was about to charge a blockhouse stoutly defended by an army corps under General Tamale, the brave Castile that I later killed with a small ink eraser I always carry, I ran into the entire military force of the United States lying on its stomach. 'If you won't fight,' I said, 'let me pass through.' 'Who are you?' they asked. 'Colonel Roosevelt,' I replied. 'Oh, excuse me,' said the general in command (if my memory serves me correctly, it was Miles), rising to his knees and saluting. This showed me it would be impossible to carry the war to a successful conclusion unless I was unencumbered, so I sent the army home and attacked San Juan Hill. Armed only with a small .32 that I used in the West to shoot fleet prairie dogs, I climbed that steep ascent in the face of the fiercest fire I ever knew or heard of. But I had a few rounds of courage myself, and what did I care? I charged ahead, cheering as I went. The Spanish troops were lined up in a formation known among military men as a long line. I fired at the man closest to me, and I could tell by the expression on his face that the trusty bullet found its mark. It passed through his body, he fell, and one little home in far-off Catalonia was made happy by the thought that their representative had been killed by the future governor of New York. The bullet sped on its wild flight, passing through the entire line and finally embedding itself in the abdomen of the Archbishop of Santiago, eight miles away. This ended the war."
“'They has been some discussion as to who was th' first man to r-reach th' summit iv San Juon hill. I will not attempt to dispute th' merits iv th' manny gallant sojers, statesmen, corryspondints an' kinetoscope men who claim th' distinction. They ar-re all brave men an' if they wish to wear my laurels they may. I have so manny annyhow that it keeps me broke havin' thim blocked an' irned. But I will say f'r th' binifit iv Posterity that I was th' on'y man I see. An I had a tillyscope.'”
“They have been some discussions about who was the first man to reach the summit of San Juan Hill. I won’t try to dispute the merits of the many brave soldiers, statesmen, correspondents, and filmmakers who claim that distinction. They are all courageous men, and if they want to wear my laurels, they can. I have so many anyway that it keeps me broke getting them blocked and earned. But I will say for the benefit of posterity that I was the only man I saw. And I had a telescope.”
“I have thried, Hinnissy,” Mr. Dooley continued, “to give you a fair idee iv th' contints iv this remarkable book, but what I've tol' ye is on'y what Hogan calls an outline iv th' principal pints. Ye'll have to r-read th' book ye'ersilf to get a thrue conciption. I haven't time f'r to tell ye th' wurruk Tiddy did in ar-rmin' an' equippin' himself, how he fed himsilf, how he steadied himsilf in battle an' encouraged himsilf with a few well-chosen wurruds whin th' sky was darkest. Ye'll have to take a squint into th' book ye'ersilf to l'arn thim things.”
“I’ve tried, Hinnissy,” Mr. Dooley continued, “to give you a good idea of the contents of this remarkable book, but what I’ve told you is only what Hogan calls an outline of the main points. You’ll have to read the book yourself to get a true understanding. I don’t have time to tell you about the work Tiddy did in preparing and equipping himself, how he fed himself, how he steadied himself in battle, and how he encouraged himself with a few well-chosen words when the situation was at its worst. You’ll need to take a look at the book yourself to learn those things.”
“I won't do it,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I think Tiddy Rosenfelt is all r-right an' if he wants to blow his hor-rn lave him do it.”
“I won’t do it,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I think Tiddy Rosenfelt is all right and if he wants to blow his horn, let him do it.”
“Thrue f'r ye,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' if his valliant deeds didn't get into this book 'twud be a long time befure they appeared in Shafter's histhry iv th' war. No man that bears a gredge again' himsilf 'll iver be governor iv a state. An' if Tiddy done it all he ought to say so an' relieve th' suspinse. But if I was him I'd call th' book 'Alone in Cubia.'”
“True for you,” said Mr. Dooley, “and if his brave deeds didn't make it into this book, it would be a long time before they showed up in Shafter's history of the war. No man who holds a grudge against himself will ever be governor of a state. And if Tiddy did it all, he should say so and relieve the suspense. But if I were him, I'd call the book 'Alone in Cuba.'”
AMERICANS ABROAD
“I wondher,” said Mr. Dooley, “what me Dutch frind Oom Paul'll think whin he hears that Willum Waldorf Asthor has given four thousan' pounds or twinty thousan' iv our money as a conthribution to th' British governmint?”
“I wonder,” said Mr. Dooley, “what my Dutch friend Oom Paul will think when he hears that William Waldorf Astor has given four thousand pounds or twenty thousand of our money as a contribution to the British government?”
“Who's Willum Waldorf Asthor?” Mr. Hennessy asked. “I niver heerd iv him.”
“Who’s Willum Waldorf Asthor?” Mr. Hennessy asked. “I never heard of him.”
“Ye wudden't,” said Mr. Dooley. “He don't thravel in ye'er set. Willum Waldorf Asthor is a gintleman that wanst committed th' sin iv bein' bor-rn in this counthry. Ye know what orig-inal sin is, Hinnissy. Ye was bor-rn with wan an' I was bor-rn with wan an' ivrybody was bor-rn with wan. 'Twas took out iv me be Father Tuomy with holy wather first an' be me father aftherward with a sthrap. But I niver cud find out what it was. Th' sins I've committed since, I'm sure iv. They're painted red an' carry a bell an' whin I'm awake in bed they stan' out on th' wall like th' ilicthric signs they have down be State sthreet in front iv th' clothin' stores. But I'll go to th' grave without knowin' exactly what th' black orig-inal sin was I committed. All I know is I done wrong. But with Willum Waldorf Asthor 'tis dif'rent. I say 'tis diff'rent with Willum Waldorf Asthor. His orig-inal sin was bein' bor-rn in New York. He cudden't do anything about it. Nawthin' in this counthry wud wipe it out. He built a hotel intinded f'r jooks who had no sins but thim iv their own makin', but even th' sight iv their haughty bills cud not efface th' stain. He thried to live down his crime without success an' he thried to live down to it be runnin' f'r congress, but it was no go. No matther where he wint among his counthrymen in England some wan wud find out he was bor-rn in New York an' th' man that ownded th' house where he was spindin' th' night wud ast him if he was a cannibal an' had he anny Indyan blood in his veins. 'Twas like seein' a fine lookin' man with an intel-lecjal forehead an' handsome, dar-rk brown eyes an' admirin' him, an' thin larnin' his name is Mudd J. Higgins. His accint was proper an' his clothes didn't fit him right, but he was not bor-rn in th' home iv his dayscindants, an' whin he walked th' sthreets iv London he knew ivry polisman was sayin': 'There goes a man that pretinds to be happy, but a dark sorrow is gnawin' at his bosom. He looks as if he was at home, but he was bor-rn in New York, Gawd help him.”
“You wouldn't,” said Mr. Dooley. “He doesn't travel in your circle. William Waldorf Astor is a gentleman who once committed the sin of being born in this country. You know what original sin is, Hinnissy. You were born with one, I was born with one, and everyone was born with one. It was taken out of me by Father Tuomy with holy water first and by my father afterward with a strap. But I never could figure out what it was. The sins I've committed since, I'm sure of. They're painted red and carry a bell, and when I'm awake in bed they stand out on the wall like the electric signs they have down on State Street in front of the clothing stores. But I'll go to my grave without knowing exactly what the black original sin I committed was. All I know is that I did wrong. But with William Waldorf Astor, it's different. I say it's different with William Waldorf Astor. His original sin was being born in New York. He couldn't help it. Nothing in this country would wipe it out. He built a hotel intended for folks who had no sins but those of their own making, but even the sight of their haughty bills couldn't erase the stain. He tried to live down his crime without success and he tried to live up to it by running for Congress, but it was no use. No matter where he went among his countrymen in England, someone would find out he was born in New York, and the man who owned the house where he was spending the night would ask him if he was a cannibal and if he had any Indian blood in his veins. It was like seeing a fine-looking man with an intellectual forehead and handsome, dark brown eyes and admiring him, then learning his name is Mudd J. Higgins. His accent was proper and his clothes didn't fit him right, but he was not born in the home of his ancestors, and when he walked the streets of London he knew every policeman was saying: 'There goes a man who pretends to be happy, but a dark sorrow is gnawing at his chest. He looks as if he was at home, but he was born in New York, God help him.'”
{Illustration}
{Illustration}
“So this poor way-worn sowl, afther thryin' ivry other rimidy fr'm dhrivin' a coach to failin' to vote, at las' sought out th' rile high clark iv th' coort an' says he: 'Behold,' he says, 'an onhappy man,' he says. 'With millyons in me pocket, two hotels an' onlimited credit, 'he says, 'me hear-rt is gray,' he says. 'Poor sowl,' says th' clark iv th' coort, 'What's ailin' ye'?' he says. 'Have ye committed some gr-reat crime?' he says. 'Partly,' says Willum Waldorf Asthor. 'It was partly me an' partly me folks,' he says. 'I was,' he says, in a voice broken be tears, 'I was,' he says, 'bor-rn in New York,' he says. Th' clark made th' sign iv th' cross an' says he: 'Ye shudden't have come here,' he says. 'Poor afflicted wretch,' he says, 'ye need a clargyman,' he says. 'Why did ye seek me out?' he says. 'Because,' says Willum Waldorf Asthor, 'I wish,' he says, 'f'r to renounce me sinful life,' he says. 'I wish to be bor-rn anew,' he says. An' th' clark bein' a kind man helps him out. An' Willum Waldorf Asthor renounced fealty to all foreign sovereigns, princes an' potentates an' especially Mack th' Wanst, or Twict, iv th' United States an' Sulu an' all his wur-ruks an' he come out iv th' coort with his hat cocked over his eye, with a step jaunty and high, afther years iv servile freedom a bondman at last!
“So this poor, worn-out soul, after trying every other remedy from driving a coach to failing to vote, finally sought out the high clerk of the court and said, 'Look,' he said, 'I’m an unhappy man,' he said. 'With millions in my pocket, two hotels, and unlimited credit,' he said, 'my heart is gray,' he said. 'Poor soul,' said the clerk of the court, 'What’s bothering you?' he said. 'Have you committed some great crime?' he said. 'Partly,' said William Waldorf Astor. 'It was partly me and partly my family,' he said. 'I was,' he said, in a voice choked with tears, 'I was,' he said, 'born in New York,' he said. The clerk made the sign of the cross and said, 'You shouldn’t have come here,' he said. 'Poor afflicted wretch,' he said, 'you need a clergyman,' he said. 'Why did you seek me out?' he said. 'Because,' said William Waldorf Astor, 'I wish,' he said, 'to renounce my sinful life,' he said. 'I wish to be born anew,' he said. And the clerk, being a kind man, helped him out. And William Waldorf Astor renounced loyalty to all foreign sovereigns, princes, and potentates, especially Mack the Wanst, or Twict, of the United States and Sulu and all his works, and he came out of the court with his hat cocked over his eye, stepping jauntily and confidently, after years of servile freedom, a bondman at last!
“So he's a citizen iv Gr-reat Britain now an' a lile subject iv th' Queen like you was Hinnissy befure ye was r-run out.”
“So he's a citizen of Great Britain now and a little subject of the Queen, just like you were Hinnissy before you were run out.”
“I niver was,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Sure th' Queen iv England was renounced f'r me long befure I did it f'r mesilf—to vote.”
“I never was,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Sure the Queen of England was renounced for me long before I did it for myself—to vote.”
“Well, niver mind,” Mr. Dooley continued, “he's a citizen iv England an' he has a castle that's as big as a hotel, on'y nobody goes there excipt thim that's ast, an' not all of those, an' he owns a newspaper an' th' editor iv it's the Prince iv Wales an' th' rayporthers is all jooks an' th' Archbishop iv Canterbury r-runs th' ilivator, an' slug wan in th' printin' office is th' Impror iv Germany in disgeese. 'Tis a pa-per I'd like to see. I'd like to know how th' Jook iv Marlbro'd do th' McGovern fight. An' some day Willum Waldorf Asthor'll be able to wurruk f'r his own pa-aper, f'r he's goin' to be a earl or a markess or a jook or somethin' gran'. Ye can't be anny iv these things without money, Hinnissy, an' he has slathers iv it.”
“Well, never mind,” Mr. Dooley continued, “he's a citizen of England and he has a castle that's as big as a hotel, only nobody goes there except those who are invited, and not all of them, and he owns a newspaper and the editor is the Prince of Wales and all the reporters are dukes and the Archbishop of Canterbury runs the elevator, and some guy in the printing office is the Emperor of Germany in disguise. It’s a paper I’d like to see. I’d like to know how the Duke of Marlborough handled the McGovern fight. And someday William Waldorf Astor will be able to work for his own paper, because he’s going to be an earl or a marquess or a duke or something grand. You can’t be any of these things without money, Hinnissy, and he has loads of it.”
“Where does he get it?” demanded Mr. Hennessy.
“Where does he get it?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“F'rm this counthry,” said Mr. Dooley.
“From this country,” said Mr. Dooley.
“I shud think,” Mr. Hennessy protested stoutly, “if he's ashamed iv this counthry he wudden't want to take money f'rm it.”
“I should think,” Mr. Hennessy protested firmly, “if he's ashamed of this country he wouldn't want to take money from it.”
“That's where ye're wrong,” Mr. Dooley replied. “Take money annywhere ye find it. I'd take money f'rm England, much as I despise that formerly haughty but now dejected land, if I cud get anny from there. An' whin ye come down to it, I dinnaw as I blame Willum Waldorf Asthor f'r shiftin' his allegiance. Ivry wan to his taste as th' man said whin he dhrank out iv th' fire extinguisher. It depinds on how ye feel. If ye ar-re a tired la-ad an' wan without much fight in ye, livin' in this counthry is like thryin' to read th' Lives iv the Saints at a meetin' iv th' Clan-na-Gael. They'se no quiet f'r annybody. They's a fight on ivry minyit iv th' time. Ye may say to ye'ersilf: 'I'll lave these la-ads roll each other as much as they plaze, but I'll set here in th' shade an' dhrink me milk punch, but ye can't do it. Some wan 'll say, 'Look at that gazabo settin' out there alone. He's too proud f'r to jine in our simple dimmycratic festivities. Lave us go over an' bate him on th' eye.' An' they do it. Now if ye have fightin' blood in ye'er veins ye hastily gulp down yeer dhrink an' hand ye'er assailant wan that does him no kind iv good, an' th' first thing ye know ye're in th thick iv it an' its scrap, scrap, scrap till th' undhertaker calls f'r to measure ye. An' 'tis tin to wan they'se somethin' doin' at th' fun'ral that ye're sorry ye missed. That's life in America. Tis a gloryous big fight, a rough an' tumble fight, a Donnybrook fair three thousan' miles wide an' a ruction in ivry block. Head an' ban's an' feet an' th' pitchers on th' wall. No holds barred. Fight fair but don't f'rget th' other la-ad may not know where th' belt line is. No polisman in sight. A man's down with twinty on top iv him wan minyit. Th' next he's settin' on th' pile usin' a base-ball bat on th' neighbor next below him. 'Come on, boys, f'r 'tis growin' late, an' no wan's been kilt yet. Glory be, but this is th' life!'
“That's where you're wrong,” Mr. Dooley replied. “Take money wherever you find it. I'd take money from England, as much as I despise that once proud but now sad country, if I could get any from there. And when it comes down to it, I don’t blame William Waldorf Astor for shifting his allegiance. There’s always something to suit his taste, like the man said when he drank from the fire extinguisher. It depends on how you feel. If you're a tired guy and one without much fight left in you, living in this country is like trying to read the Lives of the Saints at a Clan-na-Gael meeting. There’s no peace for anyone. There’s a brawl every minute of the time. You might say to yourself: ‘I'll let these guys fight as much as they want, but I'll just sit here in the shade and drink my milk punch,’ but you can't do it. Someone will say, ‘Look at that guy sitting out there alone. He’s too proud to join in our simple democratic festivities. Let's go over and punch him in the eye.’ And they do it. Now if you have fighting spirit in your veins, you'll quickly gulp down your drink and give your attacker one that doesn’t do him any good, and before you know it, you’re in the thick of it and it's scrap, scrap, scrap until the undertaker comes to measure you. And it’s ten to one there’s something going on at the funeral that you’ll regret missing. That's life in America. It’s a glorious big fight, a rough-and-tumble fight, a Donnybrook fair three thousand miles wide and a ruckus in every block. Heads and hands and feet and the paintings on the wall. No rules. Fight fair but don’t forget the other guy may not know where the beltline is. No police in sight. A man’s down with twenty on top of him one minute. The next he’s sitting on the pile using a baseball bat on the neighbor below him. ‘Come on, boys, for it’s getting late, and no one’s been killed yet. Goodness, but this is the life!’”
“Now, if I'm tired I don't want to fight. A man bats me in th' eye an' I call f'r th' polis. They isn't a polisman in sight. I say to th' man that poked me: 'Sir, I fain wud sleep.' 'Get up,' he says, 'an' be doin',' he says. 'Life is rale, life is earnest,' he says, 'an' man was made to fight,' he says, fetchin' me a kick. An' if I'm tired I say, 'What's th' use? I've got plenty iv money in me inside pocket. I'll go to a place where they don't know how to fight. I'll go where I can get something but an argymint f'r me money an' where I won't have to rassle with th' man that bates me carpets, ayether,' I says, 'f'r fifty cints overcharge or good govermint,' I says. An' I pike off to what Hogan calls th' effete monarchies iv Europe an' no wan walks on me toes, an' ivry man I give a dollar to becomes an acrobat an' I live comfortably an' die a markess! Th' divvle I do!
“Now, if I'm tired, I don’t want to fight. A guy hits me in the eye, and I call for the police. There isn’t an officer in sight. I say to the guy who jabbed me, 'Sir, I just want to sleep.' 'Get up,' he says, 'and get moving,' he says. 'Life is real, life is serious,' he says, 'and man was made to fight,' he says, giving me a kick. And if I’m tired, I think, 'What’s the point? I have plenty of money in my pocket. I’ll go to a place where they don’t know how to fight. I’ll go where I can get something for my money and where I won’t have to deal with the guy who messes up my carpets, either,' I say, 'for fifty cents extra or good government,' I say. And I head off to what Hogan calls the decadent monarchies of Europe, and no one steps on my toes, and every man I give a dollar to becomes an acrobat, and I live comfortably and die a nobleman! The devil I do!”
“That's what I was goin' to say,” Mr. Hennessy remarked. “Ye wudden't live annywhere but here.”
“That's what I was going to say,” Mr. Hennessy said. “You wouldn't live anywhere but here.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley, “I wudden't. I'd rather be Dooley iv Chicago than th' Earl iv Peltvule. It must be that I'm iv th' fightin' kind.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley, “I wouldn’t. I’d rather be Dooley in Chicago than the Earl of Peltvule. It must be that I’m the fighting type.”
SERVANT GIRL PROBLEM
Whin Congress gets through expellin' mimbers that believes so much in mathrimony that they carry it into ivry relation iv life an' opens th' dure iv Chiny so that an American can go in there as free as a Chinnyman can come into this refuge iv th' opprissed iv th' wurruld, I hope'twill turn its attintion to th' gr-reat question now confrontin' th' nation—th' question iv what we shall do with our hired help. What shall we do with thim?
When Congress finishes expelling members who believe so strongly in marriage that they bring it into every aspect of life and opens the door to China so that an American can enter as freely as a Chinese person can come into this refuge for the oppressed of the world, I hope it will focus on the great question currently facing the nation—the question of what we should do with our hired help. What should we do with them?
“We haven't anny,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“We don't have any,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ar-rchey r-road has no servant girl problem. Th' rule is ivry woman her own cook an' ivry man his own futman, an' be th' same token we have no poly-gamy problem an' no open dure problem an' no Ph'lippeen problem. Th' on'y problem in Ar-rchey r-road is how manny times does round steak go into twelve at wan dollar-an-a-half a day. But east iv th' r-red bridge, Hinnissy, wan iv th' most cryin' issues iv th' hour is: What shall we do with our hired help? An' if Congress don't take hold iv it we ar-re a rooned people.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Archie Road has no issues with maid service. The rule is every woman is her own cook and every man is his own servant, and on top of that, we don't have a polygamy problem or an open door problem or a Philippine problem. The only issue in Archie Road is how many times round steak can be cut into twelve at a dollar and a half a day. But east of the red bridge, Hinnissy, one of the biggest crying issues of the hour is: What should we do with our hired help? And if Congress doesn’t tackle it, we are doomed.”
“'Tis an ol' problem an' I've seen it arise an' shake its gory head ivry few years whiniver th' Swede popylation got wurruk an' begun bein' marrid, thus rayjoocin' th' visible supply iv help. But it seems 'tis deeper thin that. I see be letters in th' pa-apers that servants is insolent, an' that they won't go to wurruk onless they like th' looks iv their employers, an' that they rayfuse to live in th' counthry. Why anny servant shud rayfuse to live in th' counthry is more thin I can see. Ye'd think that this disreputable class'd give annything to lave th' crowded tinimints iv a large city where they have frinds be th' hundherds an' know th' polisman on th' bate an' can go out to hateful dances an' moonlight picnics—ye'd think these unforchnate slaves'd be delighted to live in Mulligan's subdivision, amid th' threes an' flowers an' bur-rds. Gettin' up at four o'clock in th' mornin' th' singin' iv th' full-throated alarm clock is answered be an invisible choir iv songsters, as Shakespere says, an' ye see th' sun rise over th' hills as ye go out to carry in a ton iv coal. All day long ye meet no wan as ye thrip over th' coal-scuttle, happy in ye'er tile an' ye'er heart is enlivened be th' thought that th' childher in th' front iv th' house ar-re growin' sthrong on th' fr-resh counthry air. Besides they'se always cookin' to do. At night ye can set be th' fire an' improve ye'er mind be r-readin' half th' love story in th' part iv th' pa-aper that th' cheese come home in, an' whin ye're through with that, all ye have to do is to climb a ladder to th' roof an' fall through th' skylight an' ye're in bed.”
“It's an old problem, and I've seen it come up and shake its ugly head every few years whenever the Swedish population found jobs and started getting married, thus reducing the visible supply of help. But it seems it's deeper than that. I see in letters in the papers that servants are disrespectful, and that they won’t go to work unless they like the looks of their employers, and that they refuse to live in the country. Why any servant would refuse to live in the country is beyond me. You’d think this disreputable class would give anything to leave the crowded tenements of a large city where they have friends by the hundreds and know the policeman on the beat and can go out to terrible dances and moonlight picnics—you’d think these unfortunate people would be thrilled to live in Mulligan's subdivision, surrounded by trees, flowers, and birds. Getting up at four in the morning, the singing of the loud alarm clock is answered by an invisible choir of songbirds, as Shakespeare says, and you see the sun rise over the hills as you go out to bring in a ton of coal. All day long you meet no one as you trip over the coal scuttle, happy in your role, and your heart is lifted by the thought that the children in front of the house are growing strong on the fresh country air. Besides, there’s always cooking to do. At night you can sit by the fire and improve your mind by rereading half the love story from the part of the paper that the cheese came home in, and when you’re done with that, all you have to do is climb a ladder to the roof and fall through the skylight, and you’re in bed.”
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“But wud ye believe it, Hinnissy, manny iv these misguided women rayfuse f'r to take a job that aint in a city. They prefer th' bustle an' roar iv th' busy marts iv thrade, th' sthreet car, th' saloon on three corners an' th' church on wan, th' pa-apers ivry mornin' with pitchers iv th' s'ciety fav'rite that's just thrown up a good job at Armours to elope with th' well-known club man who used to be yard-masther iv th' three B's, G, L, & N., th' shy peek into th' dhry-goods store, an' other base luxuries, to a free an' healthy life in th' counthry between iliven P.M. an' four A.M. Wensdahs an' Sundahs. 'Tis worse thin that, Hinnissy, f'r whin they ar-re in th' city they seem to dislike their wurruk an' manny iv thim ar-re givin' up splindid jobs with good large families where they have no chanst to spind their salaries, if they dhraw thim, an' takin' places in shops, an' gettin' marrid an' adoptin' other devices that will give thim th' chanst f'r to wear out their good clothes. 'Tis a horrible situation. Riley th' conthractor dhropped in here th' other day in his horse an' buggy on his way to the dhrainage canal an' he was all wurruked up over th' question. 'Why,' he says, ''tis scand'lous th' way servants act,' he says. 'Mrs. Riley has hystrics,' he says. 'An' ivry two or three nights whin I come home,' he says, 'I have to win a fight again' a cook with a stove lid befure I can move me family off th' fr-ront stoop,' he says. 'We threat thim well too,' he says. 'I gave th' las' wan we had fifty cints an' a cook book at Chris'mas an' th' next day she left befure breakfast,' he says. 'What naytionalties do ye hire?' says I. 'I've thried thim all,' he says, 'an',' he says, 'I'll say this in shame,' he says, 'that th' Irish ar-re th' worst,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'ye need have no shame,' I says, 'f'r'tis on'y th' people that ar-re good servants that'll niver be masthers,' I says. 'Th' Irish ar-re no good as servants because they ar-re too good,' I says. 'Th' Dutch ar-re no good because they aint good enough. No matther how they start they get th' noodle habit. I had wan, wanst, an' she got so she put noodles in me tay,' I says. 'Th' Swedes ar-re all right but they always get marrid th' sicond day. Ye'll have a polisman at th' dure with a warrant f'r th' arrist iv ye'er cook if ye hire a Boheemyan,' I says. 'Coons'd be all right but they're liable f'r to hand ye ye'er food in ragtime, an' if ye ordher pork-chops f'r dinner an' th' hall is long, 'tis little ye'll have to eat whin th' platter's set down,' I says. 'No,' says I, 'they'se no naytionality now livin' in this counthry that're nathral bor-rn servants,' I says. 'If ye want to save throuble,' I says, 'ye'll import ye'er help. They'se a race iv people livin' in Cinthral Africa that'd be jus' r-right. They niver sleep, tkey can carry twice their weight on their backs, they have no frinds, they wear no clothes, they can't read, they can't dance an' they don't dhrink. Th' fact is they're thoroughly oneddycated. If ye cud tache thim to cook an' take care iv childher they'd be th' best servants,' says I. 'An' what d'ye call thim?' says he. 'I f'rget,' says I. An' he wint away mad.”
“But would you believe it, Hinnissy, many of these misguided women refuse to take a job that's not in a city. They prefer the hustle and bustle of busy trade markets, the streetcar, the bar on three corners and the church on one, the newspapers every morning with pictures of the society favorite who just quit a good job at Armours to elope with the well-known club guy who used to be the yardmaster of the three B’s, G, L, & N., the sneaky peek into the department store, and other petty luxuries, to a free and healthy life in the country between eleven P.M. and four A.M. on Wednesdays and Sundays. It’s worse than that, Hinnissy, because when they are in the city, they seem to dislike their work, and many of them are giving up great jobs with big families where they have no chance to spend their salaries, if they even draw them, and taking jobs in shops, getting married, and adopting other schemes that will give them the chance to wear out their good clothes. It’s a horrible situation. Riley the contractor stopped by here the other day in his horse and buggy on his way to the drainage canal, and he was all worked up over the matter. ‘Why,’ he says, ‘it’s scandalous the way servants behave,’ he says. ‘Mrs. Riley has the hysterics,’ he says. ‘And every two or three nights when I come home,’ he says, ‘I have to fight with a cook armed with a stove lid before I can move my family off the front step,’ he says. ‘We treat them well too,’ he says. ‘I gave the last one we had fifty cents and a cookbook for Christmas, and the next day she left before breakfast,’ he says. ‘What nationalities do you hire?’ I asked. ‘I've tried them all,’ he says, ‘and,’ he says, ‘I'll say this with shame,’ he says, ‘that the Irish are the worst,’ he says. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘you need feel no shame,’ I said, ‘for it’s only the people who are good servants that will never be masters,’ I said. ‘The Irish are no good as servants because they’re too good,’ I said. ‘The Dutch are no good because they aren’t good enough. No matter how they start, they get the noodle habit. I had one once, and she got so she put noodles in my tea,’ I said. ‘The Swedes are all right, but they always get married the second day. You’ll have a policeman at the door with a warrant for the arrest of your cook if you hire a Bohemian,’ I said. ‘Coons would be all right, but they're likely to serve you your food in ragtime, and if you order pork chops for dinner and the hall is long, it’s little you’ll have to eat when the platter's set down,’ I said. ‘No,’ I said, ‘there’s no nationality now living in this country that is naturally born servants,’ I said. ‘If you want to save trouble,’ I said, ‘you’ll have to import your help. There’s a race of people living in Central Africa that would be just right. They never sleep, they can carry twice their weight on their backs, they have no friends, they wear no clothes, they can’t read, they can’t dance, and they don’t drink. The fact is they’re thoroughly uneducated. If you could teach them to cook and take care of children, they’d be the best servants,’ I said. ‘And what do you call them?’ he asked. ‘I forget,’ I said. And he went away mad.”
“Sure an' he's a nice man to be talkin' iv servants,” said Mr. Hennessy. “He was a gintleman's man in th' ol' counthry an' I used to know his wife whin she wurruked f'r ——”
“Sure he’s a nice guy to be talking about servants,” said Mr. Hennessy. “He was a gentleman's man back in the old country and I used to know his wife when she worked for ——”
“S-sh,” said Mr. Dooley. “They're beyond that now. Besides they speak fr'm experyence. An' mebbe that's th' throuble. We're always harder with our own kind thin with others. 'Tis I that'd be th' fine cinsor iv a bartinder's wurruk. Th' more ye ought to be a servant ye'ersilf th' more difficult'tis f'r ye to get along with servants. I can holler to anny man fr'm th' top iv a buildin' an' make him tur-rn r-round, but if I come down to th' sthreet where he can see I aint anny bigger thin he is, an' holler at him, 'tis twinty to wan if he tur-rns r-round he'll hit me in th' eye. We have a servant girl problem because, Hinnissy, it isn't manny years since we first begun to have servant girls. But I hope Congress'll take it up. A smart Congress like th' wan we have now ought to be able to spare a little time fr'm its preparation iv new Jims iv speech f'r th' third reader an' rig up a bill that'd make keepin' house a recreation while so softenin' th' spirit iv th' haughty sign iv a noble race in th' kitchen that cookin' buckwheat cakes on a hot day with th' aid iv a bottle iv smokeless powdher'd not cause her f'r to sind a worthy man to his office in slippers an' without a hat.”
“Shh,” said Mr. Dooley. “They're past that now. Besides, they speak from experience. And maybe that's the problem. We're always tougher on our own kind than on others. I would be a great critic of a bartender's work. The more you should be a servant yourself, the harder it is for you to get along with them. I can shout to any man from the top of a building and make him turn around, but if I come down to the street where he can see I’m no bigger than he is and shout at him, it’s twenty to one that if he turns around, he’ll hit me in the eye. We have a servant girl issue because, Hinnissy, it hasn't been long since we first started having servant girls. But I hope Congress will address it. A smart Congress like the one we have now should be able to take a little break from preparing new speeches for the third reader and come up with a bill that would make running a household enjoyable while also softening the spirit of the proud sign of a noble race in the kitchen so that cooking buckwheat cakes on a hot day with a bottle of smokeless powder doesn’t force her to send a worthy man to his office in slippers and without a hat.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Hennessy, the simple democrat. “It wud be all r-right if women'd do their own cookin'.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Hennessy, the simple democrat. “It would be just fine if women did their own cooking.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley. “'Twud be a return to Jacksonyan simplicity, an' 'twud be a gr-reat thing f'r th' resthrant business.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley. “It would be a return to Jacksonian simplicity, and it would be a great thing for the restaurant business.”
THE TRANSVAAL
“It looks like war,” said Mr. Hennessy, who had been glancing at the flaming head-lines of an evening paper over Mr. Dooley's shoulder.
“It looks like war,” said Mr. Hennessy, who had been peeking at the fiery headlines of an evening paper over Mr. Dooley's shoulder.
“It always does,” said Mr. Dooley. “Since th' Czar iv Rooshia inthrajooced his no-fight risolution, they'se been no chanst that they wudden't be ructious.”
“It always does,” said Mr. Dooley. “Since the Czar of Russia introduced his no-fight resolution, there's been no chance that they wouldn't be unruly.”
“An' what's it all about?” demanded Mr. Hennessy. “I can't make head nor tail iv it at all, at all.”
“What's it all about?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “I can't make sense of it at all.”
“Well ye see 'tis this way,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ye see th' Boers is a simple, pasthral people that goes about their business in their own way, raisin' hell with ivrybody. They was bor-rn with an aversion to society an' whin th' English come they lit out befure thim, not likin' their looks. Th' English kept comin' an' the Boers kept movin' till they cudden't move anny further without bumpin' into th' Soodanese ar-rmy an' thin they settled down an' says they, 'This far shall we go,' says they, bein' a rellijous people, 'an' divvle th' sthep further.' An' they killed off th' irrelijous naygurs an' started in f'r to raise cattle. An' at night they'd set outside iv their dorps, which, Hinnissy, is Dutch f'r two-story brick house an' lot, an' sip their la-ager an' swap horses an' match texts fr'm th' Bible f'r th' seegars, while th' childer played marbles with dimons as big as th' end iv ye'er thumb.
“Well, you see, it’s like this,” said Mr. Dooley. “The Boers are a simple, pastoral people who go about their business in their own way, causing trouble for everyone. They were born with a dislike for society, and when the English came, they took off in front of them, not liking their looks. The English kept coming, and the Boers kept moving until they couldn't go any further without running into the Sudanese army, and then they settled down and said, 'This far we shall go,' being a religious people, 'and not a step further.' And they got rid of the irreligious natives and started raising cattle. And at night, they’d sit outside their dorps, which, Hinnissy, is Dutch for two-story brick house and lot, and sip their lager, swap horses, and trade Bible verses for cigars, while the children played marbles with diamonds as big as the tips of your thumbs.”
“Well, th' English heerd they was goold be th' bucket in ivry cellar fr'm Oopencoff to Doozledorf, which, Hinnissy, is like New York an' San Francisco, bein' th' exthreme pints iv th' counthry, an' they come on in gr-reat hordes, sturdy Anglo-Saxons fr'm Saxony, th' Einsteins an' Heidlebacks an' Werners an' whin they took out goold enough so's they needed raycreation they wanted to vote. 'An',' says Joe Chamberlain, he says, 'Be hivins, they shall vote,' he says. 'Is it,' he says, 'possible that at this stage iv th' world's progress' he says, 'an English gintleman shud be denied,' he says, 'th' right to dhrop off a thrain annywhere in th' civilized wurruld an' cast his impeeryal vote?' he says. 'Give thim th' franchise,' he says, 'or be this an' be that!' he says, 'f'r we have put our hand to th' plough, an' we will not turn back,' he says.
“Well, the English heard there was gold to be found in every cellar from Oopencoff to Doozledorf, which, Hinnissy, is like New York and San Francisco, being the extreme points of the country, and they came in great numbers, sturdy Anglo-Saxons from Saxony, the Einsteins and Heidlebacks and Werners, and when they took out enough gold to need a break, they wanted to vote. 'And,' says Joe Chamberlain, he says, 'By heavens, they shall vote,' he says. 'Is it,' he says, 'possible that at this stage of the world's progress,' he says, 'an English gentleman should be denied,' he says, 'the right to get off a train anywhere in the civilized world and cast his imperial vote?' he says. 'Give them the franchise,' he says, 'or be this and be that!' he says, 'for we have put our hand to the plow, and we will not turn back,' he says.
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“Kruger, that's th' main guy iv th' Dutch, a fine man, Hennissy, that looks like Casey's goat an' has manny iv th' same peculyarities, he says, 'All r-right,' he says, 'I'll give thim th' franchise,' he says. 'Whin?' says Joe Chamberlain. 'In me will,' says Kruger. 'Whin I die,' he says, 'an' I hope to live to be a hundherd if I keep on smokin' befure breakfast,' he says, 'I'll bequeath to me frinds, th' English, or such iv thim as was here befure I come, th' inalienable an' sacred right to demand fr'm me succissor th' privilege iv ilictin' an aldherman,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'in th' mane-time,' he says, 'we'll lave things the way they are,' he says. 'I'm old,' he say, 'an' not good-lookin',' he says, 'an' me clothes don't fit an' they may be marks iv food on me vest,' he says, 'but I'm not more thin half crazy an' annytime ye find me givin' annywan a chanst to vote me into a job dhrivin' a mule an' put in an English prisidint iv this ray-public,' he says, 'ye may conclude that ye'er Uncle Paul needs a guarjeen!' he says.
“Kruger, he's the main guy of the Dutch, a good man, Hennissy, who resembles Casey's goat and has many of the same peculiarities, he says, 'All right,' he says, 'I'll give them the franchise,' he says. 'When?' says Joe Chamberlain. 'In my will,' says Kruger. 'When I die,' he says, 'and I hope to live to be a hundred if I keep smoking before breakfast,' he says, 'I'll leave my friends, the English, or at least those who were here before I arrived, the inalienable and sacred right to demand from my successor the privilege of electing an alderman,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'in the meantime,' he says, 'we'll leave things as they are,' he says. 'I'm old,' he says, 'and not good-looking,' he says, 'and my clothes don't fit and there might be food stains on my vest,' he says, 'but I'm not more than half crazy and anytime you find me giving anyone a chance to vote me into a job driving a mule and putting an English president of this republic,' he says, 'you can conclude that your Uncle Paul needs a guarantee!' he says.
“'Far be it fr'm me to suggist anny but peaceful measures,' says Sir Alfred Milner, that's th' lad they have down in Africa, th' Injun agent, 'f'r th' English an' Dutch shud wurruk together like brothers f'r th' removal iv th' naygur popylation,' he says, 'but,' he says, 'as a brother I politely suggest to ye that if ye don't give us what we want we'll hand ye a fraternal punch!' he says. 'F'r,' he says,' 'we have put our hand to th' plough,' he says, 'an' we cannot turn back,' he says.
“'It’s not my place to suggest anything but peaceful measures,' says Sir Alfred Milner, the guy they have down in Africa, the Indian agent, 'that the English and Dutch should work together like brothers for the removal of the native population,' he says, 'but,' he says, 'as a brother, I kindly suggest to you that if you don’t give us what we want, we’ll give you a friendly punch!' he says. 'Because,' he says, 'we have committed to this cause,' he says, 'and we cannot turn back,' he says."
“'What Sir Alfred Milner says is thrue,' says Lord Lelborne, an' what th' divvle he has to do about it I dinnaw. 'Th' situation is such,' he says, 'as to be intol'rable to a silf-rayspictin' Englishman,' he says. 'What a crime,' he says, 'that th' men who ar-re takin' most iv th' money out iv th' counthry shud not be allowed to stick in anny iv th' votes,' he says. 'We have, as Shakespeare says, put our hand to th' plough,' he says, 'an' we cannot turn back,' he says. 'I agree corjally with th' noble lord on th' r-red lounge abaft me,' says Lord Salisbury. 'With the echoes of me own noble sintimints on th' peace proclamation iv me good frind, th' Czar iv Rooshia, still ringin' in me ears,' he says, 'it wud ill become me to speak iv foorce,' he says. 'I wud on'y say that if th' Transvaal raypublic wud rather have a Dum-dum bullet in its tum-tum thin grant to Englishmen th' r-right to run th' govermint, thin th' Transvaal rapublic'll have both!' he says. 'I will add,' he says, 'that we have put our hand to th' plough an' we will not turn back,' he says.
“'What Sir Alfred Milner says is true,' says Lord Lelborne, 'and what the devil he has to do about it, I don't know. 'The situation is such,' he says, 'that it is intolerable to a self-respecting Englishman.' 'What a crime,' he says, 'that the men who are taking most of the money out of the country should not be allowed to cast any of the votes.' 'We have, as Shakespeare says, put our hand to the plough,' he says, 'and we cannot turn back.' 'I wholeheartedly agree with the noble lord on the red lounge behind me,' says Lord Salisbury. 'With the echoes of my own noble sentiments on the peace proclamation of my good friend, the Czar of Russia, still ringing in my ears,' he says, 'it would not be fitting for me to speak of force.' 'I would only say that if the Transvaal republic would rather have a Dum-dum bullet in its stomach than grant Englishmen the right to run the government, then the Transvaal republic will have both!' he says. 'I will add,' he says, 'that we have put our hand to the plough and we will not turn back,' he says.
“Well, sir, 'twas up to Kruger an' he knocked th' ashes out iv his pipe on his vest an' says he, 'Gintlemen,' he says, 'I wud like to do me best to accomydate ye,' he says. 'Nawthin' short iv a severe attack iv sickness wud plaze me so much as to see long lines iv Englishmen marchin' up to th' polls an' depositin' their ballots again' me f'r prisidint,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'I'm an old man!' he says. 'I was ilicted young an' I niver done annything since,' he says. 'I wudden't know what to do without it,' he says. 'What ye propose is to make an ex-prisidint iv me. D'ye think I cud stand that? D'ye think at my age I wud be contint to dash fr'm wan justice coort to another pleadin' f'r habyas-corpus writs or test me principles iv personal expansion in a Noo Jarsey village?' he says. 'I'd rather be a dead prisidint thin a live ex-prisidint. If I have anny pollytical ambition I'd rather be a Grant or a Garfield thin a Cleveland or a Harrison,' he says. 'I may've read it in th' Bible, though I think I saw it in a scand'lous book me frind Rhodes left in his bedroom las' time he called on me, that ye shud niver discard an ace to dhraw to a flush,' he says. 'I deplore th' language but th' sintimint is sound,' he says. 'An' I believe ye'er intintions to presarve peace ar-re honest, but I don't like to see ye pullin' off ye'er coat an' here goes f'r throuble while ye have ye'er arms in th' sleeves,' he says. 'F'r,' he says, 'ye have put ye'er hand in th' reaper an' it cannot turn back,' he says.
"Well, sir, it was up to Kruger, and he knocked the ashes out of his pipe on his vest and said, 'Gentlemen,' he said, 'I would like to do my best to accommodate you,' he said. 'Nothing short of a serious illness would please me more than to see long lines of Englishmen marching up to the polls and casting their ballots for me as president,' he said. 'But,' he said, 'I'm an old man!' he said. 'I was elected young and I've never done anything since,' he said. 'I wouldn't know what to do without it,' he said. 'What you propose is to make an ex-president out of me. Do you think I could handle that? Do you think at my age I would be content to dash from one court to another begging for habeas corpus writs or test my principles of personal expansion in a New Jersey village?' he said. 'I'd rather be a dead president than a living ex-president. If I have any political ambition, I'd rather be a Grant or a Garfield than a Cleveland or a Harrison,' he said. 'I may have read it in the Bible, though I think I saw it in a scandalous book my friend Rhodes left in his bedroom the last time he visited me, that you should never discard an ace to draw to a flush,' he said. 'I disapprove of the language, but the sentiment is sound,' he said. 'And I believe your intentions to preserve peace are honest, but I don't like to see you rolling up your sleeves and going for trouble while your arms are still covered,' he said. 'For,' he said, 'you have put your hand in the reaper, and it cannot turn back,' he said."
“An' there they go, Hinnissy. I'm not again England in this thing, Hinnissy, an' I'm not again th' Boers. Like Mack I'm divided on a matther iv principle between a desire to cemint th' 'lieance an' an affiction f'r th' Dutch vote. But if Kruger had spint his life in a rale raypublic where they burn gas he cud've settled th' business without losin' sleep. If I was Kruger there'd've been no war.”
“Look at them go, Hinnissy. I’m not siding with England in this, Hinnissy, and I’m not against the Boers either. Like Mack, I’m torn on a matter of principle between wanting to strengthen the alliance and having an affection for the Dutch vote. But if Kruger had spent his life in a real republic where they use gas lamps, he could’ve handled this situation without losing any sleep. If I were Kruger, there wouldn’t have been any war.”
“What wud ye have done?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“What would you have done?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“I'd give thim th' votes,” said Mr. Dooley. “But,” he added significantly, “I'd do th' countin'.”
“I'd give them the votes,” said Mr. Dooley. “But,” he added meaningfully, “I'd do the counting.”
WAR AND WAR MAKERS
“I tell ye, Hinnissy,” said Mr. Dooley, “Ye can't do th' English-speakin' people. Oursilves an' th' hands acrost th' sea ar-re rapidly teachin' th' benighted Lutheryan an' other haythin that as a race we're onvincible an' oncatcheable. Th' Anglo-Saxon race meetin's now going on in th' Ph'lippeens an' South Africa ought to convince annywan that give us a fair start an' we can bate th' wurruld to a tillygraft office.
“I’m telling you, Hinnissy,” Mr. Dooley said, “You can’t outsmart the English-speaking people. We and the folks across the sea are quickly showing the lost Lutherans and other heathens that as a race we’re unbeatable and uncatchable. The Anglo-Saxon race meetings happening now in the Philippines and South Africa should convince anyone that if given a fair chance, we can take on the world without a doubt.”
“Th' war our cousins be Sir Thomas Lipton is prosecutin', as Hogan says, again th' foul but accrate Boers is doin' more thin that. It's givin' us a common war lithrachoor. I wudden't believe at first whin I r-read th' dispatches in th' pa-apers that me frind Gin'ral Otis wasn't in South Africa. It was on'y whin I see another chapter iv his justly cillybrated seeryal story, intitled 'Th' Capture iv Porac' that I knew he had an imitator in th' mother counthry. An' be hivins, I like th' English la-ad's style almost as well as our own gr-reat artist's. Mebbe'tis, as th' pa-apers say, that Otis has writ himsilf out. Annyhow th' las' chapter isn't thrillin'. He says: 'To-day th' ar-rmy undher my command fell upon th' inimy with gr-reat slaughter an' seized th' important town of Porac which I have mintioned befure, but,' he says, 'we ar-re fortunately now safe in Manila.' Ye see he doesn't keep up th' intherest to th' end. Th' English pote does betther.”
“The war our cousin Sir Thomas Lipton is fighting, as Hogan says, against the nasty but accurate Boers is doing more than that. It's giving us a shared war literature. I couldn't believe at first when I read the dispatches in the papers that my friend General Otis wasn't in South Africa. It was only when I saw another chapter of his well-known serial story, titled 'The Capture of Porac' that I realized he had an imitator back home. And by heavens, I like the English lad's style almost as much as our own great artist's. Maybe, as the papers say, Otis has written himself out. Anyway, the last chapter isn't exciting. He says: 'Today the army under my command engaged the enemy with great slaughter and captured the important town of Porac which I have mentioned before, but,' he says, 'we are fortunately now safe in Manila.' You see, he doesn’t keep up the interest to the end. The English poet does better.”
“'Las' night at eight o'clock,' he says, 'we found our slendher but inthrepid ar-rmy surrounded be wan hundhred thousan' Boers,' he says. 'We attackted thim with gr-reat fury,' he says, 'pursuin' thim up th' almost inaccessible mountain side an' capturin' eight guns which we didn't want so we give thim back to thim with siveral iv our own,' he says. 'Th' Irish rig'mints,' he says, 'th' Kerry Rifles, th' Land Leaguers' Own, an' th' Dublin Pets, commanded be th' Pop'lar Irish sojer Gin'ral Sir Ponsonby Tompkins wint into battle singin' their well-known naytional anthem: “Mrs. Innery Awkins is a fust-class name!” Th' Boers retreated,' he says, 'pursued be th' Davitt Terrors who cut their way through th' fugitives with awful slaughter,' he says. 'They have now,' he says, 'pinethrated as far us Pretoria,' he says, 'th' officers arrivin' in first-class carredges an' th' men in thrucks,' he says, 'an' ar-re camped in th' bettin' shed where they ar-re afforded ivry attintion be th' vanquished inimy,' he says. 'As f'r us,' he says, 'we decided afther th' victhry to light out f'r Ladysmith.' he says, 'Th' inimy had similar intintions,' he says, 'but their skill has been vastly overrated,' he says. 'We bate thim,' he says 'we bate thim be thirty miles,' he says. That's where we're sthrong, Hinnissy. We may get licked on th' battle field, we may be climbin' threes in th' Ph'lippeens with arrows stickin' in us like quills, as Hogan says, into th' fretful porcupine or we may be doin' a mile in five minyits flat down th' pike that leads to Cape Town pursued be th' less fleet but more ignorant Boers peltin' us with guns full iv goold an' bibles, but in th' pages iv histhry that our childhren read we niver turned back on e'er an inimy. We make our own gloryous pages on th' battlefield, in th' camp an' in th' cab'net meetin'.”
“Last night at eight o'clock,” he says, “we found our slender but brave army surrounded by one hundred thousand Boers,” he says. “We attacked them with great fury,” he says, “pursuing them up the almost inaccessible mountainside and capturing eight guns that we didn’t need, so we gave them back to them along with several of our own,” he says. “The Irish regiments,” he says, “the Kerry Rifles, the Land Leaguers’ Own, and the Dublin Pets, commanded by the popular Irish general Sir Ponsonby Tompkins, went into battle singing their well-known national anthem: ‘Mrs. Innery Awkins is a first-class name!’ The Boers retreated,” he says, “pursued by the Davitt Terrors who cut through the fugitives with terrible slaughter,” he says. “They have now,” he says, “made it as far as Pretoria,” he says, “the officers arriving in first-class carriages and the men in trucks,” he says, “and are camped in the betting shed where they are given every attention by the defeated enemy,” he says. “As for us,” he says, “we decided after the victory to head for Ladysmith,” he says. “The enemy had similar intentions,” he says, “but their skills have been vastly overrated,” he says. “We beat them,” he says, “we beat them by thirty miles,” he says. “That's where we’re strong, Hinnissy. We may get defeated on the battlefield, we may be climbing trees in the Philippines with arrows sticking in us like quills, as Hogan says, into the fretful porcupine, or we may be doing a mile in five minutes flat down the road to Cape Town, pursued by the less swift but more clueless Boers pelting us with guns full of gold and Bibles. But in the pages of history that our children read, we never turned back on any enemy. We create our own glorious pages on the battlefield, in the camp and in cabinet meetings.”
“Well, 't is all r-right f'r ye to be jokin',” said Mr. Hennessy, “but there's manny a brave fellow down there that it's no joke to.”
“Well, it's all right for you to be joking," said Mr. Hennessy, "but there are many brave guys down there that it's no joke to."
“Thrue f'r ye,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' that's why I wisht it cud be fixed up so's th' men that starts th' wars could do th' fightin'. Th' throuble is that all th' prelimin'ries is arranged be matchmakers an' all they'se left f'r fighters is to do th' murdherin'. A man's got a good job at home an' he wants to make it sthronger. How can he do it? Be throwin' out some one that's got an akelly good job down th' sthreet. Now he don't go over as I wud an' say, 'Here Schwartzmeister (or Kruger as th' case may be) I don't like ye'er appearance, ye made a monkey iv me in argymint befure th' neighborhood an' if ye continyue in business ye'll hurt me thrade, so here goes to move ye into th' sthreet!' Not that la-ad. He gets a crowd around him an' says he: 'Kruger (or Schwartzmeister as th' case may be) is no good. To begin with he's a Dutchman. If that ain't enough he's a cantin', hymn singin' murdhrous wretch that wuddent lave wan iv our counthrymen ate a square meal if he had his way. I'll give ye all two dollars a week if ye'll go over an' desthroy him.' An' th' other la-ad, what does he do? He calls in th' neighbors an' says he: 'Dooley is sindin' down a gang iv savages to murdher me. Do ye lave ye'er wurruk an' ye'er families an' rally ar-round me an' where ye see me plug hat wave do ye go in th' other direction,' he says, 'an' slay th' brutal inimy,' he says. An' off goes th' sojers an' they meet a lot iv la-ads that looks like thimsilves an' makes sounds that's more or less human an' ates out iv plates an' they swap smokin' tobacco an' sings songs together an' th' next day they're up early jabbing holes in each other with baynits. An' whin its all over they'se me an' Chamberlain at home victoryous an' Kruger an' Schwartzmeister at home akelly victoryous. An' they make me prime minister or aldherman but whin I want a man to put in me coal I don't take wan with a wooden leg.
“True for you,” said Mr. Dooley, “and that's why I wish it could be arranged so that the guys who start the wars actually do the fighting. The trouble is that all the preparations are set up by matchmakers, and all that's left for the fighters is to do the killing. A man has a good job at home and wants to make it stronger. How can he do that? By getting rid of someone who's got a really good job down the street. Now, he doesn’t go over like I would and say, 'Hey, Schwartzmeister (or Kruger, as the case may be), I don’t like how you look, you made a fool of me in an argument before the neighborhood, and if you keep this up, you’ll hurt my business, so I’m throwing you out!' Not that guy. He gathers a crowd around him and says: 'Kruger (or Schwartzmeister, as the case may be) is no good. To start with, he's Dutch. If that’s not enough, he’s a scheming, hymn-singing, murderous wretch who wouldn’t let one of our countrymen eat a decent meal if he had his way. I’ll give you all two dollars a week if you’ll go over and take him out.' And what does the other guy do? He calls in the neighbors and says: 'Dooley is sending a gang of savages to kill me. Do you leave your work and your families and rally around me, and when you see my top hat wave, you go in the other direction,' he says, 'and take out the brutal enemy,' he says. And off go the soldiers, and they meet a bunch of guys who look like themselves and make sounds that are more or less human and eat off plates, and they swap smoking tobacco and sing songs together, and the next day they’re up early stabbing each other with bayonets. And when it’s all over, there’s me and Chamberlain at home victorious, and Kruger and Schwartzmeister at home just as victorious. And they make me prime minister or alderman, but when I want someone to put coal in for me, I don’t pick a guy with a wooden leg.”
“I'll niver go down again to see sojers off to th' war. But ye'll see me at th' depot with a brass band whin th' men that causes wars starts f'r th' scene iv carnage. Whin Congress goes forth to th' sun-kissed an' rain jooled isles iv th' Passyfic no more heartier cheer will be beard thin th' wan or two that rises fr'm th' bosom iv Martin Dooley. Says I, give thim th' chanst to make histhry an' lave th' young men come home an' make car wheels. If Chamberlain likes war so much 'tis him that ought to be down there in South Africa peltin' over th' road with ol' Kruger chasin' him with a hoe. Th' man that likes fightin' ought to be willin' to turn in an' spell his fellow-counthrymen himsilf. An' I'd even go this far an' say that if Mack wants to subjoo th' dam Ph'lippeens——”
“I'll never go down again to see soldiers off to war. But you'll see me at the depot with a brass band when the men who cause wars head off for the scene of carnage. When Congress goes off to the sun-kissed and rain-soaked islands of the Pacific, no heartier cheer will be heard than the one or two that comes from the heart of Martin Dooley. I say, give them the chance to make history and let the young men come home and make car wheels. If Chamberlain loves war so much, he should be down there in South Africa, running down the road with old Kruger chasing him with a hoe. A man who likes fighting should be willing to step in and take the place of his fellow countrymen himself. And I'd even go so far as to say that if Mack wants to subdue those damn Philippines——”
“Ye're a thraitor,” said Mr. Hennessy.
"You're a traitor," said Mr. Hennessy.
“I know it,” said Mr. Dooley, complacently.
“I know it,” Mr. Dooley said with a self-satisfied smile.
“Ye're an anti-expansionist.”
"You're an anti-expansionist."
“If ye say that again,” cried Mr. Dooley, angrily, “I'll smash in ye'er head.”
“If you say that again,” shouted Mr. Dooley, angrily, “I'll smash your head in.”
UNDERESTIMATING THE ENEMY
“What d'ye think iv th' war?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“What do you think of the war?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“I think I want to go out an' apologize to Shafter,” said Mr. Dooley.
“I think I want to go out and apologize to Shafter,” said Mr. Dooley.
“I'm like ivrybody else, be hivins, I thought war was like shootin' glass balls. I niver thought iv th' glass balls thrainin' a dinnymite gun on me. 'Tis a thrait iv us Anglo-Saxons that we look on an inimy as a target. If ye hit him ye get three good see-gars. We're like people that dhreams iv fights. In me dhreams I niver lost wan fight. A man I niver saw befure comes up an' says something mane to me, that I can't raymimber, an' I climb into him an' 'tis all over in a minyit. He niver hits me, or if he does I don't feel it. I put him on his back an' bate him to death. An' thin I help mesilf to his watch an' chain an' me frinds come down an' say, 'Martin, ye haven't a scratch,' an' con-grathlate me, an' I wandher ar-roun' th' sthreets with a chip on me shoulder till I look down an' see that I haven't a stitch on me but a short shirt. An' thin I wake up. Th' list iv knock-outs to me credit in dhreams wud make Fitzsimmons feel poor. But ne'er a wan iv thim was printed in th' pa-apers.”
“I’m just like everyone else, honestly, I thought war was like shooting glass balls. I never considered that the glass balls were training a dynamite gun on me. It’s a trait of us Anglo-Saxons that we see an enemy as a target. If you hit him, you get three great cigars. We’re like people who dream of fights. In my dreams, I never lose a single fight. A guy I’ve never seen before comes up and says something mean to me, something I can’t remember, and I get into it with him and it’s all over in a minute. He never hits me, or if he does, I don’t feel it. I put him on his back and beat him to death. Then I help myself to his watch and chain, and my friends come down and say, ‘Martin, you don’t have a scratch,’ and congratulate me, and I wander around the streets with a chip on my shoulder until I look down and see that I’m not wearing anything but a short shirt. Then I wake up. The list of knockouts to my credit in dreams would make Fitzsimmons feel poor. But not one of them was printed in the papers.”
“'Tis so with me frinds, th' hands acrost th' sea. They wint to sleep an' had a dhream. An' says they: 'We will sind down to South Africa thim gallant throops that have won so manny hard-fought reviews,' they says, 'captained,' they says, 'be th' flower iv our aristocracy,' they says. 'An' whin th' Boers come out ar-rmed with rollin' pins an' bibles,' they says, 'We'll just go at thim,' they says, 'an' walk through thim an' that night we'll have a cotillyon at Pretoria to which all frinds is invited,' they says. An' so they deposit their intellects in th' bank at home, an' th' absent-minded beggars goes out in thransports iv pathreetism an' pothry. An' they'se a meetin' iv th' cabinet an' 'tis decided that as th' war will on'y las' wan week 'twill be well f'r to begin renamin' th' cities iv th' Thransvaal afther pop'lar English statesmen—Joechamberlainville an' Rhodesdorp an' Beitfontein. F'r they have put their hands to th' plough an' th' sponge is squeezed dhry, an' th' sands iv th' glass have r-run out an' th' account is wiped clean.”
“It's the same with my friends, the ones across the sea. They went to sleep and had a dream. And they said, 'We will send over to South Africa those brave troops that have earned so many hard-fought reviews,' they said, 'captained,' they said, 'by the best of our aristocracy,' they said. 'And when the Boers come out armed with rolling pins and bibles,' they said, 'We'll just go at them,' they said, 'and walk right through them, and that night we'll have a cotillion in Pretoria to which all friends are invited,' they said. And so they deposit their intellects in the bank at home, and the absent-minded fools go out in transports of patriotism and poetry. And there's a cabinet meeting, and it's decided that since the war will only last one week, it’ll be good to start renaming the cities of the Transvaal after popular English statesmen—Joechamberlainville, Rhodesdorp, and Beitfontein. For they have put their hands to the plow, and the sponge is squeezed dry, and the sands of the glass have run out, and the account is wiped clean.”
“An' what's th' Boer doin' all this time? What's me frind th' Boer doin'. Not sleepin', Hinnissy, mind ye. He hasn't anny dhreams iv conquest. But whin a man with long whiskers comes r-ridin' up th' r-road an' says: 'Jan Schmidt or Pat O'Toole or whativer his name is, ye're wanted at th' front,' he goes home an' takes a rifle fr'm th' wall an' kisses his wife an' childher good-bye an' puts a bible in th' tails iv his coat an' a stovepipe hat on his head an' thramps away. An' his wife says: 'Good-bye, Jan. Don't be long gone an' don't get shooted.' An' he says: 'Not while I've got a leg undher me an' a rock in front iv me,' he says. I tell ye, Hinnissy, ye can't beat a man that fights f'r his home an' counthry in a stovepipe hat. He might be timpted f'r to come out fr'm cover f'r his native land, but he knows if he goes home to his wife with his hat mussed she won't like it, an' so he sets behind a rock an' plugs away. If th' lid is knocked off he's fatally wounded.”
“Now, what’s the Boer doing all this time? What’s my friend the Boer doing? Not sleeping, Hinnissy, just so you know. He doesn’t have any dreams of conquest. But when a man with long whiskers rides down the road and says, ‘Jan Schmidt or Pat O’Toole or whatever his name is, you’re wanted at the front,’ he goes home, takes a rifle off the wall, kisses his wife and kids goodbye, puts a Bible in the back of his coat, a stovepipe hat on his head, and heads out. And his wife says, ‘Goodbye, Jan. Don’t be gone long, and don’t get shot.’ And he says, ‘Not while I’ve got a leg under me and a rock in front of me,’ he says. I tell you, Hinnissy, you can’t beat a man who fights for his home and country in a stovepipe hat. He might be tempted to come out from cover for his native land, but he knows if he goes home to his wife with his hat messed up, she won’t like it, and so he hides behind a rock and keeps firing. If the lid gets knocked off, he’s fatally wounded.”
“What's th' raysult, Hinnissy? Th' British marches up with their bands playin' an' their flags flyin'. An' th' Boers squat behind a bouldher or a three or set comfortable in th' bed iv a river an' bang away. Their on'y thradition is that it's betther to be a live Boer thin a dead hero, which comes, perhaps, to th' same thing. They haven't been taught f'r hundherds iv years that 'tis a miracle f'r to be an officer an' a disgrace to be a private sojer. They know that if they're kilt they'll have their names printed in th' pa-apers as well as th' Markess iv Doozleberry that's had his eyeglass shot out. But they ain't lookin' f'r notoriety. All they want is to get home safe, with their counthry free, their honor protected an' their hats in good ordher. An' so they hammer away an' th' inimy keeps comin', an' th' varyous editions iv th' London pa-apers printed in this counthry have standin' a line iv type beginnin', 'I regret to state.'”
“What's the result, Hinnissy? The British march up with their bands playing and their flags flying. And the Boers hunker down behind a boulder or a tree or sit comfortably in the riverbed and fire away. Their only tradition is that it’s better to be a live Boer than a dead hero, which may come to the same thing. They haven't been taught for hundreds of years that it’s a miracle to be an officer and a disgrace to be a private soldier. They know that if they get killed, their names will be printed in the papers just like the Marquess of Doozleberry who had his eyeglass shot out. But they’re not looking for notoriety. All they want is to get home safe, with their country free, their honor intact, and their hats in good condition. And so they keep firing while the enemy keeps coming, and the various editions of the London papers printed in this country have a line of type that starts with, 'I regret to state.'”
“All this, Hinnissy, comes fr'm dhreamin' dhreams. If th' British had said, 'This unclean an' raypeecious people that we're against is also very tough. Dirty though they be, they'll fight. Foul though their nature is, they have ca'tridges in their belts. This not bein' England an' th' inimy we have again us not bein' our frinds, we will f'rget th' gloryous thraditions iv th' English an' Soudan ar-rmies an' instead iv r-rushin' on thim sneak along yon kindly fence an' hit thim on th' back iv th' neck,'—they'd be less, 'I r-regret-to-states' and more 'I'm plazed-to-reports.' They wud so, an' I'm a man that's been through columns an' columns iv war. Ye'll find, Hinnissy, that 'tis on'y ar-rmies fights in th' open. Nations fights behind threes an' rocks. Ye can put that in ye're little book. 'Tis a sayin' I made as I wint along.”
“All this, Hinnissy, comes from dreaming dreams. If the British had said, 'This unclean and repulsive people we’re fighting against is also very tough. Dirty though they may be, they'll fight. Foul though their nature is, they have cartridges in their belts. This not being England and the enemy we face not being our friends, we will forget the glorious traditions of the English and Sudan armies and instead of rushing in, we'll sneak along that kind fence and hit them on the back of the neck,'—they’d be less, 'I regret to state' and more 'I’m pleased to report.' They would, and I’m a man who’s been through column after column of war. You’ll find, Hinnissy, that it’s only armies that fight in the open. Nations fight behind trees and rocks. You can write that in your little book. It’s a saying I came up with as I went along.”
“We done th' same way oursilves,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“We did it the same way ourselves,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“We did that,” said Mr. Dooley. “We were in a dhream, too. Th' on'y thing is th' other fellow was in a thrance. We woke up first. An' anny-how I'm goin' to apologize to Shafter. He may not have anny medals f'r standin' up in range iv th' guns but, be hivins, he niver dhrove his buckboard into a river occypied be th' formerly loathed Castile.”
“We did that,” Mr. Dooley said. “We were in a dream, too. The only thing is the other guy was in a trance. We woke up first. And anyway, I’m going to apologize to Shafter. He might not have any medals for standing in the line of fire, but, for heaven's sake, he never drove his buckboard into a river occupied by the once-hated Castile.”
THE WAR EXPERT
Mr. Dooley was reading the war news—not our war news but the war news we are interested in—when Mr. Hennessy interrupted him to ask “What's a war expert?”
Mr. Dooley was reading the war news—not our war news but the war news we care about—when Mr. Hennessy interrupted him to ask, “What’s a war expert?”
“A war expert,” said Mr. Dooley, “is a man ye niver heerd iv befure. If ye can think iv annywan whose face is onfamilyar to ye an' ye don't raymimber his name, an' he's got a job on a pa-aper ye didn't know was published, he's a war expert. 'Tis a har-rd office to fill. Whin a war begins th' timptation is sthrong f'r ivry man to grab hold iv a gun an go to th' fr-ront. But th' war expert has to subjoo his cravin' f'r blood. He says to himsilf 'Lave others seek th' luxuries iv life in camp,' he says. 'F'r thim th' boat races acrost th' Tugela, th' romp over the kopje, an' th' game iv laager, laager who's got th' laager?' he says. 'I will stand be me counthry,' he says, 'close,' he says. 'If it falls,' he says, 'it will fall on me,' he says. An' he buys himsilf a map made be a fortune teller in a dhream, a box iv pencils an' a field glass, an' goes an' looks f'r a job as a war expert. Says th' editor iv th' pa-aper: 'I don't know ye. Ye must be a war expert,' he says. 'I am,' says th' la-ad. 'Was ye iver in a war?' says th' editor. 'I've been in nawthin' else,' says th' la-ad. 'Durin' th' Spanish-American War, I held a good job as a dhramatic critic in Dedham, Matsachoosets,' he says. 'Whin th' bullets flew thickest in th' Soodan I was spoortin' editor iv th' Christyan Advocate,' he says. 'I passed through th' Franco-Prooshan War an' held me place, an' whin th' Turks an' Rooshans was at each other's throats, I used to lay out th' campaign ivry day on a checker board,' he says. 'War,' he says, has no turrors f'r me,' he says. 'Ye're th man f'r th' money,' says th' editor. An' he gets th' job.”
“A war expert,” said Mr. Dooley, “is someone you’ve never heard of before. If you can think of anyone whose face is unfamiliar to you and you don’t remember their name, and they have a job at a newspaper you didn’t even know existed, they’re a war expert. It’s a tough role to take on. When a war starts, it’s really tempting for every man to grab a gun and head to the front lines. But the war expert has to control his thirst for blood. He tells himself, ‘Let others enjoy the comforts of life in camp.’ He says, ‘For them, there are the boat races across the Tugela, the fun over the kopje, and the game of laager, laager, who’s got the laager?’ He says, ‘I will stand by my country,’ he says. ‘If it falls,’ he says, ‘it will fall on me,’ he says. And he buys himself a map made by a fortune teller in a dream, a box of pencils, and a field glass, and goes to look for a job as a war expert. The newspaper editor says, ‘I don’t know you. You must be a war expert,’ he says. ‘I am,’ says the guy. ‘Have you ever been in a war?’ asks the editor. ‘I’ve done nothing else,’ says the guy. ‘During the Spanish-American War, I had a good job as a dramatic critic in Dedham, Massachusetts,’ he says. ‘When the bullets flew thickest in the Sudan, I was the sports editor of the Christian Advocate,’ he says. ‘I went through the Franco-Prussian War and kept my position, and when the Turks and Russians were at each other’s throats, I would plan the campaign every day on a checkerboard,’ he says. ‘War,’ he says, ‘has no terrors for me,’ he says. ‘You’re the man for the job,’ says the editor. And he gets the job.”
“Thin th' war breaks out in earnest. No matther how manny is kilt, annything that happens befure th' war expert gets to wurruk is on'y what we might call a prelimin'ry skirmish. He sets down an' bites th' end iv his pencil an' looks acrost th' sthreet an' watches a man paintin' a sign. Whin th' man gets through he goes to th' window an' waits to see whether th' polisman that wint into th' saloon is afther a dhrink or sarvin' a warrant. If he comes r-right out 'tis a warrant. Thin he sets back in a chair an' figures out that th' pitchers on th' wall pa-aper ar-re all alike ivry third row. Whin his mind is thurly tuned up be these inthricate problems, he dashes to his desk an' writes what you an' I read th' nex' day in th' pa-apers.”
“Once the war starts for real, it doesn’t matter how many people get killed; anything that happens before the war expert gets to work is just a preliminary skirmish. He sits down, bites the end of his pencil, and looks across the street, watching a guy paint a sign. When the guy finishes, he goes to the window and waits to see if the policeman who went into the saloon is after a drink or serving a warrant. If he comes right out, it's a warrant. Then he leans back in his chair and realizes that the pictures on the wallpaper are all the same in every third row. Once his mind is completely focused on these intricate problems, he rushes to his desk and writes what you and I read the next day in the papers.”
“Clarence Pontoon, th' military expert iv th' London Mornin' Dhram, reviewin' Gin'ral Buller's position on th' Tugela, says: 'It is manifest fr'm th' dispatches tellin' that Gin'ral Buller has crost th' Tugela River that Gin'ral Buller has crost th' Tugela River. This we r-read in spite iv th' cinsor. Th' question is which side he has crost to. On Friday he was on th' north side in th' mornin' an' on th' south side at night, an' in th' river at noon. We heerd nawthin' Sathurdah mornin'. Th' presumption is that they was nawthin' to hear. Therefore it is aisy to imagine Gin'ral Buller, findin' his position on th' north side ontenable an' his position on th' south side onbearable, is thransportin' his troops up th' river on rafts an' is now engagin' th' inimy between Spitzozone an' Rottenfontein, two imminsely sthrong points. All this dimonsthrates th' footility an' foolishness iv attimptin' to carry a frontal position agains' large, well-fed Dutchmen with mud in th' fr-ront iv thim.”
“Clarence Pontoon, the military expert of the London Morning Drum, reviewing General Buller's position on the Tugela, says: 'It’s clear from the reports that General Buller has crossed the Tugela River. We read this despite the censor. The question is which side he has crossed to. On Friday, he was on the north side in the morning and on the south side at night, and in the river at noon. We heard nothing Saturday morning. The assumption is that there was nothing to hear. Therefore, it’s easy to imagine General Buller, finding his position on the north side untenable and his position on the south side unbearable, transporting his troops up the river on rafts and is now engaging the enemy between Spitzozone and Rottenfontein, two incredibly strong points. All this demonstrates the futility and foolishness of attempting to carry a frontal position against large, well-fed Dutchmen with mud in front of them.”
“'I cal'clate that it wud require thirty millyon thurly dauntless Britions to ixicute such a manoover, tin Boers ar-rmed with pop bottles bein' now considhered th' akel iv a brigade. What I wud do if I was Buller, an' I thank Hivin I'm not, wud be move me ar-rmy in half-an-hour over th' high but aisily accessible mountains to th' right iv Crowrijoy's forces, an' takin' off me shoes so he cudden't hear thim squeak, creep up behind th' Dutch an' lam their heads off. Afther this sthroke 'twud be aisy f'r to get th' foorces iv Fr-rinch, Gatacre, Methoon, an' Winston Churchill together some afthernoon, invite th' inimy to a band concert, surround an' massacree thim. This adroit move cud be ixicuted if Roberts wud on'y make use iv th' ixicillint bus sarvice between Hokesmith an' Mikesmith. It is exthraordinary that th' gin'ral on th' groun' has not seen th' possibilities so apparent at a distance.'”
“'I calculate that it would take thirty million truly fearless British to pull off such a maneuver, since Boers armed with pop bottles are now considered on par with a brigade. What I would do if I were Buller, and thank heaven I'm not, is move my army in half an hour over the high but easily accessible mountains to the right of Crowrijoy's forces, and taking off my shoes so he couldn’t hear them squeak, creep up behind the Dutch and knock their heads off. After this stroke, it would be easy to gather the forces of French, Gatacre, Methoon, and Winston Churchill some afternoon, invite the enemy to a band concert, surround and massacre them. This clever move could be executed if Roberts would only make use of the excellent bus service between Hokesmith and Mikesmith. It’s extraordinary that the general on the ground hasn’t seen the possibilities so apparent from a distance.'”
“That's wan kind iv war expert, Hinnissy. Another kind is th' wan that gives it good to th' gover'mint. Says Willum McGlue, war expert iv th' London Mornin' Growl, who's supposed to be cheek be jowl with Lord Wolseley. 'England's greatness is slippin' away. Th' failure iv th' gover'mint to provide a well-equipped, thurly pathriotic ar-rmy iv Boers to carry on this war undher th' leadership iv gallant Joobert is goin' to be our roonation. We ar-re bethrayed be a lazy, effete, side-whiskered, golf-playin' gover'mint that wud rather lose this fight thin win it because they ar-re tired iv holdin' office. What can be said f'r public men so lost to shame that they spell Kopje with a “c” an' ar-re sindin' Englishmen to th' ends iv th' wurruld to fight f'r England? Down with thim!'”
"That's one type of war expert, Hinnissy. Another type is the one that goes after the government. Says William McGlue, war expert of the London Morning Growl, who’s supposedly tight with Lord Wolseley. 'England's greatness is slipping away. The government’s failure to provide a well-equipped, thoroughly patriotic army of Boers to carry on this war under the leadership of gallant Joobert is going to be our downfall. We are betrayed by a lazy, ineffective, side-whiskered, golf-playing government that would rather lose this fight than win it because they are tired of holding office. What can be said for public figures so shameless that they spell Kopje with a “c” and are sending Englishmen to the ends of the earth to fight for England? Down with them!'"
“Well sir, 'tis a gr-reat thing f'r a counthry to have th' likes iv thim ar-round to direct manoovers that'd be gatherin' dust on th' shelf if th' gin'rals had their say, an' to prove to th' wurruld that th' English ar-re not frivolous, excitable people like us an' th' Frinch, but can take a batin' without losin' their heads.”
“Well, sir, it’s a great thing for a country to have people like them around to direct operations that would just gather dust if the generals had their way, and to show the world that the English aren’t just frivolous, excitable folks like us and the French, but can take a beating without losing their composure.”
“Sure,” said Mr. Hennessy, “tis not thim that does th' fightin'. Th' la-ads with th' guns has that job.”
“Sure,” said Mr. Hennessy, “it's not them that does the fighting. The guys with the guns have that job.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “they'se two kinds iv fightin'. Th' experts wants th' ar-rmy to get into Pretoria dead or alive, an' th' sojers wants to get in alive. I'm no military expert, Hinnissy. I'm too well known. But I have me own opinyon on th' war. All this talk about th' rapid fire gun an' modhren methods iv warfare makes me wondher. They'se not so much diff'rence between war now an' war whin I was a kid, as they let on. Th' gun that shoots ye best fr'm a distance don't shoot ye so well close to. A pile iv mud is a pile iv mud now just th' same as it was whin Gin'ral Grant was pokin' ar-round. If th' British can get over th' mud pile they win th' fight. If they can't they're done. That's all they'se to it. Mos' men, sthrongest backs, best eyes an' th' ownership iv th' mud piles. That's war, Hinnissy. Th' British have th' men. They're shy iv backs, eyes an' mud piles, an' they will be until they larn that sheep-herdin' an' gin'ralship ar-re diff'rent things, an' fill up their ar-rmy with men that ar-re not fightin' f'r money or glory, but because they want to get home to their wives alive.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “there are two kinds of fighting. The experts want the army to get into Pretoria, dead or alive, and the soldiers want to get in alive. I'm no military expert, Hinnissy. I'm too well known for that. But I have my own opinion on the war. All this talk about rapid-fire guns and modern methods of warfare makes me wonder. There's not that much difference between war now and war when I was a kid, despite what they say. The gun that shoots you best from a distance doesn't hit you as well up close. A pile of mud is still a pile of mud now, just like it was when General Grant was poking around. If the British can get over the mud pile, they win the fight. If they can't, they're done. That's all there is to it. Most men, strongest backs, best eyes, and control of the mud piles. That's war, Hinnissy. The British have the men. They're short on backs, eyes, and mud piles, and they will be until they learn that herding sheep and commanding an army are different things, and fill up their army with men who aren't fighting for money or glory, but because they want to get home to their wives alive.”
“Ye talk like an' ol book,” said Mr. Hennessy, in disgust. “Ye with ye-re maundhrin' ar-re no betther thin thim expert la-ads.”
“ You talk like an old book,” said Mr. Hennessy, in disgust. “You with your rambling are no better than those expert lads.”
“Well annyhow,” said Mr. Dooley thoughtfully, “th' expert is sarvin' a useful purpose. Th' papers says th' rapid fire gun'll make war in th' future impossible. I don't think that, but I know th' expert will.”
“Well anyway,” said Mr. Dooley thoughtfully, “the expert is serving a useful purpose. The papers say that the rapid-fire gun will make war in the future impossible. I don't think that, but I know the expert will.”
MODERN EXPLOSIVES
“If iver I wanted to go to war,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' I niver did, th' desire has passed fr'm me iv late. Ivry time I read iv th' desthructive power iv modhern explosives col' chills chase each other up an' down me spine.”
“If I ever wanted to go to war,” said Mr. Dooley, “and I never did, the desire has definitely faded from me lately. Every time I read about the destructive power of modern explosives, cold chills run up and down my spine.”
“What's this here stuff they calls lyddite?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“What's this stuff they call lyddite?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Well, 'tis th' divvle's own med'cine,” said Mr. Dooley. “Compared with lyddite joynt powdher is Mrs. Winslow's soothin' surup, an' ye cud lave th' childher play base-ball with a can iv dinnymite. 'Tis as sthrong as Gin'ral Crownjoy's camp th' day iv th' surrinder an' almost as sthrong as th' pollytics iv Montana. Th' men that handles it is cased in six inch armor an' played on be a hose iv ice wather. Th' gun that shoots it is always blown up be th' discharge. Whin this deadly missile flies through th' air, th' threes ar-re withered an' th' little bur-rds falls dead fr'm th' sky, fishes is kilt in th' rivers, an' th' tillyphone wires won't wurruk. Th' keen eyed British gunners an' corryspondints watches it in its hellish course an' tur-rn their faces as it falls into th' Boer trench. An' oh! th' sickly green fumes it gives off, jus' like pizen f'r potato bugs! There is a thremenjous explosion. Th' earth is thrown up f'r miles. Horses, men an' gun carredges ar-re landed in th' British camp whole. Th' sun is obscured be Boer whiskers turned green. Th' heart iv th' corryspondint is made sick be th' sight, an' be th' thought iv th' fearful carnage wrought be this dhread desthroyer in th' ranks iv th' brave but misguided Dutchmen. Th' nex' day deserters fr'm th' Boer ranks reports that they have fled fr'm th' camp, needin' a dhrink an' onable to stand th' scenes iv horror. They announce that th' whole Boer ar-rmy is as green as wall paper, an' th' Irish brigade has sthruck because ye can't tell their flag fr'm th' flag iv th' r-rest iv th' Dutch. Th' Fr-rinch gin'ral in command iv th' Swedish corps lost his complexion an' has been sint to th' hospital, an' Mrs. Gin'ral Crownjoy's washin' that was hangin' on th' line whin th' bombardmint comminced is a total wreck which no amount iv bluin' will save. Th' deserters also report that manny iv th' Boers ar-re outspannin', trekkin', loogerin', kopjein' an' veldtin' home to be dyed, f'r'tis not known whether lyddite is a fast color or will come out in th' wash.”
"Well, it's the devil's own medicine," said Mr. Dooley. "Compared to lyddite, joint powder is like Mrs. Winslow's soothing syrup, and you could let the kids play baseball with a can of dynamite. It's as strong as General Crownjoy's camp on the day of the surrender and almost as strong as the politics of Montana. The men handling it are in six-inch armor and sprayed with a hose of ice water. The gun that fires it always gets blown up by the discharge. When this deadly missile flies through the air, the trees wither, little birds drop dead from the sky, fish are killed in the rivers, and the telephone wires stop working. The keen-eyed British gunners and correspondents watch it on its hellish path and turn their faces as it falls into the Boer trench. And oh! the sickly green fumes it gives off, just like poison for potato bugs! There’s a tremendous explosion. The earth is thrown up for miles. Horses, men, and gun carriages land in the British camp intact. The sun is obscured by the Boer soldiers turned green. The hearts of the correspondents are sickened by the sight, and by the thought of the terrible carnage caused by this dread destroyer among the brave but misguided Dutchmen. The next day, deserters from the Boer ranks report that they have fled from the camp, needing a drink and unable to stand the scenes of horror. They announce that the entire Boer army is as green as wallpaper, and the Irish brigade has struck because you can’t tell their flag from the flag of the rest of the Dutch. The French general in command of the Swedish corps lost his composure and has been sent to the hospital, and Mrs. General Crownjoy's laundry that was hanging on the line when the bombardment started is a total wreck that no amount of bleach will save. The deserters also report that many of the Boers are packing up, trekking, lingering, dodging, and heading home to be dyed, for it’s not known whether lyddite is a fast color or if it will come out in the wash."
“In spite iv their heavy losses th' Boers kept up a fierce fire. They had no lyddite, but with their other divvlish modhern explosives they wrought thremenjous damage. F'r some hours shells burst with turr'ble precision in th' British camp. Wan man who was good at figures counted as manny as forty-two thousan' eight hundhred an' sivin burstin' within a radyus iv wan fut. Ye can imagine th' hor-rible carnage. Colonel C. G. F. K. L. M. N. O. P. Hetherington-Casey-Higgins lost his eye-glass tin times, th' las' time almost swallowin' it, while ye'er faithful corryspondint was rindered deaf be th' explosions. Another Irish rig'mint has disappearded, th' Twelve Thousandth an' Eighth, Dublin Fusiliers. Brave fellows, 'tis suspicted they mistook th' explosion of lyddite f'r a Pathrick's Day procession an' wint acrost to take a look at it.”
"In spite of their heavy losses, the Boers maintained a fierce fire. They didn't have any lyddite, but with their other clever modern explosives, they caused tremendous damage. For several hours, shells exploded with terrible precision in the British camp. One man who was good with numbers counted as many as forty-two thousand eight hundred and seven bursting within a radius of one foot. You can imagine the horrible carnage. Colonel C. G. F. K. L. M. N. O. P. Hetherington-Casey-Higgins lost his eyeglasses ten times, the last time almost swallowing them, while your faithful correspondent was rendered deaf by the explosions. Another Irish regiment has disappeared, the Twelve Thousandth and Eighth, Dublin Fusiliers. Brave fellows, it’s suspected they mistook the explosion of lyddite for a St. Patrick’s Day procession and went over to take a look at it."
“Murdher, but 'tis dhreadful to r-read about. We have to change all our conciptions iv warfare. Wanst th' field was r-red, now 'tis a br-right lyddite green. Wanst a man wint out an' died f'r his counthry, now they sind him out an' lyddite dyes him. What do I mane? 'Tis a joke I made. I'll not explane it to ye. Ye wudden't undherstand it. 'Tis f'r th' eddycated classes.”
“Murder, but it’s dreadful to read about. We have to change all our ideas about warfare. Once the field was red, now it’s a bright lyddite green. Once a man went out and died for his country, now they send him out and lyddite kills him. What do I mean? It’s a joke I made. I won’t explain it to you. You wouldn’t understand it. It’s for the educated classes.”
“How they're iver goin' to get men to fight afther this I cudden't tell ye. 'Twas bad enough in th' ol' days whin all that happened to a sojer was bein' pinithrated be a large r-round gob iv solder or stuck up on th' end iv a baynit be a careless inimy. But now-a-days, they have th' bullet that whin it enthers ye tur-rns ar-round like th' screw iv a propeller, an' another wan that ye might say goes in be a key-hole an' comes out through a window, an' another that has a time fuse in it an' it doesn't come out at all but stays in ye, an' mebbe twinty years afther, whin ye've f'rgot all about it an' ar-re settin' at home with ye'er fam'ly, bang! away it goes an' ye with it, carryin' off half iv th' roof. Thin they have guns as long as fr'm here to th' rollin' mills that fires shells as big as a thrunk. Th' shells are loaded like a docthor's bag an' have all kinds iv things in thim that won't do a bit iv good to man or beast. If a sojer has a weak back there's something in th' shell that removes a weak back; if his head throubles him, he can lose it; if th' odher iv vilets is distasteful to him th' shell smothers him in vilet powdher. They have guns that anny boy or girl who knows th' typewriter can wurruk, an' they have other guns on th' music box plan, that ye wind up an' go away an' lave, an' they annoy anny wan that comes along. They have guns that bounces up out iv a hole in th' groun', fires a millyon shells a minyit an' dhrops back f'r another load. They have guns that fire dinnymite an' guns that fire th' hateful, sickly green lyddite that makes th' inimy look like fiat money, an' guns that fire canned beef f'r th' inimy an' distimper powdher for th' inimy's horses. An' they have some guns that shoot straight.”
“How they're ever going to get men to fight after this, I couldn't tell you. It was bad enough in the old days when all that happened to a soldier was getting hit by a big round bullet or getting stabbed by a careless enemy’s bayonet. But nowadays, they have bullets that, when they enter you, turn around like the screw of a propeller, and another one that you might say goes in through a keyhole and comes out through a window, and another that has a time fuse in it that doesn’t come out at all but stays in you, and maybe twenty years later, when you've forgotten all about it and you're sitting at home with your family, bang! away it goes and takes you with it, carrying off half the roof. Then they have guns as long as from here to the rolling mills that fire shells as big as a trunk. The shells are packed like a doctor’s bag and have all kinds of things in them that won’t do any good to man or beast. If a soldier has a weak back, there’s something in the shell that removes a weak back; if his head troubles him, he can lose it; if the other of violets is distasteful to him, the shell smothers him in violet powder. They have guns that any boy or girl who knows a typewriter can work, and they have other guns on the music box plan, that you wind up and go away and leave, and they annoy anyone who comes along. They have guns that pop up out of a hole in the ground, fire a million shells a minute, and drop back for another load. They have guns that fire dynamite and guns that fire the hateful, sickly green lyddite that makes the enemy look like flat money, and guns that fire canned beef for the enemy and distemper powder for the enemy's horses. And they have some guns that shoot straight.”
“Well, thin,” Mr. Hennessy grumbled, “it's a wondher to me that with all thim things they ain't more people kilt. Sure, Gin'ral Grant lost more men in wan day thin th' British have lost in four months, an' all he had to keep tab on was ol' fashioned bullets an' big, bouncin' iron balls.”
“Well, thin,” Mr. Hennessy grumbled, “it's a wonder to me that with all these things there aren't more people killed. Sure, General Grant lost more men in one day than the British have lost in four months, and all he had to keep track of were old-fashioned bullets and big, bouncing iron balls.”
“Thrue,” said Mr. Dooley. “I don't know th' reason, but it mus' be that th' betther gun a man has th' more he thrusts th' gun an' th' less he thrusts himsilf. He stays away an' shoots. He says to himsilf, he says: 'They'se nawthin' f'r me to do,' he says, 'but load up me little lyddite cannon with th' green goods,' he says, 'an' set here at the organ,' he says, 'pull out th' stops an' paint th' town iv Pretoria green,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'on sicond thought, suppose th' inimy shud hand it back to me,' he says. 'Twud be oncomfortable,' he says. 'So,' he says, 'I'll jus' move me music back a mile,' he says, 'an' peg away, an' th' longest gun takes th' persimmons,' he says. 'Tis this way: If ye an' I fall out an' take rifles to each other, 'tis tin to wan nayether iv us gets clost enough to hit. If we take pistols th' odds is rayjooced. If we take swords I may get a hack at ye, but if we take a half-nelson lock 'tis even money I have ye'er back broke befure th' polis comes.”
“True,” said Mr. Dooley. “I don't know the reason, but it must be that the better gun a man has, the more he relies on the gun and the less he relies on himself. He stays away and shoots. He tells himself, he says: ‘There’s nothing for me to do,’ he says, ‘but load up my little cannon with the goods,’ he says, ‘and sit here at the organ,’ he says, ‘pull out the stops and paint the town of Pretoria green,’ he says. ‘But,’ he says, ‘on second thought, what if the enemy hands it back to me,’ he says. ‘That would be uncomfortable,’ he says. ‘So,’ he says, ‘I’ll just move my music back a mile,’ he says, ‘and keep at it, and the longest gun takes the prize,’ he says. ‘It’s this way: If you and I fall out and take rifles at each other, it’s ten to one neither of us gets close enough to hit. If we take pistols, the odds are reduced. If we take swords, I might get a shot at you, but if we take a half-nelson lock, it’s even money I have your back broke before the cops come.”
“I can see in me mind th' day whin explosives'll be so explosive an' guns'll shoot so far that on'y th' folks that stay at home'll be kilt, an' life insurance agents'll be advisin' people to go into th' ar-rmy. I can so. 'Tis thrue what Hogan says about it.”
“I can envision the day when explosives will be so powerful and guns will shoot so far that only the people who stay at home will be killed, and life insurance agents will be advising folks to join the army. I really can. What Hogan says about it is true.”
“What's that?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“What's that?” Mr. Hennessy inquired.
“Th' nation,” said Mr. Dooley, “that fights with a couplin' pin extinds its bordhers at th' cost iv th' nation that fights with a clothes pole.”
“Th' nation,” said Mr. Dooley, “that fights with a couple of pins extends its borders at the cost of the nation that fights with a clothes pole.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “tis a fine rayciption th' Boer dillygates is havin' in this counthry.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “it's a great reception the Boer delegates are having in this country.”
“They'll be out here nex' week,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“They'll be out here next week,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“They will that,” Mr. Dooley replied, “an' we'll show thim that our inthrest in small raypublics fightin' f'r their liberty ain't disappeared since we become an impeeryal nation. No, sir. We have as much inthrest as iver, but we have more inthrests elsewhere.”
“They will that,” Mr. Dooley replied, “and we'll show them that our interest in small republics fighting for their freedom hasn't disappeared since we became an imperial nation. No, sir. We care just as much as ever, but we have more interests elsewhere.”
“Oom Paul, he says to th' la-ads: 'Go,' he says, 'to me good an' great frind, Mack th' Wanst, an' lay th' case befure him,' he says. 'Tell him,' he says, 'that th' situation is just th' same as it was durin' Wash'nton's time,' he says, 'on'y Wash'nton won, an' we're rapidly losin' kopjes till we soon won't have wan to sthrike a match on,' he says. An' off goes th' good men. Whin they started the Boers was doin' pretty well, Hinnissy. They were fightin' Englishmen, an' that's a lawn tinnis to a rale fightin' man. But afther awhile the murdherin' English gover'mint put in a few recreent but gallant la-ads fr'm th' ol' dart—we ought to be proud iv thim, curse thim—Pat O'Roberts, an' Mike McKitchener, an' Terrence O'Fr-rinch—an' they give th' view—halloo an' wint through th' Dutch like a party comin' home fr'm a fifteenth iv August picnic might go through a singerbund. So be th' time th' dillygates got to Europe it was: 'James, if thim br-rave but misguided Dutch appears, squirt th' garden hose on thim. I'll see th' British embassadure this afthernoon.' Ye see, Hinnissy, 'twas ol' Kruger's play to keep on winnin' battles till th' dillygates had their say. Th' amount iv sympathy that goes out f'r a sthrugglin' people is reg'lated, Hinnissy, be th' amount iv sthrugglin' th' people can do. Th' wurruld, me la-ad, is with th' undher dog on'y as long as he has a good hold an' a chanst to tur-rn over.”
“Oom Paul says to the guys: ‘Go,’ he says, ‘to my good and great friend, Mack the Wanst, and lay out the situation for him,’ he says. ‘Tell him,’ he says, ‘that the situation is just like it was during Washington’s time,’ he says, ‘only Washington won, and we’re quickly losing hills until we’ll soon have none left to strike a match on,’ he says. And off go the good men. When they started, the Boers were doing pretty well, Hinnissy. They were fighting Englishmen, and that’s like lawn tennis to a real fighting man. But after a while, the murderous English government sent in a few cowardly but brave lads from the old country—we should be proud of them, curse them—Pat O’Roberts, Mike McKitchener, and Terrence O’French—and they charged in—whooping and went through the Dutch like a party coming home from a fifteenth of August picnic might go through a singalong. By the time the delegates reached Europe, it was: ‘James, if those brave but misguided Dutch show up, spray them with the garden hose. I’ll meet with the British ambassador this afternoon.’ You see, Hinnissy, it was old Kruger’s strategy to keep winning battles until the delegates had their say. The amount of sympathy that goes out for a struggling people is determined, Hinnissy, by how much struggle the people can put up. The world, my friend, is with the underdog only as long as he has a good hold and a chance to turn things around.”
“Well, sir, whin th' dillygates see they cudden't do business in Europe, says they to thimsilves: 'We'll pike acrost th' ragin' sea,' they says, 'an in th' home iv Wash'nton, Lincoln, an' Willum J. Bryan, ye bet we'll have a hearin',' an' they got wan. Ivrybody's listenin' to thim. But no wan replies. If they'd come here three months ago, befure Crownjoy was suffocated out iv his hole in th' groun', they'd be smokin' their pipes in rockin' chairs on th' veranda iv th' white house an' passin' th' bucket between thim an' Mack. But 'tis diff'rent now. 'Tis diff'rent now. Says Willum J. Bryan: 'I can't see thim mesilf, f'r it may not be long befure I'll have to dale with these inthricate problems, I hope an' pray, but Congressman Squirtwather, do ye disguise ye'ersilf as a private citizen an' go down to th' hotel an' tell these la-ads that I'm with thim quietly if public opinyon justifies it an' Mack takes th' other side. Tell thim I frequently say to mesilf that they're all r-right, but I wudden't want it to go further. Perhaps they cud be injooced to speak at a dimmycratic meetin' unbeknown to me,' he says.
“Well, sir, when the delegates saw they couldn’t do business in Europe, they said to themselves: 'We'll cross the raging sea,' they said, 'and in the home of Washington, Lincoln, and William J. Bryan, you bet we'll have a hearing,' and they got one. Everybody's listening to them. But no one replies. If they had come here three months ago, before Crownjoy was suffocated out of his hole in the ground, they'd be smoking their pipes in rocking chairs on the veranda of the White House and passing the bucket between them and Mack. But it’s different now. It’s different now. Says William J. Bryan: 'I can't see them myself, for it may not be long before I'll have to deal with these intricate problems, I hope and pray, but Congressman Squirtwather, do you disguise yourself as a private citizen and go down to the hotel and tell these lads that I'm quietly with them if public opinion justifies it and Mack takes the other side. Tell them I often say to myself that they're all right, but I wouldn't want it to go further. Perhaps they could be persuaded to speak at a Democratic meeting without my knowledge,' he says.”
“Sicrety Hay meets thim in a coal cellar, wearin' a mask. 'Gintlemen,' says he, 'I can assure ye th' prisidint an' mesilf feels mos' deeply f'r ye. I needn't tell ye about mesilf,' he says. 'Haven't I sint me own son into ye'er accursed but liberty-lovin' counthry,' he says. 'As f'r Mack, I assure ye he's hear-rtbroken over th' tur-rn affairs have taken,' he says. 'Early in th' war he wrote to Lord Salisberry, sayin' he hoped 'twud not be continyued to iliction day, an' Salisberry give him a gruff response. Tur-rned him down, though both ar-re Anglo-Saxons,' he says. 'Las' night his sobs fairly shook th' white house as he thought iv ye an' ye'er sthruggle. He wants to tell ye how much he thinks iv ye, an' he'll meet ye in th' carredge house if ye'll shave off ye'er whiskers an' go as clam-peddlers. Ye'll reco'nize him in a green livery. He'll wear a pink carnation in his buttonhole. Give th' names iv Dorsey an' Flannagan, an' if th' English ambassadure goes by get down on ye'er ban's an' knees an' don't make a sign till he's out iv sight,' he says. 'Th' stout party in blue near by'll be Mark Hanna. He may be able to arrange a raypublican meetin' f'r ye to addhress,' he says. 'The gr-reat hear-rt iv th' raypublican party throbs f'r ye. So does Mack's,' he says. 'So does mine,' he says.”
“Sicrety Hay meets them in a coal cellar, wearing a mask. 'Gentlemen,' he says, 'I assure you the president and I feel deeply for you. I don't need to tell you about myself,' he says. 'Haven't I sent my own son to your cursed but liberty-loving country?' he says. 'As for Mack, I assure you he's heartbroken over the way things have turned,' he says. 'Early in the war, he wrote to Lord Salisbury, saying he hoped it wouldn't continue to election day, and Salisbury gave him a gruff response. Turned him down, even though both are Anglo-Saxons,' he says. 'Last night, his sobs nearly shook the White House as he thought of you and your struggle. He wants to tell you how much he thinks of you, and he'll meet you in the carriage house if you'll shave off your whiskers and go as clam peddlers. You'll recognize him in a green livery. He'll wear a pink carnation in his buttonhole. Give the names of Dorsey and Flannagan, and if the English embassy goes by, get down on your hands and knees and don’t make a sound until he’s out of sight,' he says. 'The stout party in blue nearby will be Mark Hanna. He may be able to arrange a Republican meeting for you to address,' he says. 'The great heart of the Republican party beats for you. So does Mack's,' he says. 'So does mine,' he says.”
“Well, th' dillygates met Mack an' they had a pleasant chat. 'Will ye,' says they, 'inthervene an' whistle off th' dogs iv war?' they says. 'Whisper,' says Mack, th' tears flowin' down his cheeks. 'Iver since this war started me eyes have been fixed on th' gallant or otherwise, nation or depindancy, fightin' its brave battle f'r freedom or rebellin' again' th' sov'reign power, as the case may be,' he says. 'Unofficially, my sympathy has gone out to ye, an' bur-rnin' wurruds iv unofficial cheer has been communicated unofficially be me to me official fam'ly, not, mind ye, as an official iv this magnificent an' liberty-lovin' raypublic, but as a private citizen,' he says. 'I feel, as a private citizen, that so long,' he says, 'as the br-right star iv liberty shines resplindent over our common counthries, with th' example iv Washin'ton in ye'er eyes, an' th' iliction comin' on, that ye must go forward an' conker or die,' he says. 'An',' he says, 'Willum McKinley is not th' man to put annything in ye'er way,' he says. 'Go back to me gr-reat an' good frind an' tell him that th' hear-rt iv th' raypublican party throbs f'r him,' he says. 'An' Sicrety Hay's,' he says, 'an' mine,' he says, 'unofficially,' he says. 'Me official hear-rt,' he says, 'is not permitted be th' constitootion to throb durin' wurrukin' hours,' he says.
“Well, the delegates met Mack and they had a nice chat. 'Will you,' they said, 'intervene and call off the dogs of war?' they asked. 'Whisper,' said Mack, tears streaming down his cheeks. 'Ever since this war started, my eyes have been fixed on the brave or otherwise, nation or dependency, fighting its noble battle for freedom or rising against the sovereign power, as the case may be,' he said. 'Unofficially, my sympathy has gone out to you, and burning words of unofficial support have been communicated unofficially by me to my official family, not, mind you, as an official of this magnificent and liberty-loving republic, but as a private citizen,' he said. 'I feel, as a private citizen, that as long,' he said, 'as the bright star of liberty shines brilliantly over our common countries, with the example of Washington in your minds, and the election coming up, you must move forward and conquer or die,' he said. 'And,' he said, 'William McKinley is not the man to put anything in your way,' he said. 'Go back to my great and good friend and tell him that the heart of the Republican Party beats for him,' he said. 'And Secretary Hay's,' he said, 'and mine,' he said, 'unofficially,' he said. 'My official heart,' he said, 'is not allowed by the constitution to beat during working hours,' he said.
“An' so it goes. Ivrywhere th' dillygates tur-rns they see th' sign: 'This is me busy day.' An' whin they get back home they can tell th' people they found th' United States exudin' sympathy at ivry pore—'marked private.'”
“And so it goes. Everywhere the delegates turn, they see the sign: 'This is my busy day.' And when they get back home, they can tell the people they found the United States showing sympathy at every poor—'marked private.'”
“Don't ye think th' United States is enthusyastic f'r th' Boers?” asked the innocent Hennessy.
“Don't you think the United States is enthusiastic for the Boers?” asked the innocent Hennessy.
“It was,” said Mr. Dooley. “But in th' las' few weeks it's had so manny things to think iv. Th' enthusyasm iv this counthry, Hinnissy, always makes me think iv a bonfire on an ice-floe. It burns bright so long as ye feed it, an' it looks good, but it don't take hold, somehow, on th' ice.”
“It was,” said Mr. Dooley. “But in the last few weeks, it’s had so many things to think about. The enthusiasm of this country, Hinnissy, always makes me think of a bonfire on an ice floe. It burns bright as long as you feed it, and it looks great, but it just doesn’t seem to take hold on the ice.”
THE CHINESE SITUATION
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Hennessy, “to think iv th' audacity iv thim Chinymen! It do bate all.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Hennessy, “can you believe the audacity of those Chinese people? It’s just unbelievable.”
“It do that,” said Mr. Dooley. “It bates th' wurruld. An' what's it comin' to? You an' me looks at a Chinyman as though he wasn't good f'r annything but washin' shirts, an' not very good at that. Tis wan iv th' spoorts iv th' youth iv our gr-reat cities to rowl an impty beer keg down th' steps iv a Chinee laundhry, an' if e'er a Chinyman come out to resint it they'd take him be th' pigtail an' do th' joynt swing with him. But th' Chinyman at home's a diff'rent la-ad. He's with his frinds an' they're manny iv thim an' he's rowlin' th' beer kegs himsilf an' Westhren Civilization is down in th' laundhry wondhrin' whin th' police'll come along.”
“It does that,” said Mr. Dooley. “It beats the world. And what's it coming to? You and I look at a Chinese man as if he's only good for washing shirts, and not even very good at that. It's one of the sports of the youth in our great cities to roll an empty beer keg down the steps of a Chinese laundry, and if any Chinese man came out to stop it, they'd grab him by the pigtail and do the joint swing with him. But the Chinese man at home is a different guy. He's with his friends, and there are many of them, and he's rolling the beer kegs himself while Western Civilization is down in the laundry wondering when the police will show up.”
“Th' Lord f'rgive f'r sayin' it, Hinnissy, but if I was a Chinyman, which I will fight anny man f'r sayin,' an' was livin' at home, I'd tuck me shirt into me pants, put me braid up in a net, an' go out an' take a fall out iv th' in-vader if it cost me me life. Here am I, Hop Lung Dooley, r-runnin' me little liquor store an' p'rhaps raisin' a family in th' town iv Koochoo. I don't like foreigners there anny more thin I do here. Along comes a bald-headed man with chin whiskers from Baraboo, Wisconsin, an' says he: 'Benighted an' haythen Dooley,' says he, 'ye have no God,' he says. 'I have,' says I. 'I have a lot iv thim,' says I. 'Ye ar-re an oncultivated an' foul crather,' he says. 'I have come six thousan' miles f'r to hist ye fr'm th' mire iv ignorance an' irrellijon in which ye live to th' lofty plane iv Baraboo,' he says. An' he sets down on an aisy chair, an' his wife an' her friends come in an' they inthrojooce Mrs. Dooley to th' modhren improvements iv th' corset an' th' hat with th' blue bur-rd onto it, an' put shame into her because she hasn't let her feet grow, while th' head mission'ry reads me a pome out iv th' Northwesthren Christyan Advocate. 'Well,' says I, 'look here, me good fellow,' I says. 'Me an' me people has occypied these here primises f'r manny years,' I says, 'an' here we mean to stay,' I says. 'We're doin' th' best we can in th' matther iv gods,' says I. 'We have thim cast at a first-rate foundhry,' I says, 'an' we sandpa-aper thim ivry week,' says I. 'As f'r knowin' things,' I says, 'me people wrote pomes with a markin' brush whin th' likes iv ye was r-runnin' ar-round wearin' a short pelisse iv sheepskins an' batin' each other to death with stone hammers,' says I. An' I'm f'r firin' him out, but bein' a quite man I lave him stay.”
“God forgive me for saying this, Hinnissy, but if I were Chinese, which I would fight anyone for saying, and was living at home, I'd tuck my shirt into my pants, put my hair up in a net, and go out and take on the invader even if it cost me my life. Here I am, Hop Lung Dooley, running my little liquor store and maybe raising a family in the town of Koochoo. I don’t like foreigners there any more than I do here. Then along comes a bald-headed man with chin whiskers from Baraboo, Wisconsin, and he says: ‘Ignorant and heathen Dooley,’ he says, ‘you have no God,’ he says. ‘I do,’ I say. ‘I have a lot of them,’ I say. ‘You are an uncultivated and foul creature,’ he says. ‘I’ve come six thousand miles to lift you from the mire of ignorance and irreligion in which you live to the lofty heights of Baraboo,’ he says. And he sits down in an easy chair, and his wife and her friends come in and they introduce Mrs. Dooley to the modern improvements of the corset and the hat with the blue bird on it, and they shame her because she hasn’t let her feet grow, while the head missionary reads me a poem from the Northwestern Christian Advocate. ‘Well,’ I say, ‘look here, my good fellow,’ I say. ‘My people and I have occupied this place for many years,’ I say, ‘and here we mean to stay,’ I say. ‘We’re doing the best we can in the matter of gods,’ I say. ‘We have them cast at a first-rate foundry,’ I say, ‘and we sandpaper them every week,’ I say. ‘As for knowing things,’ I say, ‘my people were writing poems with a marking brush when the likes of you were running around wearing a short coat of sheepskins and beating each other to death with stone hammers,’ I say. And I’m for kicking him out, but being a quiet man I let him stay.”
“Th' nex' day in comes a man with a suit iv clothes that looks like a tablecloth in a section house, an' says he: 'Poor ignorant haythen,' he says, 'what manner iv food d'ye ate?' he says. 'Rice,' says I, 'an' rats is me fav'rite dish,' I says. 'Deluded wretch,' says he. 'I riprisint Armour an' Company, an' I'm here to make ye change ye'er dite,' he says. 'Hinceforth ye'll ate th' canned roast beef iv merry ol' stock yards or I'll have a file iv sojers in to fill ye full iv ondygistible lead,' he says. An' afther him comes th' man with Aunt Miranda's Pan Cakes an' Flaked Bran an' Ye'll-perish-if-ye-don't-eat-a-biscuit an' other riprisintatives iv Westhern Civilization, an' I'm to be shot if I don't take thim all.”
“The next day, a man walked in wearing a suit that looked like a tablecloth from a train station, and he said, 'You poor ignorant person,' he said, 'what kind of food do you eat?' I replied, 'Rice, and rats are my favorite dish,' I said. 'Deluded fool,' he said. 'I represent Armour and Company, and I'm here to get you to change your diet,' he said. 'From now on, you’ll eat the canned roast beef from merry old stockyards, or I’ll have a squad of soldiers come in to fill you full of indigestible lead,' he said. And after him came the man with Aunt Miranda's Pancakes and Flaked Bran and You’ll-perish-if-you-don't-eat-a-biscuit and other representatives of Western Civilization, and I’ll be shot if I don’t take them all.”
“Thin a la-ad runs down with a chain an' a small glass on three sticks an' a gang iv section men that answers to th' name iv Casey, an' pro-ceeds f'r to put down a railroad. 'What's this f'r?' says I. 'We ar-re th' advance guard iv Westhren Civilization,' he says, 'an we're goin' to give ye a railroad so ye can go swiftly to places that ye don't want to see,' he says. 'A counthry that has no railroads is beneath contimpt,' he says. 'Casey,' he says, 'sthretch th' chain acrost yon graveyard,' he says. 'I aim f'r to put th' thrack just befure that large tombstone marked Riquiescat in Pace, James H. Chung-a-lung,' he says. 'But,' says I, 'ye will disturb pah's bones,' says I, 'if ye go to layin' ties,' I says. 'Ye'll be mixin' up me ol' man with th' Cassidy's in th' nex' lot that,' I says, 'he niver spoke to save in anger in his life,' I says. 'Ye're an ancestor worshiper, heathen,' says the la-ad, an' he goes on to tamp th' mounds in th' cimitry an ballast th' thrack with th' remains iv th' deceased. An' afther he's got through along comes a Fr-rinchman, an' an Englishman, an' a Rooshan, an' a Dutchman, an' says wan iv them: 'This is a comfortable lookin' saloon,' he says. 'I'll take th' bar, ye take th' ice-box an' th' r-rest iv th' fixtures.' 'What f'r?' says I. 'I've paid th' rent an' th' license,' says I. 'Niver mind,' says he. 'We're th' riprisintatives iv Westhren Civilization,' he says, 'an' 'tis th' business iv Westhren Civilization to cut up th' belongings iv Easthren Civilization,' he says. 'Be off,' he says, 'or I'll pull ye'er hair,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'this thing has gone far enough,' I says. 'I've heerd me good ol' cast-iron gods or josses abused,' I says, 'an' I've been packed full iv canned goods, an' th' Peking Lightnin' Express is r-runnin' sthraight through th' lot where th' bones iv me ancesthors lies,' I says. 'I've shtud it all,' I says, 'but whin ye come here to bounce me off iv me own primises,' I says, 'I'll have to take th' leg iv th' chair to ye,' I says. An' we're to th' flure.”
“Some guy shows up with a chain and a small glass on three sticks and a crew of workers that goes by the name of Casey, and they start to lay down a railroad. 'What’s this for?' I ask. 'We are the advance guard of Western Civilization,' he says, 'and we’re going to give you a railroad so you can travel quickly to places you don’t want to see,' he says. 'A country without railroads is beneath contempt,' he says. 'Casey,' he says, 'stretch the chain across that graveyard,' he says. 'I intend to lay the track just in front of that big tombstone marked Riquiescat in Pace, James H. Chung-a-lung,' he says. 'But,' I respond, 'you’ll disturb my father’s bones,' I say, 'if you start laying ties,' I say. 'You’ll be mixing up my old man with the Cassidy’s in the next lot, who he never spoke to except in anger his whole life,' I say. 'You’re an ancestor-worshiper, heathen,' says the guy, and he goes on to tamp the mounds in the cemetery and ballast the track with the remains of the deceased. And after he’s done, along come a Frenchman, an Englishman, a Russian, and a Dutchman, and one of them says: 'This is a nice-looking saloon,' he says. 'I’ll take the bar, you take the icebox and the rest of the fixtures.' 'What for?' I ask. 'I’ve paid the rent and the license,' I say. 'Never mind,' says he. 'We’re the representatives of Western Civilization,' he says, 'and it’s the business of Western Civilization to take the belongings of Eastern Civilization,' he says. 'Get lost,' he says, 'or I’ll pull your hair,' he says. 'Well,' I say, 'this has gone far enough,' I say. 'I’ve heard my good old cast-iron gods or josses insulted,' I say, 'and I’ve been stuffed full of canned goods, and the Peking Lightning Express is running right through the lot where my ancestors’ bones lie,' I say. 'I’ve put up with it all,' I say, 'but when you come here to kick me off my own property,' I say, 'I’ll have to take the leg of the chair to you,' I say. And we’re on the floor.”
“That's th' way it stands in Chiny, Hinnissy, an' it looks to me as though Westhren Civilization was in f'r a bump. I mind wanst whin a dhrunk prize fighter come up th' r-road and wint to sleep on Slavin's steps. Some iv th' good sthrong la-ads happened along an' they were near bein' at blows over who shud have his watch an' who shud take his hat. While they were debatin' he woke up an' begin cuttin' loose with hands an' feet, an' whin he got through he made a collection iv th' things they dhropped in escapin' an' marched ca'mly down th' sthreet. Mebbe 'twill tur-rn out so in Chiny, Hinnissy. I see be th' pa-apers that they'se four hundherd millyons iv thim boys an' be hivins! 'twuddent surprise me if whin they got through batin' us at home, they might say to thimsilves: 'Well, here goes f'r a jaunt ar-roun' the wurruld.' Th' time may come, Hinnissey, whin ye'll be squirtin' wather over Hop Lee's shirt while a man named Chow Fung kicks down ye'er sign an' heaves rocks through ye'er windy. The time may come, Hinnissy. Who knows?”
"That's how things are in China, Hinnissy, and it seems to me like Western civilization is in for a rough ride. I remember once when a drunk prizefighter came up the road and fell asleep on Slavin's steps. Some strong guys happened by, and they almost got into a fight over who should take his watch and who should take his hat. While they were arguing, he woke up and started swinging with his hands and feet, and when he was done, he collected the stuff they dropped while escaping and walked calmly down the street. Maybe that will happen in China, Hinnissy. I see in the papers that there are four hundred million of them, and by heaven! It wouldn't surprise me if, after they finish beating us at home, they say to themselves: 'Well, let's go for a trip around the world.' The time may come, Hinnissy, when you'll be spraying water on Hop Lee's shirt while a guy named Chow Fung kicks down your sign and throws rocks through your window. That time may come, Hinnissy. Who knows?"
“End ye'er blather,” said Mr. Hennessy. “They won't be anny Chinymen left whin Imp'ror Willum gets through.”
“Shut your mouth,” said Mr. Hennessy. “There won't be any Chinese left when Emperor William is done.”
“Mebbe not,” says Mr. Dooley. “He's a sthrong man. But th' Chinymen have been on earth a long time, an' I don't see how we can push so manny iv thim off iv it. Annyhow, 'tis a good thing f'r us they ain't Christyans an' haven't larned properly to sight a gun.”
“Maybe not,” says Mr. Dooley. “He's a strong man. But the Chinese have been around for a long time, and I don't see how we can push so many of them off the planet. Anyway, it's a good thing for us they aren't Christians and haven't properly learned how to aim a gun.”
MINISTER WU
“Well, sir, me little Chinee frind Woo must be havin' th' time iv his life in Wash'nton these warm days,” said Mr. Dooley.
“Well, sir, my little Chinese friend Woo must be having the time of his life in Washington these warm days,” said Mr. Dooley.
“Who's he?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Who's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
“He's th' Chinee ministher,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' his business is f'r to supply fresh hand-laundhried misinformation to the sicrety iv state. Th' sicrety iv state is settin' in his office feelin' blue because he's just heerd be a specyal corryspondint iv th' London Daily Pail at Sydney, Austhreelya, who had it fr'm a slatewriter in Duluth that an ar-rmy iv four hundherd an' eight thousan' millyon an' sivinty-five bloodthirsty Chinee, ar-rmed with flatirnes an' cryin', 'Bung Loo!' which means, Hinnissy, 'Kill th' foreign divvles, dhrive out th' missionries, an' set up in Chiny a gover'mint f'r the Chinee,' is marchin' on Vladivostook in Siberyia, not far fr'm Tinsin.”
“He's the Chinese minister,” said Mr. Dooley, “and his job is to provide fresh, hand-laundered misinformation to the Secretary of State. The Secretary of State is sitting in his office feeling down because he just heard from a special correspondent for the London Daily Mail in Sydney, Australia, who got it from a reporter in Duluth that an army of four hundred eight million seventy-five bloodthirsty Chinese, armed with flatirons and shouting, 'Bung Loo!' which means, Hinnessy, 'Kill the foreign devils, drive out the missionaries, and establish a government for the Chinese in China,' is marching on Vladivostok in Siberia, not far from Tientsin.”
A knock comes at th' dure an' Woo enthers. 'Well,' says he, with a happy smile, ''tis all right.' 'What's all right?' says the sicrety iv state. 'Ivrything,' says Woo. 'I have just found a letter sewed in a shirt fr'm me frind Lie Much, th' viceroy iv Bumbang. It is dated th' fourth hour iv th' third day iv th' eighth or green-cheese moon,' he says. 'What day is that?' says the sicrety iv state. 'It's Choosdah, th' fourth iv July; Winsdah, th' eighth iv October, an' Thursdah, the sivinteenth iv March,' he says. 'Pathrick's day,' says th' sicrety iv state. 'Thrue f'r ye,' says Woo. 'What year?' says Jawn Hay. 'The year iv th' big wind,' says Woo. 'Good,' says John Hay, 'proceed with ye'er story.' 'Here's th' letther,' says Woo. 'I know 'tis genooyine because it is an ol' dhress patthern used be th' impress. It says: 'Oscar Woo, care iv himsilf, annywhere: Dear Woo, brother iv th' moon, uncle iv th' sun, an' roommate iv th' stars, dear sir: Yours iv th' eighth day iv th' property moon rayceived out iv th' air yesterdah afthernoon or to-morrow, an' was glad to note ye ar-re feelin' well. Ivrything over here is th' same ol' pair iv boots. Nawthin' doin'. Peking is as quiet as th' gr-rave. Her majesty, th' impress, is sufferin' slightly fr'm death be poison, but is still able to do th' cookin' f'r the Rooshan ambassadure. Th' impror was beheaded las' week an' feels so much betther f'r the op'ration that he expicts to be quarthered nex' Sundah. He's always wanted to rayjooce his weight. Some iv th' Boxers called on th' foreigners at Tinsin las' week an' met a warrum rayciption. Th' foreigners aftherward paid a visit to thim through a hole in th' wall, an' a jolly day concluded with a foot race, at which our people are becomin' expert. Some iv th' boys expicts to come up to Peking nex' week, an' th' people along th' line iv th' railroad are gettin' ready f'r thim. This is really all the news I have, excipt that cherries ar-re ripe. Me pin is poor, me ink is dhry, me love f'r you can niver die. Give me regards to Sicrety Hay whin he wakes up. I remain, illusthrus cousin iv th' risin' dawn, thruly ye'ers, Li.
A knock comes at the door and Woo enters. "Well," he says with a happy smile, "everything's all good." "What's all good?" asks the Secretary of State. "Everything," Woo replies. "I just found a letter sewn in a shirt from my friend Li Much, the Viceroy of Bumbang. It's dated the fourth hour of the third day of the eighth or green-cheese moon," he says. "What day is that?" asks the Secretary of State. "It's Tuesday, July fourth; Wednesday, October eighth, and Thursday, March seventeenth," he says. "St. Patrick's Day," says the Secretary of State. "True for you," says Woo. "What year?" asks John Hay. "The year of the big wind," says Woo. "Good," says John Hay, "go on with your story." "Here's the letter," Woo says. "I know it’s genuine because it’s an old dress pattern used by the empress. It says: 'Oscar Woo, care of himself, anywhere: Dear Woo, brother of the moon, uncle of the sun, and roommate of the stars, dear sir: Yours of the eighth day of the property moon received out of the air yesterday afternoon or tomorrow, and I was glad to note you are feeling well. Everything over here is the same old pair of boots. Nothing doing. Beijing is as quiet as the grave. Her Majesty, the empress, is suffering slightly from death by poison, but is still able to cook for the Russian ambassador. The emperor was beheaded last week and feels so much better after the operation that he expects to be quartered next Sunday. He’s always wanted to lose some weight. Some of the Boxers visited the foreigners in Tianjin last week and received a warm reception. The foreigners afterward paid a visit to them through a hole in the wall, and a jolly day ended with a foot race, at which our people are becoming experts. Some of the boys expect to come up to Beijing next week, and the people along the railroad line are getting ready for them. This is really all the news I have, except that cherries are ripe. My pen is poor, my ink is dry, my love for you can never die. Please give my regards to Secretary Hay when he wakes up. I remain, illustrious cousin of the rising dawn, truly yours, Li.
P. S.—If ye need anny more information take a longer dhraw.'
P. S.—If you need any more information, take a longer draw.
“'That,' says Woo, 'is wan way iv r-readin' it. Read upside down it says that the impress has become a Swedenboorjan. I will r-read it standin' on me head whin I get home where I can pin down me overskirt; thin I'll r-read it in a lookin' glass; thin I'll saw it into sthrips an' r-run it through a wringer an' lave it stand in a tub iv bluein', an' whin its properly starched I'll find out what it says. Fin'lly I'll cut it into small pieces an' cook with rice an' lave it to rest in a cool place, an' thin 'twill r-read even betther. I hope ye're satisfied,' he says. 'I am,' says Jawn Hay. 'I'll tillygraft to Mark that ivrything is all r-right,' he says, 'an' that our relations with his majesty or her majesty or their Boxerships or th' Down-with-th'-foreign-divvlers or whoiver's runnin' th' shop over beyant are as they ought to be or worse or betther, as th' case may be,' he says. 'Good,' says Woo, 'ye're a man afther me own heart,' he says. 'I'll sind ye a little book wrote be a frind iv mine in Peking,' he says. ''Tis called “Heart to Heart Lies I Have Had,” he says. 'Ye'll like it,' he says. 'In the manetime,' he says, 'I must write a secret message to go out be to-night's hot-air express to me corryspondint in Meriden, Connecticut, urgin' him to sind more im-peeryal edicks iv a fav'r-able nature,' he says. 'I've on'y had twinty so far, an' I'm gettin' scrivener's palsy,' he says. 'But befure I go,' he says, 'I bet ye eight millyon yens, or three dollars an' eighty-four cints iv ye'er money, that ye can't pick out th' shell this here pea is undher,' he says. An' they set down to a game iv what is known at Peking as diplomacy, Hinnissy, but on Randolph sthreet viadock is called the double dirty.”
“'That,' says Woo, 'is one way of reading it. Read it upside down and it says that the impression has become a Swedenborgian. I'll read it standing on my head when I get home where I can pin down my overskirt; then I'll read it in a mirror; then I'll cut it into strips and run it through a wringer and leave it to soak in a tub of bluing, and when it's properly starched I'll find out what it says. Finally, I'll cut it into small pieces and cook it with rice and let it rest in a cool place, and then it'll read even better. I hope you're satisfied,' he says. 'I am,' says John Hay. 'I'll telegram to Mark that everything is all right,' he says, 'and that our relations with his majesty or her majesty or their officers or the Down-with-the-foreign-devils or whoever's running the shop over there are as they should be or worse or better, as the case may be,' he says. 'Good,' says Woo, 'you're a man after my own heart,' he says. 'I'll send you a little book written by a friend of mine in Beijing,' he says. 'It's called “Heart to Heart Lies I Have Had,” he says. 'You'll like it,' he says. 'In the meantime,' he says, 'I must write a secret message to go out on tonight's hot-air express to my correspondent in Meriden, Connecticut, urging him to send more imperial edicts of a favorable nature,' he says. 'I've only had twenty so far, and I'm getting writer's cramp,' he says. 'But before I go,' he says, 'I bet you eight million yen, or three dollars and eighty-four cents of your money, that you can't pick out the shell this pea is under,' he says. And they sit down to a game of what is known in Beijing as diplomacy, Hinnissy, but on Randolph Street Viaduct is called the double dirty.”
“I don't believe wan wurrud iv what's in th' pa-apers about Chiny,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“I don't believe a word of what's in the papers about China,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “if ye believe annything ye'll believe ivrything. 'Tis a grand contist that's goin' on between Westhren an' Easthren civilliezation. 'Tis a joke iv me own, Hinnissy, an' ye'd undherstand it if ye knew spellin. Th' Westhren civilization, Hinnissy—that's us—is a pretty good liar, but he's a kind iv rough-an'-tumble at it. He goes in head down, an' ivry lie he tells looks like all th' others. Ye niver see an Englishman that had anny judgment in lyin'. Th' corryspondint iv th' Daily Pail is out iv his class. He's carryin' lies to Lieville. How in th' wurruld can we compete with a counthry where ivry lab'rer's cottage projooces lies so delicate that th' workmen iv th' West can't undherstand thim? We make our lies be machinery; they tur-rn out theirs be hand. They imitate th' best iv our canned lies to deceive people that likes that kind, but f'r artists they have lies that appeals to a more refined taste. Sure I'd like to live among thim an' find out th' kind iv bouncers they tell each other. They must be gr-rand. I on'y know their export lies now—th' surplus lies they can't use at home. An' th' kind they sind out ar-re betther thin our best. Our lies is no more thin a conthradiction iv th' thruth; their lies appeals to th' since iv honesty iv anny civilized man.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “if you believe anything, you'll believe everything. There's a big contest going on between Western and Eastern civilizations. It's a joke of my own, Hinnissy, and you'd understand it if you knew how to spell. The Western civilization, Hinnissy—that's us—is a pretty good liar, but he's kind of rough around the edges. He charges in headfirst, and every lie he tells looks like all the others. You never see an Englishman with any judgment when it comes to lying. The correspondent of the Daily Pail is out of his league. He's bringing lies to Lieville. How in the world can we compete with a country where every laborer's cottage produces lies so delicate that the workers in the West can't understand them? We make our lies with machinery; they turn out theirs by hand. They imitate the best of our canned lies to fool people who like that sort, but for artistry, they have lies that appeal to a more refined taste. I'd really like to live among them and find out what kind of tall tales they tell each other. They must be grand. I only know their surplus lies now—the ones they can't use at home. And the kind they send out are better than our best. Our lies are just contradictions of the truth; their lies appeal to the sense of honesty of any civilized person.”
“They can't hurt us with their lies,” said Mr. Hennessy of our Western civilization. “We have th' guns an' we'll bate thim yet.”
“They can't hurt us with their lies,” said Mr. Hennessy about our Western civilization. “We have the guns and we’ll beat them yet.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' 'twill be like a man who's had his house desthroyed be a cyclone gettin' up an' kickin' at th' air.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Dooley, “and it’ll be like a guy whose house got destroyed by a tornado getting up and kicking at the sky.”
THE FUTURE OF CHINA
“Be th' time th' Chinese gets through with this here job o' theirs,” said Mr. Dooley, “they'll know a thing or two about good manners an' Christyan idees.”
“By the time the Chinese finish this job of theirs,” said Mr. Dooley, “they'll know a thing or two about good manners and Christian ideas.”
“They need thim,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“They need them,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“They do so,” said Mr. Dooley. “An' they'll get thim. By an' by th' allied foorces will proceed to Peking. It may not be in ye'er life time or in mine, or in th' life time iv th' ministhers, Hinnissy. They ar-re in no hurry. Th' ministhers ar-re as comfortable as they can be on a dite iv polo ponies an' bamboo, an' they have exercise enough dodgin' cannon balls to have no fear iv indygisthion. They'se no need of haste. Th' allied foorces must take no step forward while wan ar-rmed foe survives. It was rayported last week that th' advance had begun, but on sindin' out scouts 'twas discovered that th' asphalt road to th' capital was not r-ready an' th' gallant sojer boys was afraid to risk their beecycles on a defictive pavement. Thin th' parlor cars ordhered be th' Rooshan admiral has not arrived an' wan iv th' Frinch gin'rals lost an omelette, or whativer 'tis they wear on their shouldhers, an' he won't budge till it can be replaced fr'm Pahrs. A sthrong corps iv miners an' sappers has gone ahead f'r to lo-cate good resthrants on th' line iv march, but th' weather is cloudy an' th' silk umbrellys haven't arrived, an' they'se supposed to be four hundhred millyon Chiny-men with pinwheels an' Roman candles blockin' th' way, so th' advance has been postponed indifinitely. Th' American foorces is r-ready f'r to start immejately, but they ar-re not there yet. Th' British gin'ral is waitin' f'r th' Victorya cross befure he does annything, an' th' Japanese an' th' Rooshan is dancin' up an' down sayin' 'Afther you, me boy.'”
“They do,” said Mr. Dooley. “And they'll get them. Eventually, the allied forces will head to Peking. It might not be in your lifetime, or in mine, or in the ministers' lifetimes, Hinnissy. They're in no rush. The ministers are as comfy as they can be on a diet of polo ponies and bamboo, and they get plenty of exercise dodging cannonballs to have any fear of indigestion. There's no need to hurry. The allied forces can’t move forward while even one armed enemy is still around. It was reported last week that the advance had begun, but when scouts were sent out, it turned out that the asphalt road to the capital wasn’t ready, and the brave soldiers were too afraid to risk their bicycles on a bad pavement. Then the parlor cars ordered by the Russian admiral haven’t arrived, and one of the French generals lost an omelet, or whatever it is they wear on their shoulders, and he won’t move until it can be replaced from Paris. A strong group of miners and sapper soldiers has gone ahead to find good restaurants along the route, but the weather is cloudy, the silk umbrellas haven’t arrived, and there are supposed to be four hundred million Chinese with pinwheels and Roman candles blocking the way, so the advance has been postponed indefinitely. The American forces are ready to start immediately, but they aren’t there yet. The British general is waiting for the Victoria Cross before he does anything, and the Japanese and the Russians are dancing around saying, ‘After you, my boy.’”
“But afther awhile, whin th' frost is on th' pumpkin an' th' corn is in th' shock, whin th' roads has been repaired, an' ivry gin'ral's lookin' his best, an' in no danger iv a cold on th' chist, they'll prance away. An' whin they get to th' city iv Peking a fine cillybration is planned be th' mission'ries. I see th' programme in th' pa-aper: First day, 10 A.M., prayers be th' allied mission'ries; 1 P.M., massacree iv the impress an' rile fam'ly; sicond day, 10 A.M., scatthrin' iv remains iv former kings; 11 A.M., disecration iv graves gin'rally; 2 P.M., massacree iv all gin'rals an' coort officials; third day, 12 noon, burnin' iv Peking; foorth day, gran' pop'lar massacree an' division iv territ'ry, th' cillybration to close with a rough-an'-tumble fight among th' allies.”
“But after a while, when the frost is on the pumpkin and the corn is harvested, when the roads have been fixed, and every general is looking his best, and not in danger of catching a cold, they’ll prance away. And when they get to the city of Peking, a great celebration is planned by the missionaries. I see the program in the paper: First day, 10 A.M., prayers by the allied missionaries; 1 P.M., massacre of the emperor and royal family; second day, 10 A.M., scattering of the remains of former kings; 11 A.M., desecration of graves in general; 2 P.M., massacre of all generals and court officials; third day, 12 noon, burning of Peking; fourth day, grand popular massacre and division of territory, the celebration to close with a rough-and-tumble fight among the allies.”
“'Twill be a gr-reat occasion, Hinnissy, an' be-dad I'd like to be there to see it. Ye can't go too sthrong again' th' Chinee. Me frind th' impror iv Germany put it right. 'Brave boys,' says he, 'ye ar-re goin' out now,' he says, 'f'r to carry th' light iv Christyanity,' he says, 'an' th' teachin's iv th' German Michael,' he says, 'to th' benighted haythen beyant,' he says. 'Me an' Mike is watchin' ye' he says, 'an' we ixpict ye to do ye'er duty,' he says. 'Through you,' he says, 'I propose to smash th' vile Chinee with me mailed fist,' he says. 'This is no six-ounce glove fight, but demands a lunch-hook done up in eight-inch armor plate,' he says. 'Whin ye get among th' Chinee,' he says, 'raymimber that ye ar-re the van guard iv Christyanity,' he says, 'an' stick ye'er baynet through ivry hated infidel ye see,' he says. 'Lave thim undherstand what our westhren civilization means,' he says, 'an' prod thim good an' hard,' he says. 'Open their heads with ye'er good German swords to Eu-ropyan culture an' refinement,' he says. 'Spare no man that wears a pigtail,' he says. 'An,' he says, 'me an' th' German Michael will smile on ye as ye kick th' linin' out iv th' dhragon an' plant on th' walls iv Peking th' banner,' he says, 'iv th' cross, an',' he says, 'th' double cross,' he says. 'An' if be chance ye shud pick up a little land be th' way, don't lave e'er a Frinchman or Rooshan take it fr'm ye, or ye'll feel me specyal delivery hand on th' back iv ye'er neck in a way that'll do ye no kind iv good. Hock German Michael,' he says, 'hock me gran'father, hoch th' penny postage fist,' he says, 'hock mesilf,' he says. An th' German impror wint back to his bedroom f'r to wurruk on th' book he's goin' to br-ring out nex' year to take th' place iv th' bible.
“It’s going to be a great occasion, Hinnissy, and I’d really like to be there to see it. You can't be too tough against the Chinese. My friend, the Emperor of Germany, put it perfectly. ‘Brave boys,’ he says, ‘you’re going out now,’ he says, ‘to carry the light of Christianity,’ he says, ‘and the teachings of the German Michael,’ he says, ‘to the lost heathens beyond,’ he says. ‘Mike and I will be watching you,’ he says, ‘and we expect you to do your duty,’ he says. ‘Through you,’ he says, ‘I plan to smash the vile Chinese with my mailed fist,’ he says. ‘This isn’t a six-ounce glove fight, but needs a heavy punch wrapped in eight-inch armor plate,’ he says. ‘When you get among the Chinese,’ he says, ‘remember that you are the vanguard of Christianity,’ he says, ‘and stick your bayonet through every hated infidel you see,’ he says. ‘Let them understand what our Western civilization means,’ he says, ‘and poke them good and hard,’ he says. ‘Open their heads with your good German swords to European culture and refinement,’ he says. ‘Spare no man who wears a pigtail,’ he says. ‘And,’ he says, ‘Mike and I will smile on you as you kick the lining out of the dragon and plant on the walls of Peking the banner,’ he says, ‘of the cross, and,’ he says, ‘the double cross,’ he says. ‘And if by chance you should pick up a little land along the way, don’t let any Frenchman or Russian take it from you, or you’ll feel my special delivery hand on the back of your neck in a way that won’t do you any good. Hock German Michael,’ he says, ‘hock my grandfather, hock the penny postage fist,’ he says, ‘hock myself,’ he says. And the German emperor went back to his bedroom to work on the book he’s going to bring out next year to take the place of the Bible.”
“He's th' boy f'r me money. Whin th' German throops takes their part in th' desthruction iv Peking they'll be none iv th' allied foorces 'll stick deeper or throw th' backbone iv th' impress' ol' father higher thin th' la-ads fr'm th' home iv th' sausage. I hope th' cillybration 'll occur on Chris'mas day. I'd like to hear th' sojers singin' 'Gawd r-rest ye, merry Chinnymen' as they punchered thim with a baynit.”
“He's the guy for my money. When the German troops take part in the destruction of Beijing, there won’t be any of the Allied forces that will stick deeper or raise the backbone of the impressive old father higher than the lads from the land of sausage. I hope the celebration happens on Christmas Day. I’d love to hear the soldiers singing ‘God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen’ as they stab them with a bayonet.”
“'Twill be a good thing,” said Mr. Hennessy.
"That'll be a good thing," said Mr. Hennessy.
“It will that,” said Mr. Dooley.
“It will that,” said Mr. Dooley.
“'Twill civilize th' Chinnymen,” said Mr. Hennessy.
"'It will civilize the Chinese,' said Mr. Hennessy."
“'Twill civilize thim stiff,” said Mr. Dooley. “An' it may not be a bad thing f'r th' r-rest iv th' wurruld. Perhaps contack with th' Chinee may civlize th' Germans.”
“It's going to civilize them stiff,” said Mr. Dooley. “And it might not be a bad thing for the rest of the world. Maybe contact with the Chinese will civilize the Germans.”
PLATFORM MAKING
“That sthrikes me as a gran' platform,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I'm with it fr'm start to finish.”
“That strikes me as a great platform,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I'm on board from start to finish.”
“Sure ye are,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' so ye'd be if it begun: 'We denounce Terence Hinnissy iv th' Sixth Ward iv Chicago as a thraitor to his country, an inimy iv civilization, an' a poor thing.' Ye'd say: 'While there are wan or two things that might be omitted, th' platform as a whole is a statesmanlike docymint, an' wan that appeals to th' intelligince iv American manhood.' That's what ye'd say, an' that's what all th' likes iv ye'd say. An' whin iliction day comes 'round th' on'y question ye'll ast ye'ersilf is: 'Am I with Mack or am I with Billy Bryan?' An accordin'ly ye'll vote.”
“Of course you would,” said Mr. Dooley, “and so would you if it started: 'We condemn Terence Hinnissy from the Sixth Ward of Chicago as a traitor to his country, an enemy of civilization, and a worthless individual.' You'd say: 'While there are one or two things that could be left out, the platform as a whole is a statesmanlike document, and one that appeals to the intelligence of American manhood.' That's what you'd say, and that's what all people like you would say. And when election day comes around, the only question you'll ask yourself is: 'Am I with Mack or am I with Billy Bryan?' And based on that, you'll vote.”
“'Tis always th' same way, an' all platforms is alike. I mind wanst whin I was an alter-nate to th' county con-vintion—'twas whin I was a power in pollytics an' th' on'y man that cud do annything with th' Bohemian vote—I was settin' here wan night with a pen an' a pot iv ink befure me, thryin' to compose th' platform f'r th' nex' day, f'r I was a lithry man in a way, d'ye mind, an' I knew th' la-ads'd want a few crimps put in th' raypublicans in a ginteel style, an' 'd be sure to call on me f'r to do it. Well, I'd got as far down as th' tariff an' was thryin' f'r to express me opinyon without swearin', whin who shud come in but Lafferty, that was sicrety iv McMahon, that was th' Main Guy in thim days, but aftherward thrun down on account iv him mixin' up between th' Rorkes an' th' Dorseys. Th' Main Guy Down Town said he wudden't have no throuble in th' ward, an' he declared McMahon out. McMahon had too much money annyhow. If he'd kept on, dollar bills'd have been extinct outside iv his house. But he was a sthrong man in thim days an' much liked.”
“It's always the same, and all platforms are alike. I remember once when I was an alternate to the county convention—back when I had some influence in politics and was the only one who could do anything with the Bohemian vote—I was sitting here one night with a pen and a pot of ink in front of me, trying to write the platform for the next day, since I was a literate man in a way, you know, and I knew the guys would want a few smart jabs at the Republicans in a tasteful manner, and they would surely ask me to do it. Well, I had gotten as far as the tariff and was trying to express my opinion without swearing, when who should come in but Lafferty, who was McMahon's secretary, the big guy back then, but later he got tossed out for confusing the Rorkes with the Dorseys. The main guy downtown said he wouldn't have any trouble in the ward and declared McMahon finished. McMahon had too much money anyway. If he'd kept going, dollar bills would have been extinct outside his house. But he was a strong man back then and quite popular.”
“Anyhow, Lafferty, that was his sicrety, come in, an' says he: 'What are ye doin' there?' says he. 'Step soft,' says I; 'I am at wurruk,' I says. 'Ye shudden't do lithry wurruk on an empty stomach,' says he. 'I do nawthin' on an empty stomach but eat,' says I. 'I've had me supper,' I says. 'Go 'way,' says I, 'till I finish th' platform,' I says. 'What's th' platform?' says he.'F'r th' county con-vintion,' says I.
“Anyway, Lafferty, that was his secret, came in and said, 'What are you doing there?' I said, 'Step softly; I'm working.' He replied, 'You shouldn’t do literary work on an empty stomach.' I said, 'I don’t do anything on an empty stomach but eat.' I said, 'I’ve had my dinner.' I told him, 'Go away until I finish the platform.' He asked, 'What's the platform?' I said, 'For the county convention.'”
“Well, sir, he set down on a chair, an' I thought th' man was goin' to die right there on the premises with laughter. 'Whin ye get through with ye'er barkin',' says I, 'I'll throuble ye to tell me what ye may be doin' it f'r,' I says. 'I see nawthin' amusin' here but ye'er prisince,' I says, 'an' that's not a divvle iv a lot funnier than a wooden leg,' I says, f'r I was mad. Afther awhile he come to, an' says he: 'Ye don't raally think,' says he, 'that ye'll get a chanct to spring that platform,' he says. 'I do,' says I. 'Why,' he says, 'the platform has been adopted,' he says. 'Whin?' says I. 'Befure ye were born,' says he. 'In th' reign iv Bildad th' first,' says he—he was a larned man, was Lafferty, though a dhrinkin' man. All sicreties iv pollyticians not in office is dhrinkin' men, Hinnissy. 'Ive got th' copy iv it here in me pocket,' he says. 'Th' boss give it to me to bring it up to date,' he says. 'They was no sthrike last year an' we've got to put a sthrike plank in th' platform or put th' prisident iv th' Lumber Shovers' union on th' county board, an',' he says, 'they ain't room,' he says.
"Well, sir, he sat down on a chair, and I thought the guy was going to die right there from laughing. 'When you’re done barking,' I said, 'I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what you’re doing it for.' I said, 'I don’t see anything amusing here except your presence, and that’s not a whole lot funnier than a wooden leg,' I said, because I was mad. After a while, he came to and said, 'You really don’t think,' he said, 'that you’ll get a chance to introduce that platform,' he said. 'I do,' I said. 'Why,' he said, 'the platform has been adopted,' he said. 'When?' I asked. 'Before you were born,' he replied. 'In the reign of Bildad the first,' he said—he was a knowledgeable guy, Lafferty, even though he was a heavy drinker. All secret politicians not in office are drinkers, Hinnissy. 'I’ve got the copy of it here in my pocket,' he said. 'The boss gave it to me to bring it up to date,' he said. 'There was no strike last year, and we’ve got to add a strike plank to the platform or put the president of the Lumber Shovers' union on the county board, and,' he said, 'there isn’t room,' he said."
“'Why,' says Lafferty, 'ye ought to know th' histhry iv platforms,' he says. An' he give it to me, an' I'll give it to ye. Years ago, Hinnissy, manny years ago, they was a race between th' dimmycrats an' th' raypublicans f'r to see which shud have a choice iv principles. Th' dimmycrats lost. I dinnaw why. Mebbe they stopped to take a dhrink. Annyhow, they lost. Th' raypublicans come up an' they choose th' 'we commind' principles, an' they was nawthin' left f'r the dimmycrats but th' 'we denounce an' deplores.' I dinnaw how it come about, but th' dimmycrats didn't like th' way th' thing shtud, an' so they fixed it up between thim that whichiver won at th' iliction shud commind an' congratulate, an' thim that lost shud denounce an' deplore. An' so it's been, on'y the dimmycrats has had so little chanct f'r to do annything but denounce an' deplore that they've almost lost th' use iv th' other wurruds.
“'Why,' says Lafferty, 'you should know the history of platforms,' he says. And he gave it to me, and I'll give it to you. Years ago, Hinnissy, many years ago, there was a race between the Democrats and the Republicans to see who should have a choice of principles. The Democrats lost. I don’t know why. Maybe they stopped for a drink. Anyway, they lost. The Republicans came up, and they chose the 'we command' principles, and there was nothing left for the Democrats but the 'we denounce and deplore.' I don’t know how it happened, but the Democrats didn’t like the way things stood, so they worked it out among themselves that whoever won the election should command and congratulate, and those who lost should denounce and deplore. And so it’s been, except the Democrats have had so little chance to do anything but denounce and deplore that they've almost forgotten how to use the other words.”
“Mack sets back in Wash'nton an' writes a platform f'r th' comity on risolutions to compose th' week afther. He's got a good job—forty-nine ninety-two, sixty-six a month—an' 'tis up to him to feel good. 'I—I mean we,' he says, 'congratulate th' counthry on th' matchless statesmanship, on-shrinkin' courage, steady devotion to duty an' principle iv that gallant an' hon'rable leader, mesilf,' he says to his sicrety. 'Take that,' he says, 'an' elaborate it,' he says. 'Ye'll find a ditchnry on th' shelf near the dure,' he says, 'if ye don't think I've put what I give ye sthrong enough,' he says. 'I always was,' he says, 'too retirin' f'r me own good,' he says. 'Spin out th' r-rest,' he says, 'to make about six thousan' wurruds,' he says, 'but be sure don't write annything too hot about th' Boer war or th' Ph'lippeens or Chiny, or th' tariff, or th' goold question, or our relations with England, or th' civil sarvice,' he says. 'Tis a foolish man,' he says, 'that throws a hunk iv coal fr'm his own window at th' dhriver iv a brick wagon,' he says.”
“Mack leans back in Washington and writes a platform for the committee on resolutions to discuss the following week. He has a good job—forty-nine ninety-two, sixty-six a month—and it’s up to him to feel good. ‘I—I mean we,’ he says, ‘congratulate the country on the unmatched statesmanship, unshrinking courage, steady devotion to duty and principle of that gallant and honorable leader, myself,’ he says to his secretary. ‘Take that,’ he says, ‘and elaborate on it,’ he says. ‘You’ll find a dictionary on the shelf near the door,’ he says, ‘if you don’t think I’ve made what I gave you strong enough,’ he says. ‘I’ve always been,’ he says, ‘too shy for my own good,’ he says. ‘Stretch out the rest,’ he says, ‘to make about six thousand words,’ he says, ‘but make sure not to write anything too controversial about the Boer War, the Philippines, China, the tariff, the gold question, our relations with England, or the civil service,’ he says. ‘It’s a foolish man,’ he says, ‘who throws a chunk of coal from his own window at the driver of a brick wagon,’ he says.”
“But with Billy Bryan 'tis diff'rent. He's out in Lincoln, Neebrasky, far fr'm home, an' he says to himsilf: 'Me throat is hoarse, an' I'll exercise me other fac'lties,' he says. 'I'll write a platform,' he says. An' he sets down to a typewriter, an' denounces an' deplores till th' hired man blows th' dinner horn. Whin he can denounce an' deplore no longer he views with alarm an' declares with indignation. An' he sinds it down to Kansas City, where th' cot beds come fr'm.”
“But with Billy Bryan it’s different. He’s out in Lincoln, Nebraska, far from home, and he says to himself: ‘My throat is hoarse, so I’ll use my other skills,’ he says. ‘I’ll write a platform,’ he says. And he sits down at a typewriter, denouncing and lamenting until the hired man blows the dinner horn. When he can’t denounce and lament any longer, he starts to view things with alarm and declares his indignation. And he sends it down to Kansas City, where the cots come from.”
“Oh, ye're always pitchin' into some wan,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I bet ye Willum Jennings Bryan niver see th' platform befure it wint in. He's too good a man.”
“Oh, you're always getting into some trouble,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I bet William Jennings Bryan never saw the platform before it went in. He's too good a man.”
“He is all iv that,” said Mr. Dooley. “But ye bet he knows th' rale platform f'r him is: 'Look at th' bad breaks Mack's made,' an' Mack's platform is: 'Ye'd get worse if ye had Billy Bryan.' An' it depinds on whether most iv th' voters ar-re tired out or on'y a little tired who's ilicted. All excipt you, Hinnissy. Ye'll vote f'r Bryan?”
“He is all of that,” said Mr. Dooley. “But you can bet he knows the real platform for him is: 'Look at the bad breaks Mack made,' and Mack's platform is: 'You'd have it worse if you had Billy Bryan.' And it depends on whether most of the voters are exhausted or just a little tired who gets elected. Everyone except you, Hinnissy. You’re voting for Bryan?”
“I will,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“I will,” Mr. Hennessy said.
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “d'ye know, I suspicted ye might.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “you know, I suspected you might.”
THE YACHT RACES
“In th' ol' times whin I was a yachtsman—” began Mr. Dooley.
“In the old days when I was a yachtsman—” began Mr. Dooley.
“Scowman,” said Mr. Hennessy.
"Scowman," Mr. Hennessy said.
“Yachtsman,” said Mr. Dooley. “Whin I was a yachtsman, all a man needed to race was a flat-bottomed boat, an umbrella, an' a long dhrink. In thim days 'twas 'Up with th' mainsail an' out with th' jib, an' Cap'n Jawn first to th' Lake View pumpin' station f'r th' see-gars.' Now 'tis 'Ho, f'r a yacht race. Lave us go an' see our lawyers.' 'Tis 'Haul away on th' writ iv ne exeat,' an' 'Let go th' peak capias.' 'Tis 'Pipe all hands to th' Supreme Coort.' 'Tis 'A life on th' boundin' docket an' a home on th' rowlin' calendar.' Befure we die, Sir Lipton'll come over here f'r that Cup again an' we'll bate him be gettin' out an overnight injunction. What's th' use iv buildin' a boat that's lible to tip an' spill us all into th' wet? Turn th' matther over to th' firm iv Wiggins, Schultz, O'Mally, Eckstein, Wopoppski, Billotti, Gomez, Olson, an' McPherson, an' lave us have th' law on him.”
“Yachtsman,” said Mr. Dooley. “When I was a yachtsman, all a guy needed to race was a flat-bottomed boat, an umbrella, and a long drink. Back then, it was 'Hoist the mainsail and out with the jib, and Captain John was the first to the Lake View pumping station for the cigars.' Now it’s 'Ho, for a yacht race. Let’s go see our lawyers.' It’s 'Haul away on the writ of ne exeat,' and 'Let go the peak capias.' It’s 'Call everyone to the Supreme Court.' It’s 'A life on the busy docket and a home on the rolling calendar.' Before we die, Sir Lipton will come over here for that Cup again, and we’ll beat him by getting an overnight injunction. What’s the use of building a boat that might tip and spill us all into the water? Let’s hand the matter over to the firm of Wiggins, Schultz, O'Malley, Eckstein, Wopoppski, Billotti, Gomez, Olson, and McPherson, and let’s have the law on him.”
“I don't suppose, Hinnissy, I ought to be gettin' off me little jokes on a seeryous matther like this. What's it all about, says ye? Well, ye see, 'tis this way. Wanst befure th' war some la-ad fr'm this counthry took a boat acrost th' Atlantic an' run it again an English boat an' iv coorse, he won, not bein' tied to th' dock, an' they give him a Cup. I don't know why they give him a cup, but they give him a cup. He brought it back here an' handed it to a yacht club, which is an assocyation, Hinnissy, iv mimbers iv th' Bar. He says: 'Ye keep that cup on ye'er mantle-piece an' if e'er an Englishman wants it, don't ye give it to him.' Afther awhile, an Englishman that ownded a boat come afther th' cup, an 'twas lave go altogether, an' th' las' man to th' line knows what he is. He's an Englishman, iv coorse. That was all r-right too. But th' time come whin th' lagal pro-fission took a hand in th' game. 'Look here,' says they. 'Ye've vilated nearly all th' statues iv th' State iv Noo Jarsey already,' they says, 'an' if ye ain't careful, ye'll be hauled up f'r contimpt iv coort,' they says. So they took th' matther in hand an' dhrew up th' r-right pa-apers. 'State iv Noo York, county iv Cook, s. s. Know all men be these prisints. To all magisthrates an' polis officers, greetin.' In re Sir Lipton again th' Cup. Ordhered that if Sir Lipton shall secure said Cup fr'm aforesaid (which he won't) he must build a boat as follows: Wan hundherd an' twinty chest, fifty-four waist, hip an' side pockets, carryin' three hundherd an' sixty-three thousan' cubic feet iv canvas; th' basement iv th' boat to be papered in green with yellow flowered dado, open plumbin', steam heat throughout, th' tinant to pay f'r all repairs. Be means iv this infernal machine, if enable to kill off th' rile fam'ly, he will attimpt to cross th' stormy Atlantic, an' if successful, will arrive at th' risidince iv th' party of th' first part, said John Doe. Wanst there, he will consult with mimbers iv th' Noo York Bar Association, who will lead him to a firm iv competent expert accountants, who will give him his time, which is two minyits measured be th' invarse ratio iv th' distance fr'm th' binnacle to th' cook-stove, an' fr'm th' cook-stove, east be north to th' bowspirit. He will thin take his foolish boat down th' bay, an' if he keeps his health, he can rayturn to th' grocery business, f'r he's a jolly good fellow which nobody can deny.'
“I guess, Hinnissy, I shouldn't be making jokes about something as serious as this. What’s it all about, you ask? Well, here’s the thing. Once before the war, some guy from this country took a boat across the Atlantic and raced against an English boat, and of course, he won since he wasn’t tied to the dock, and they gave him a Cup. I don’t know why they gave him a cup, but they did. He brought it back here and handed it to a yacht club, which is an association, Hinnissy, with members of the Bar. He said: 'You keep that cup on your mantelpiece, and if any Englishman wants it, don’t give it to him.' After a while, an Englishman who owned a boat came after the cup, and it was just let go altogether, and the last man to the line knows who he is. He’s an Englishman, of course. That was fine too. But then the legal profession got involved. 'Look here,' they said. 'You've violated almost all the statutes of the State of New Jersey already,' they said, 'and if you’re not careful, you’ll be held for contempt of court,' they said. So they took the matter in hand and drew up the right papers. 'State of New York, county of Cook, s. s. Know all men by these presents. To all magistrates and police officers, greetings.' In re Sir Lipton regarding the Cup. Ordered that if Sir Lipton shall secure said Cup from the aforementioned (which he won’t), he must build a boat as follows: One hundred and twenty chests, fifty-four waist, hip, and side pockets, carrying three hundred and sixty-three thousand cubic feet of canvas; the basement of the boat to be papered in green with yellow flowered dado, open plumbing, steam heat throughout, the tenant to pay for all repairs. By means of this infernal machine, if able to eliminate the real family, he will attempt to cross the stormy Atlantic, and if successful, will arrive at the residence of the party of the first part, said John Doe. Once there, he will consult with members of the New York Bar Association, who will lead him to a firm of competent expert accountants, who will give him his time, which is two minutes measured by the inverse ratio of the distance from the binnacle to the cook-stove, and from the cook-stove, east by north to the bowsprit. He will then take his ridiculous boat down the bay, and if he stays healthy, he can return to the grocery business, as he’s a jolly good fellow which nobody can deny."
“Ye can see this, Hinnissy, that yachtin' has become wan iv thl larned pro-fissions. 'Tis that that got th' la-ad fr'm Boston into it. They's a jolly Jack Tar f'r ye. In dhrawin' up a lease or framin' a bond, no more gallant sailor rides th' waves thin hearty Jack Larsen iv th' Amalgamated Copper Yacht Club. 'What ho?' says he. 'If we're goin' to have a race,' he says, 'shiver me timbers if I don't look up th' law,' he says. So he become a yachtsman. 'But,' says th' Noo York la-ads, thim that has th' Cup on their mantel-piece, 'Ye can race on'y on two conditions.' 'What ar-re they?' says Larsen. 'Th' first is that ye become a mimber iv our club.' 'With pleasure,' says he. 'Ye can't,' says they. 'An' havin' complied with this first condition, ye must give us ye'er boat,' says they. 'We don't want it,' they says. 'Th' terms suit me entirely,' says Cap. Larsen. 'I'm a simple sailor man an' I'll give ye me boat undher th' following conditions,' he says. 'First, that ye won't take it; second, that ye'll paint me name on th' side iv it in red letters, three feet high; third, that ye'll inthra-jooce me to th' Prince iv Wales; foorth, that I'll sail it mesilf. Nawthin',' he says, 'wud give me gr-reater pleasure thin to have me handsome an' expinsive raft in th' hands iv men who I wud considher it an honor to know,' he says. 'An' so,' he says, 'I'll on'y ask ye to sign a bond an' lave a small security, say about five hundherd thousan' dollars, in me hands in case anny paint shud be knocked off me boat,' he says. 'Yachtin' is a gintleman's spoort,' he says, 'an' in dalin' with gintlemen,' he says, 'ye can't be too careful,' he says.”
"You can see this, Hinnissy, that yachting has become one of the learned professions. That’s what got the guy from Boston into it. He’s a jolly sailor for you. When it comes to drawing up a lease or framing a bond, no braver sailor rides the waves than hearty Jack Larsen of the Amalgamated Copper Yacht Club. 'What’s up?' he says. 'If we're going to have a race,' he says, 'I’ll look up the law,' he says. So he became a yachtsman. 'But,' say the New York guys, the ones who have the Cup on their mantelpiece, 'You can race only on two conditions.' 'What are they?' says Larsen. 'The first is that you become a member of our club.' 'With pleasure,' he says. 'You can’t,' they say. 'And having met this first condition, you must give us your boat,' they say. 'We don’t want it,' they say. 'The terms suit me just fine,' says Cap. Larsen. 'I’m just a simple sailor man, and I’ll give you my boat under the following conditions,' he says. 'First, that you won’t take it; second, that you’ll paint my name on the side in red letters, three feet high; third, that you’ll introduce me to the Prince of Wales; fourth, that I’ll sail it myself. Nothing,' he says, 'would give me greater pleasure than to have my handsome and expensive vessel in the hands of men who I would consider it an honor to know,' he says. 'And so,' he says, 'I’ll only ask you to sign a bond and leave a small security, say about five hundred thousand dollars, in my hands in case any paint should be knocked off my boat,' he says. 'Yachting is a gentleman's sport,' he says, 'and in dealing with gentlemen,' he says, 'you can’t be too careful,' he says."
“What's Sir Lipton doin' all this time?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“What's Sir Lipton doing all this time?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“He's preparin' his bond, makin' his will, an' goin' through th' other lagal preliminaries iv th' race. He's built a boat too. Th' King of England was aboord iv her, an' he was near killed, be havin' a mast fall on him. Th' Lord knows how he escaped. A mass iv steel weighin' a hundherd thousan' ton fell on his Majesty an' bounced off. Sir Lipton felt pretty bad about it. He didn't mind losin' a mast or two, but he didn't want annywan to know he had th' king aboord. 'Twud hurt business. 'Boys,' says he to th' rayporthers, 'th' King's on me yacht. D'ye hear me? Th' King's on me yacht. But don't say annything about it. I don't want to have it known. Don't print it onless ye have to, an' thin put it in an inconspicuous place, like th' first page. He's here sure enough, boys. Th' mast just fell on his Majesty. It nearly kilt him. I'm not sure it didn't kill him. He remained perfectly cool throughout. So did I. I was almost cold. So did both iv us. But, mind not a wurrud iv this in th' pa-apers.' I don't know how th' rayporthers got hold iv it. But they're a pryin' lot.”
“He's preparing his bond, making his will, and going through all the other legal formalities for the race. He's built a boat too. The King of England was on board, and he nearly got killed when a mast fell on him. God knows how he escaped. A mass of steel weighing a hundred thousand tons fell on His Majesty and barely missed him. Sir Lipton felt pretty terrible about it. He didn’t mind losing a mast or two, but he didn’t want anyone to know the king was on board. It would hurt his business. ‘Boys,’ he says to the reporters, ‘the King’s on my yacht. Do you hear me? The King’s on my yacht. But don’t say anything about it. I don’t want it known. Don’t print it unless you really have to, and then put it in a discreet place, like the front page. He’s definitely here, boys. The mast just fell on His Majesty. It nearly killed him. I’m not sure it didn’t actually kill him. He stayed perfectly calm the whole time. So did I. I was almost cold. Both of us were. But don’t say a word of this in the papers.’ I don’t know how the reporters found out about it. But they’re a nosy bunch.”
“How did th' mast come to fall?” asked Mr. Hennessy, eagerly. “D'ye suppose Sir Lipton is wan iv us?”
“How did the mast fall?” asked Mr. Hennessy eagerly. “Do you think Sir Lipton is one of us?”
“S-sh,” said Mr. Dooley, adding, softly, “he was bor-rn in Limerick.”
“S-sh,” said Mr. Dooley, adding gently, “he was born in Limerick.”
POLYGAMY
“How manny wives has this here man Roberts that's thryin' to break into Congress?” Mr. Dooley asked.
“How many wives does this guy Roberts have who's trying to break into Congress?” Mr. Dooley asked.
“I dinnaw,” said Mr. Hennessy; “I nivver heerd iv him.”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Hennessy; “I’ve never heard of him.”
“I think it's three,” said Mr. Dooley. “No wondher he needs wurruk an' is fightin' hard f'r th' job. I'm with him too, be hivens. Not that I'm be taste or inclination a marryin' man, Hinnissy. They may get me to th' altar some day. Th' best iv us falls, like Cousin George, an' there ar-re designin' women in this very block that I have me own throubles in dodgin'. But anny time ye hear iv me bein' dhrawn fr'm th' quite miseries an' exclusive discomforts iv single life ye may know that they have caught me asleep an' chloroformed me. It's thrue. But f'r thim that likes it, it's all r-right, an' if a man's done something in his youth that he has to do pinance f'r an' th' stations iv th' cross ain't sthrong enough, lave him, says I, marry as manny women as he wants an' live with them an' die contint. Th' Mormons thinks they ar-re commanded be the Lord f'r to marry all th' ineligeable Swede women. Now, I don't believe th' Lord iver commanded even a Mormon f'r to do annything so foolish, an' if he did he wudden't lave th' command written on a pie-plate an' burrid out there at Nauvoo, in Hancock county, Illinye. Ye can bet on that, Hinnissy.”
“I think it’s three,” said Mr. Dooley. “No wonder he needs work and is fighting hard for the job. I’m with him too, believe me. Not that I’m by nature or inclination a marrying man, Hinnissy. They might get me to the altar someday. The best of us stumble, like Cousin George, and there are scheming women in this very block that I have my own troubles avoiding. But anytime you hear about me being pulled from the quiet miseries and exclusive discomforts of single life, you can be sure they’ve caught me asleep and chloroformed me. It’s true. But for those who enjoy it, it’s all right, and if a man has done something in his youth that he has to atone for and the stations of the cross aren’t strong enough, let him, I say, marry as many women as he wants and live with them and die content. The Mormons think they are commanded by the Lord to marry all the unsuitable Swedish women. Now, I don’t believe the Lord ever commanded even a Mormon to do anything so foolish, and if he did, he wouldn’t leave the command written on a pie plate buried out there at Nauvoo, in Hancock County, Illinois. You can bet on that, Hinnissy.”
“But if anny wan believes 'twas done, I say, lave him believe it an' lave him clasp to his bosom as manny Olesons as 'll have him. Sure in th' prisint state iv th' mathrimonyal market, as Hogan calls it, whin he goes down to coort th' rich Widow O'Brien, th' la-ad that wants to engage in interprises iv that sort ought to have a frind in ivry wan but th' men that keeps imploymint agencies.
"But if anyone believes it was done, I say, let him believe it and let him hold on to as many Olesons as he wants. Given the current state of the marriage market, as Hogan calls it, when he goes to court the wealthy Widow O'Brien, the guy looking to get involved in things like that should have a friend in everyone except for the people running employment agencies."
“But no. Th' minyit a Mormon thries to break into a pollytical job, a dillygation rises an' says they: 'What!' they says, 'permit this polluted monsther f'r to invade th' chaste atmosphere,' they says, 'iv th' house iv riprisintatives,' they says. 'Permit him f'r to parade his fam'ly down Pinnsylvanya Av'noo an' block thraffic,' they says. 'Permit him mebbe to set in th' chair wanst occypied be th' laminted Breckinridge,' they says. An' they proceed f'r to hunt th' poor, crowded man. An' he takes a day off to kiss his wife fr'm house to house, an' holds a meetin' iv his childher to bid thim good-by an' r-runs to hide in a cave till th' dillygation raymimbers that they have husbands iv their own an' goes home to cook th' supper.
“But no. The minute a Mormon tries to break into a political job, a delegation rises and says: 'What!' they say, 'permit this polluted monster to invade the pure atmosphere of the House of Representatives,' they say. 'Permit him to parade his family down Pennsylvania Avenue and block traffic,' they say. 'Permit him maybe to sit in the chair once occupied by the lamented Breckinridge,' they say. And they proceed to hunt the poor, crowded man. And he takes a day off to kiss his wife from house to house and holds a meeting with his children to say goodbye and runs to hide in a cave until the delegation remembers that they have husbands of their own and goes home to cook their supper.”
“A Mormon, Hinnissy, is a man that has th' bad taste an' th' rellijion to do what a good manny other men ar-re restrained fr'm doin' be conscientious scruples an' th' polis. I don't want anny wife; ye, Hinnissy, ar-re satisfied, not to say con-tint, with wan; another la-ad feels that he'd be lonesome without tin. 'Tis a matther iv disposition. If iver I got started th' Lord on'y knows where I'd bring up. I might be like me frind an' fellow-sultan, Hadji Mohammed. Hadji has wives to burn, an' wanst in awhile he bur-rns wan. He has a betther job thin Congressman.”
“A Mormon, Hinnissy, is a man who has the unfortunate taste and the religion to do what many other men are held back from doing by their moral beliefs and the law. I don’t want any wife; you, Hinnissy, are happy, if not content, with one; another guy feels that he’d be lonely without ten. It’s a matter of personality. If I ever got started, only the Lord knows where I’d end up. I might be like my friend and fellow sultan, Hadji Mohammed. Hadji has wives to spare, and once in a while he gets rid of one. He has a better job than a Congressman.”
“Th' best a congressman can get is foorth-class postmasther an' a look in at th' White House on visitin' day. But Hadji, th' pop'lar an' iloquent sultan iv Sulu an' Bazeen iv th' Ohio iv th' Passyfic, owns his own palace an' disthributes his own jobs. No man can hold th' office iv bow-sthringer iv our impeeryal domain without a certy-ficate fr'm Hadji. From th' highest office in th' land to th' lowest, fr'm th' chief pizener to th' throne, to th' humblest ixicutioner that puts a lady in a bag an' dumps her into th' lake in th' Nine Millionth Assimbly district they look to Hadji Mohammed f'r their places. He is th' High Guy, th' Main Thing. He's ivrybody. When he quits wurrk th' governmint is over f'r th' day. An' does annywan thry to interfere with Hadji? Does annywan say 'Hadji, ye'll have to abandon two or three hundherd iv ye 'er firesides. Ye ar-re livin' jus' inside th' left field fince iv our domain an' 'tis a rule iv th' game that we've taken ye into that no wan shall have more thin wan wife at a time that annywan knows iv. In' behalf iv th' comity iv th' Society f'r th' Supprission iv Poly-gamy, I request ye to discard Nora an' Eileen an' Mary Ann an' Sue an' Bimbi an' th' r-rest iv th' bunch, an' cleave on'y to Lucille. I judge be her looks that she's th' first Missus Haitch.'
“The best a congressman can hope for is a fourth-class postmaster position and a chance to visit the White House on visiting day. But Hadji, the popular and eloquent sultan of Sulu and Bazeen of the Ohio of the Pacific, owns his own palace and hands out his own jobs. No one can hold the office of bow-stringer in our imperial domain without a certificate from Hadji. From the highest office in the land to the lowest, from the chief prisoner to the throne, to the humblest executioner who puts a lady in a bag and dumps her into the lake in the Nine Millionth Assembly district, they all look to Hadji Mohammed for their positions. He is the High Guy, the Main Thing. He’s everybody. When he quits working, the government is done for the day. And does anyone try to interfere with Hadji? Does anyone say, 'Hadji, you'll have to get rid of two or three hundred of your wives. You’re living just inside the left field fence of our domain and it’s a rule of the game that we’ve accepted you into that no one shall have more than one wife at a time that anyone knows of. On behalf of the Comity of the Society for the Suppression of Polygamy, I request you to discard Nora and Eileen and Mary Ann and Sue and Bimbi and the rest of the bunch, and stick only with Lucille. I can tell by her looks that she’s the first Mrs. Haitch.'”
“No, sir. If he did he'd reach th' ship that runs between our outlying wards without a hair to his head. Instead iv reproachin' Hadji with his domestic habits, wan iv th' envoys that ar-re imployed in carryin' messages fr'm th' prisidint to his fellow-citizens, proceeds to th' pretty little American village iv Sulu, where he finds Hadji settin' up on a high chair surrounded be wives. 'Tis a domestic scene that'd make Brigham Young think he was a bachelor. Hadji is smokin' a good seegar an' occasionally histin' a dhrink iv cider, an' wan iv th' ladies is playin' a guitar, an' another is singin' 'I want ye my Sulu,' an' another is makin' a tidy, an' three or four hundred more ar-re sewin' patches on th' pants iv th' Hadji kids. An' th' ambassadure he says: 'Mos' rile an' luminous citizen, here is a copy iv th' Annual Thanksgivin' pro-clamation,' he says. 'Tis addhressed to all th' hearty husbandmen iv our belovid counthry, manin' you among others,' he says. 'An' here,' he says, 'is th' revised constitution,' he says. 'Th' original wan,' he says, 'was intinded f'r ol' stick-in-th'-muds that wudden't know th' difference between a harem an' a hoe,' he says. 'This wan,' he says, 'is more suited f'r th' prisint gay an' expansive times,' he says. 'It permits a man to cleave to as manny wives,' he says, 'as his race, color, an' prevyous condition iv servitude will permit,' he says. 'Thank ye kindly,' says Hadji, 'I'll threasure these here papers as a vallyable meminto fr'm that far distant home iv mine which I have niver see,' he says. 'I'd inthrojooce ye to Mrs. Hadji wan by wan,' he says, 'but 'twud be betther,' he says, 'f'r to stand up here an' be prisinted to her as a whole,' he says, 'f'r,' he says, ''tis growing late an' I want ye to come up to th' house,' he says, 'an' pick a mission'ry with me,' he says. 'A Baptist,' he says, 'raised on th' farm,' he says. An' Hadji holds his job an' looks for'rard to th' day whin we'll have female suffrage an' he can cast th' solid vote iv Sulu for himsilf f'r prisident.”
“No, sir. If he did, he'd get to the ship that goes between our outlying areas without a hair on his head. Instead of criticizing Hadji for his domestic life, one of the envoys who is tasked with delivering messages from the president to his fellow citizens goes to the charming little American village of Sulu. There, he finds Hadji sitting on a high chair surrounded by wives. It’s a domestic scene that would make Brigham Young feel like a bachelor. Hadji is smoking a good cigar and occasionally sipping some cider, one of the ladies is playing guitar, another is singing 'I want you my Sulu,' and another is making a tidy, while three or four hundred more are sewing patches on the kids’ pants. And the ambassador says: 'Most revered and distinguished citizen, here is a copy of the Annual Thanksgiving proclamation,' he says. 'It’s addressed to all the hardworking farmers of our beloved country, meaning you among others,' he says. 'And here,' he says, 'is the revised constitution,' he says. 'The original one,' he says, 'was intended for old stick-in-the-muds who wouldn't know the difference between a harem and a hoe,' he says. 'This one,' he says, 'is more suited for the current vibrant and expansive times,' he says. 'It allows a man to have as many wives,' he says, 'as his race, color, and previous condition of servitude will allow,' he says. 'Thank you kindly,' says Hadji, 'I'll cherish these papers as a valuable memento from that far-off home of mine which I have never seen,' he says. 'I’d introduce you to Mrs. Hadji one by one,' he says, 'but it would be better,' he says, 'for you to stand here and be presented to her as a whole,' he says, 'for,' he says, 'it’s getting late and I want you to come up to the house,' he says, 'and pick a missionary with me,' he says. 'A Baptist,' he says, 'raised on the farm,' he says. And Hadji holds on to his job and looks forward to the day when we’ll have female suffrage and he can cast the solid vote of Sulu for himself for president.”
“Thin,” said Mr. Hennessy, “ye'er frind Roberts ought to move to what-d'ye-call-th' place.”
“Thin,” said Mr. Hennessy, “your friend Roberts should move to what-do-you-call-it.”
“That's what I'm thinkin',” said Mr. Dooley. “But 'tis too bad f'r him he was bor-rn at home.”
“That's what I'm thinking,” said Mr. Dooley. “But it's too bad for him he was born at home.”
PUBLIC FICKLENESS
Mr. Dooley put his paper aside and pushed his spectacles up on his forehead. “Well,” he said, “I suppose, afther all, we're th' mos' lively nation in th' wurruld. It doesn't seem many months ago since ye, Hinnissy, was down at th' depot cheerin' th' departin' heroes——”
Mr. Dooley set his newspaper aside and pushed his glasses up on his forehead. “Well,” he said, “I guess, after all, we're the most lively nation in the world. It doesn’t feel like many months ago since you, Hinnissy, were down at the depot cheering the departing heroes——”
“I niver was,” said Mr. Hennessey. “I stayed at home.”
“I never was,” said Mr. Hennessey. “I stayed home.”
“Since ye was down cheerin' th' departin' heroes,” Mr. Dooley continued, “an' thryin' to collect what they owed ye. Th' papers was full iv news iv th' war. Private Jawn Thomas Bozoom iv Woonsocket, a mimber iv th' gallant an' devoted Wan Hundhred an' Eighth Rhode Island, accidentally slipped on a orange peel while attimptin' to lave th' recruitin' office an' sustained manny con-tu-sions. He rayfused to be taken home an' insisted on jinin' his rig'mint at th' rayciption in th' fair groun's. Gallant Private Bozoom! That's th' stuff that American heroes ar-re made iv. Ye find thim at th' forge an' at th' plough, an' dhrivin' sthreet cars, an' ridin' in th' same. The favored few has th' chanst to face th' bullets iv th'inimy. 'Tis f'r these unknown pathrites to prove that a man can sarve his counthry at home as well as abroad. Private Bozoom will not be f'rgot be his fellow-counthrymen. A rayciption has been arranged f'r him at th' Woonsocket op'ry-house, an' 'tis said if he will accipt it, th' vote iv th' State iv Rhode Island'll be cast f'r him f'r prisidint. 'Tis at such times as this that we reflict that th' wurruld has wurruk f'r men to do, an' mere politicians mus' retire to th' rear.”
“Since you were down cheering the departing heroes,” Mr. Dooley continued, “and trying to collect what they owed you. The papers were full of news about the war. Private John Thomas Bozoom of Woonsocket, a member of the gallant and devoted 108th Rhode Island, accidentally slipped on an orange peel while trying to leave the recruiting office and sustained many concussions. He refused to be taken home and insisted on joining his regiment at the reception in the fairgrounds. Gallant Private Bozoom! That's the stuff that American heroes are made of. You find them at the forge and at the plow, and driving streetcars, and riding in the same. The favored few get the chance to face the enemy's bullets. It’s for these unknown patriots to prove that a man can serve his country at home as well as abroad. Private Bozoom will not be forgotten by his fellow countrymen. A reception has been arranged for him at the Woonsocket opera house, and it’s said that if he accepts it, the vote of the State of Rhode Island will be cast for him for president. It’s at times like this that we reflect that the world has work for men to do, and mere politicians must retire to the rear.”
“That was a few months ago. Where's Bozoom now? If iver ye go to Woonsocket, Hinnissy, which Gawd f'rbid, ye'll find him behind th' counther iv th' grocery store ladlin' out rutabaga turnips into a brown paper cornucopy an' glad to be alive. An' 'tis tin to wan, an' more thin that, that th' town humorist has named him th' orange-peel hero, an' he'll go to his grave with that name. Th' war is over an' th' state iv war exists. If ye saw a man fall fr'm th' top iv a tin-story buildin' 'twud startle ye, wanst. If it happened again, 'twud surprise ye. But if ye saw a man fall ivry fifteen minyits ye'd go home afther awhile f'r supper an' ye wuddent even mintion it to ye'er wife.”
"That was a few months ago. Where's Bozoom now? If you ever go to Woonsocket, which God forbid, you'll find him behind the counter of the grocery store dishing out rutabaga turnips into a brown paper bag and happy to be alive. And it's ten to one, and more than that, that the town comedian has named him the orange-peel hero, and he'll go to his grave with that name. The war is over, and the state of war remains. If you saw a man fall from the top of a ten-story building, it would startle you, once. If it happened again, it would surprise you. But if you saw a man fall every fifteen minutes, you'd go home after a while for dinner and you wouldn't even mention it to your wife."
“I don't know how manny heroes they ar-re in th' Philippeens. Down there a man is ayether a sojer or a casualty. Bein' a casualty is no good. I cud say about a man: 'He was a hero in th' war with Spain,' but how can I say: 'Shake hands with Bill Grady, wan iv th' ladin' casualties iv our late war?' 'Twud be no more thin to say he was wan iv th' gallant men that voted f'r prisidint in 1896.'”
“I don't know how many heroes there are in the Philippines. Down there, a man is either a soldier or a casualty. Being a casualty is no good. I could say about a man: 'He was a hero in the war with Spain,' but how can I say: 'Shake hands with Bill Grady, one of the leading casualties of our recent war?' It would be no more than saying he was one of the brave men who voted for president in 1896.”
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“No, Hinnissy, people wants novelties in war. Th' war fashions iv 1898 is out iv style. They ar-re too full in th' waist an' too long in th' skirt. Th' style has changed. There ar-re fifty thousand backward men in th' fair isles iv th' Passyfic fightin' to free th' Philippeen fr'm himsilf an' becomin' a casualty in th' operation, but no one is charterin' ar-rmy hospital ships f'r thim.”
“No, Hinnissy, people want new things in war. The war styles of 1898 are out of fashion. They're too loose in the waist and too long in the skirt. The style has changed. There are fifty thousand backward men in the fair islands of the Pacific fighting to free the Philippines from themselves and becoming casualties in the process, but no one is sending army hospital ships for them.”
“No one is convartin' anny steam yachts f'r thim. No wan is sindin' eighty tons iv plum puddin' to complete th' wurruk iv destruction. They ar-re in a war that'd make th' British throops in Africa think they were drillin' f'r a prize banner. But'tis an onfashionable war.' 'Tis an ol' war made over fr'm garments formerly worn be heroes. Whin a man is out in th' counthry with wan newspaper an' has read th' authentic dispatches fr'm Ladysmith an' Harrismith an' Willumaldensmith an' Mysteriousbillysmith an' the meetin' iv th' czar iv Rooshia with th' Impror Willum an' th' fire in th' packin' house an' th' report iv th' canal thrustees an' th' fightin' news an' th' want ads, an' afther he has r-read thim over twinty times he looks at his watch an' says he, 'Holy smoke, 'tis two hours to thrain time an' I suppose I'll have to r-read th' news fr'm th' Philippeens.' War, be hivins, is so common that I believe if we was to take on a fight with all th' wurruld not more thin half th' popylation iv New England'd die iv hear-rt disease befure they got into th' cellars.”
“No one is converting any steam yachts for them. No one is sending eighty tons of plum pudding to finish the work of destruction. They’re in a war that would make the British troops in Africa think they were training for a prize banner. But it’s an unfashionable war. It’s an old war revamped from clothes previously worn by heroes. When a guy is out in the country with one newspaper and has read the authentic dispatches from Ladysmith and Harrismith and Willumaldensmith and Mysteriousbillysmith and the meeting of the czar of Russia with Emperor William and the fire in the packing house and the report from the canal trustees and the fighting news and the classifieds, and after he has read them over twenty times, he looks at his watch and says, ‘Holy smoke, it’s two hours until train time and I guess I’ll have to reread the news from the Philippines.’ War, for heaven’s sake, is so common that I believe if we were to take on a fight with the whole world, not more than half the population of New England would die of heart disease before they got into the cellars.”
“Th' new style iv war is made in London an' all our set is simply stuck on it. Th' casualties in th' Philippeens can walk home, but is it possible that many thrue an' well-dhressed American can stand to see th' signs iv th' ancient British aristocracy taken care iv be their own gover'mint? 'What,' says Lady what's-her-name (her that was th' daughter iv wan iv our bravest an' best racontoors). 'What.' she says, 'will anny American woman residin' in London see men shot down,' she says, 'that has but recently played polo in our very sight,' she says, 'an' be brought home in mere thransports,' she says. 'Ladies,' she says, 'lave us equip a hospital ship,' she says. 'I thrust,' she says, 'that all iv us has been long enough fr'm home to f'rget our despicable domestic struggles,' she says, 'an' think on'y iv humanity,' she says. An' whin she opens up th' shop f'r subscriptions ye'd think fr'm th' crowd that 'twas th' first night iv th' horse show. I don't know what Lem Stiggins iv Kansas, marked down in th' roll, Private in th' Twintieth Kansas, Severely, I don't know what Private Severely thinks iv it. An' I wuddent like to know till afther Thanks-givin'.”
“The new style of war is created in London, and our whole group is totally on board with it. The casualties in the Philippines can walk back home, but is it really possible for so many well-dressed Americans to tolerate seeing the signs of the old British aristocracy cared for by their own government? 'What,' says Lady What’s-Her-Name (the daughter of one of our bravest and best storytellers). 'What,' she says, 'will any American woman living in London do when she sees men shot down,' she says, 'who have only just played polo right in front of us,' she says, 'and are brought home on regular transports,' she says. 'Ladies,' she says, 'let's equip a hospital ship,' she says. 'I hope,' she says, 'that we've all been away from home long enough to forget our bothersome domestic issues,' she says, 'and focus only on humanity,' she says. And when she starts the fundraising, you’d think from the crowd that it was the opening night of the horse show. I don’t know what Lem Stiggins of Kansas, marked down in the roll as Private in the Twentieth Kansas, Severely, I don’t know what Private Severely thinks about it. And I wouldn’t want to find out until after Thanksgiving.”
“Don't be blatherin',” said Mr. Hennessy. “Sure ye can't ixpict people to be inthrested f'river in a first performance.”
“Don't be rambling,” said Mr. Hennessy. “You can't expect people to be interested forever in a first performance.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley, “but whin th' audjeence gives th' comp'ny an encore it ought at laste to pretind that it's not lavin' f'r th' other show.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley, “but when the audience gives the company an encore, it should at least pretend that it’s not leaving for the other show.”
KENTUCKY POLITICS
“If th' Presidint doesn't step in an' interfere,” said Mr. Hennessy, “they'll be bloodshed in Kentucky.”
“If the President doesn't step in and interfere,” said Mr. Hennessy, “there will be bloodshed in Kentucky.”
“What business is it iv Mack's?” Mr. Dooley protested. “Th' war's in this counthry, man alive! If 'twas in Boolgahria or Chiny or on th' head waters iv th' Bozoon river in th' sooltynate iv—iv—I dinnaw what—thin'twud be th' jooty iv our gover'mint f'r to resolve that th' inthrests iv humanity an' civilization an' th' advancement iv th' human kind required that we shud step in an' put a head on wan or both iv th' parties. But they'se no reason now, me boy, f'r us to do annything, f'r these are our own people, an' 'tis wan iv their rights, undher th' martial law that's th' foundation iv our institutions, to bate each other to death whiniver an' whereiver they plaze. 'Twud be all r-right f'r the Impror Willum to come in an' take a hand, but Gawd help him if he did, or th' Prsidint iv th' Fr-rinch or th' Impror iv Chiny. 'Twud be all r-right f'r thim. An' though we might meet thim at th' dure an' hand thim wan f'r their impydince, we'd be in th' wrong. Twud be a good job f'r Aggynaldoo, too, if he cud find himsilf an' had th' time It must be clear to him be what news he hears whin th' other pigrim father, Sinitor Hoar, calls on him in th' three where he makes his home, that what Kentucky needs now is wan an' on'y wan stable govermint an' a little public peace. He might restore peace at home an' abroad be cuttin' in, but th' poor la-ad has other things to think iv. I'd like to see him. It must be near a year since he had a shave or a hair cut, barrin' ridges made be bullets as he cleared th' fences.”
“What business is it of Mack's?” Mr. Dooley protested. “The war's in this country, for heaven's sake! If it were in Bulgaria or China or on the upper waters of the Bozoon River in the sultanate of—of—I don't even know what—then it would be our government’s duty to ensure that the interests of humanity, civilization, and the advancement of mankind required us to step in and put a stop to either or both sides. But there’s no reason for us to do anything now, my boy, because these are our own people, and it’s one of their rights, under the martial law that’s the foundation of our institutions, to beat each other to death whenever and wherever they please. It would be fine for Emperor William to step in and get involved, but God help him if he did, or the President of France or the Emperor of China. It would be fine for them. And though we might meet them at the door and give them what for for their impudence, we’d be in the wrong. It would be a good deal for Aguinaldo too, if he could find himself and had the time. It must be clear to him from the news he hears when the other pilgrim father, Senator Hoar, visits him in the three where he makes his home, that what Kentucky needs now is one and only one stable government and a little public peace. He might restore peace at home and abroad by stepping in, but the poor lad has other things on his mind. I’d like to see him. It must be nearly a year since he had a shave or a haircut, other than the scars left by bullets as he cleared the fences.”
“It looks to me as though th' raypublican is wr-rong,” said Mr. Hennessy, with the judicial manner of a man without prejudices.
“It seems to me that the Republican is wrong,” said Mr. Hennessy, with the calm demeanor of someone without biases.
“Iv coorse he's wrong,” said Mr. Dooley. “He starts wrong. An' th' dimmycrats ar-re r-right. They're always r-right. Tis their position. Th' dimmycrats ar-re right an' the raypublicans has th' jobs. It all come up because our vinerated party, Hinnissy, ain't quick at th' count. Man an' boy I've taken an intherest in politics all me life, an' I find th' on'y way to win an iliction is to begin f'r to count th' minyit ye've completed th' preliminaries iv closin' th' polls an' killin' th' other judges an' clerks.
“Iv course he’s wrong,” said Mr. Dooley. “He starts off wrong. And the Democrats are right. They’re always right. That’s their stance. The Democrats are right, and the Republicans have the jobs. This all happened because our esteemed party, Hinnissy, isn’t quick with the count. Man and boy, I’ve had an interest in politics my whole life, and I find the only way to win an election is to start counting the minute you’ve finished the preliminaries of closing the polls and getting rid of the other judges and clerks.”
“Th' dimmycrats counted, but th' count come too late. Be th' time th' apparent an' hidjous majority iv th' raypublicans was rayjooced to nawthin' an' a good liberal, substantial, legal an' riotous dimmycratic majority put in its place be ordher iv th' coorts, th' commonwealth iv Kentucky an' Jack Chinn, th' raypublican has been so long in th'job an' has become so wedded to it that ye cuddent shake him out with a can iv joynt powdher. It seems to him that there niver was a time whin he wasn't gov'nor.”
“The Democrats counted, but the count came too late. By the time the apparent and ridiculous majority of the Republicans was reduced to nothing and a solid, legitimate, and rowdy Democratic majority was put in its place by order of the courts, the Commonwealth of Kentucky and Jack Chinn, the Republican has been in the job for so long and has become so attached to it that you couldn't shake him out with a can of joint powder. It seems to him that there was never a time when he wasn't governor.”
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“Th' dimmycrats get together an' call on that learned an' incorruptible joodishary that's done so much to ilivate the party into high office, an' whin th' dure iv th' saloon is locked they say 'Bill,' they say, 'we're bein' robbed iv our suffrage,' says they. 'Th' hated enimy has stolen th' ballot an' thrampled on th' r-rights iv th' citizens,' says they, 'in the southern part iv th' state faster thin we cud undo their hellish wurruk in our own counties,' they says. 'They now hol' th' jobs,' they say, 'an' if they stay in they'se no more chanst iv iver ilictin' a dimmycrat again thin there wud be iv ilictin' a raypublican if we got in,' they say. 'Do ye mix us up a replevy writ an' we'll go over an' haul th' chair fr'm undher thim,' they say.”
"The Democrats get together and call on that knowledgeable and incorruptible judiciary that's done so much to elevate the party into high office, and when the saloon door is locked, they say, 'Bill, we’re being robbed of our vote,' they say. 'The hated enemy has stolen the ballot and trampled on the rights of the citizens,' they say, 'in the southern part of the state faster than we could undo their horrific work in our own counties,' they say. 'They now hold the positions,' they say, 'and if they stay in, there’s no chance of ever electing a Democrat again than there would be of electing a Republican if we got in,' they say. 'Will you prepare a replevy writ for us and we’ll go over and take the chair from under them,' they say.”
“So th' judge passes out a replevy writ be vartue iv th' thrust that's been reposed in him be th' comity and gives it to Colonel Jack Chinn, wan iv th' leaders iv th' Kentucky bar, f'r to serve. An' Colonel Jack Chinn ar-rms himsilf as becomes a riprisintative iv a gr-reat coort goin' to sarve a sacred writ iv replevy on th' usurper to th' loftiest or wan iv th' loftiest jobs that th' people iv a gloryous state can donate to a citizen. He sthraps on three gatlin' guns, four revolvers, two swords, a rifle, a shot gun, a baseball bat, a hand grenade (to be used on'y in case iv thirst), a pair iv handcuffs, brass knuckles, a sandbag, a piece of lead pipe in a stockin', a rabbit's foot f'r luck, a stove lid an' a can iv dinnymite, an' with siveral iv his cillybrated knives behind his ears, in his hair, between his teeth, an' gleamin' fr'm his pockets, he sallies forth on his sacred mission, an' gives th' writ to a clerk to sarve, an' stays in town himsilf, where he successfully resists all charges iv th' bartinder. Th' clerk goes up to th' state house, where th' gov'nor is ixicutin' th' high thrust reposed in him be himsilf, behind breastworks an' guarded be some iv th' most desp'rate an' pathriotic ruffyans in th' state. 'What have ye there?' says his ixcillincy, with his hand on th' sthring iv a dinnymite gun. 'A writ fr'm th' coort bouncin' ye fr'm ye'er high office,' says th' clerk. 'As a law abidin' citizen,' says his ixcillincy, 'an' an official enthrusted be th' people iv this glad state with th' exicution iv th' statutes I bow to th' law,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'I'll be hanged if I'll bow to th' decree iv anny low browed pussillanimous dimmycratic coort,' he says, 'Sojers,' he says, 'seize this disturber iv th' peace an' stick him in th' cellar. Jawn,' he says, 'ar-rm ye'ersilf an' proceed to th' raypublican timple iv justice in Hogan's saloon an' have th' stanch an' upright Judge Blood prepare some good honest writs iv th' party iv Lincoln an' Grant,' he says. 'In th' manetime, as th' constitootion has lost its sights an' the cylinder don't revolve,' he says, 'I suspind it an' proclaim martial law,' he says. 'I want a law,' he says, 'that mesilf an' all other good citizens can rayspict,' he says. 'I want wan,' he says, 'that's been made undher me own personal supervision,' he says. 'Hand-made, copper distilled, wan hun-dherd an' tin proof martial law ought to be good enough for anny Kentuckyan,' he says. So th' next ye hear th' sojers ar-re chasin' th' coorts out iv th' state, th' legislature is meetin' in Duluth, Pinsacola, an' Bangor, Maine, an' a comity iv citizens consistin' iv some iv the best gun fighters iv th' state ar-re meetin' to decide how th' conthroversay can be decided without loss iv blood or jobs. While they're in session th' gov'nor is in contimpt iv coort, the coorts ar-re in contimpt iv th' gov'nor, an' if annybody but Tiddy Rosenfclt has anny other feelin' f'r ayether iv thim I haven't heerd him speak.”
“So the judge issues a replevy writ by virtue of the trust that's been placed in him by the community and gives it to Colonel Jack Chinn, one of the leaders of the Kentucky bar, to serve. And Colonel Jack Chinn arms himself as befits a representative of a great court going to serve a sacred replevy writ on the usurper of one of the highest positions that the people of a glorious state can grant a citizen. He straps on three Gatling guns, four revolvers, two swords, a rifle, a shotgun, a baseball bat, a hand grenade (to be used only in case of thirst), a pair of handcuffs, brass knuckles, a sandbag, a piece of lead pipe in a stocking, a rabbit's foot for luck, a stove lid, and a can of dynamite, and with several of his celebrated knives tucked behind his ears, in his hair, between his teeth, and gleaming from his pockets, he sets out on his sacred mission, gives the writ to a clerk to serve, and stays in town himself, where he successfully resists all charges from the bartender. The clerk goes up to the state house, where the governor is executing the high trust placed in him by himself, behind barricades and guarded by some of the most desperate and patriotic ruffians in the state. 'What do you have there?' asks his excellency, with his hand on the string of a dynamite gun. 'A writ from the court bouncing you from your high office,' says the clerk. 'As a law-abiding citizen,' says his excellency, 'and an official entrusted by the people of this great state with the execution of the statutes, I bow to the law,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'I'll be hanged if I'll bow to the decree of any lowbrowed, pusillanimous Democratic court,' he says. 'Soldiers,' he says, 'arrest this disturber of the peace and toss him in the cellar. John,' he says, 'arm yourself and head to the Republican temple of justice in Hogan's saloon and have the stout and upright Judge Blood prepare some good, honest writs from the party of Lincoln and Grant,' he says. 'In the meantime, as the constitution has lost its sight and the cylinder doesn't revolve,' he says, 'I suspend it and proclaim martial law,' he says. 'I want a law,' he says, 'that myself and all other good citizens can respect,' he says. 'I want one,' he says, 'that's been made under my own personal supervision,' he says. 'Hand-made, copper distilled, one hundred and ten proof martial law ought to be good enough for any Kentuckian,' he says. So the next you hear the soldiers are chasing the courts out of the state, the legislature is meeting in Duluth, Pensacola, and Bangor, Maine, and a committee of citizens consisting of some of the best gunfighters in the state are meeting to decide how the controversy can be resolved without loss of blood or jobs. While they're in session, the governor is in contempt of court, the courts are in contempt of the governor, and if anybody but Teddy Roosevelt has any other feeling for either of them, I haven't heard him speak.”
“They ought to fire out the raypublican,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Sure 'tis comin' to a nice state iv affairs whin th' likes iv him can defy the coorts.”
“They should get rid of that Republican,” said Mr. Hennessy. “It's really getting to be a sad situation when someone like him can ignore the courts.”
“Thrue f'r ye,” said Mr. Dooley. “But I don't like th' looks iv it fr'm our side iv th' house. Whiniver a dimmycrat has to go to coort to win an iliction I get suspicious. They'se something wr-rong in Kentucky, Hinnissy. We were too slow. Th' inimy got th' first cheat.”
“True for you,” said Mr. Dooley. “But I don't like how it looks from our side of the house. Whenever a Democrat has to go to court to win an election, I get suspicious. There’s something wrong in Kentucky, Hinnissy. We were too slow. The enemy got the first cheat.”
YOUNG ORATORY
“They'se wan thing that this counthry ought to be thankful f'r,” said Mr. Dooley, laying down his paper, “an' that is that we still have a lot iv young an' growin' orators f'r to lead us on.”
“They're one thing that this country should be thankful for,” said Mr. Dooley, putting down his paper, “and that is that we still have a lot of young and growing speakers to lead us on.”
“Who's been oratin' now?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Who’s been speaking out now?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Me young frind Sinitor Beveridge, th' child orator iv Fall Creek. This engagin' an' hopeful la-ad first made an impression with his eloquince at th' age iv wan whin he addhressed a meetin' iv th' Tippecanoe club on th' issues iv th' day. At th' age iv eight he was illicted to th' United States Sinit, rayjoocin' th' average age iv that body to ninety-three years. In th' sinit, bein' a modest child, he rayfused to speak f'r five minyits, but was fin'lly injooced f'r to make a few thousan' remarks on wan iv th' subjects now much discussed by orators whin th' dures ar-re closed an' th' fire escapes broken.”
“Meet my young friend Senator Beveridge, the child orator of Fall Creek. This engaging and hopeful lad first made an impression with his eloquence at the age of one when he addressed a meeting of the Tippecanoe Club on the issues of the day. At the age of eight, he was elected to the United States Senate, bringing the average age of that body down to ninety-three years. In the Senate, being a modest child, he refused to speak for five minutes, but was finally persuaded to make a few thousand remarks on one of the subjects now often discussed by orators when the doors are closed and the fire escapes are broken.”
“His subject was th' Ph'lippeens, an' he said he'd just come fr'm there. 'I have cruised,' he says, 'f 'r two thousan' miles through th' Ar-rchey Pelago—that's a funny name—ivry minyit a surprise an' delight to those that see me,' he says. 'I see corn growin' on banana threes; I see th' gloryous heights iv Ding Dong that ar-re irradyatin'. civilization like quills upon th' fretful porcypine,' he says. 'I see rice, coffee, rolls, cocoanuts, choice seegars, oats, hay, hard and soft coal, an' Gen'ral Otis—an' there's a man that I rayspict,' he says. 'I see flowers bloomin' that was superyor to anny conservatory in Poolasky county,' he says. 'I see th' low and vicious inhabitants iv th' counthry soon, I thrust, to be me fellow-citizens, an' as I set there an' watched th' sea rollin' up its uncounted millyons iv feet iv blue wather, an' th' stars sparklin' like lamp-posts we pass in th' night, as I see th' mountains raisin' their snow-capped heads f'r to salute th' sun, while their feet extinded almost to th' place where I shtud; whin I see all th' glories iv that almost, I may say, thropical clime, an' thought what a good place this wud be f'r to ship base-burnin' parlor stoves, an' men's shirtings to th' accursed natives iv neighborin' Chiny, I says to mesilf, 'This is no mere man's wurruk. A Higher Power even than Mack, much as I rayspict him, is in this here job. We cannot pause, we cannot hesitate, we cannot delay, we cannot even stop! We must, in other wurruds, go on with a holy purpose in our hearts, th' flag over our heads an' th' inspired wurruds iv A. Jeremiah Beveridge in our ears,' he says. An' he set down.”
“His topic was the Philippines, and he said he had just come from there. 'I have traveled,' he says, 'for two thousand miles through the Archipelago— that’s a funny name—every minute a surprise and delight to those who see me,' he says. 'I see corn growing on banana trees; I see the glorious heights of Ding Dong that are radiating civilization like quills on a fretful porcupine,' he says. 'I see rice, coffee, rolls, coconuts, fine cigars, oats, hay, hard and soft coal, and General Otis—and that’s a man I respect,' he says. 'I see flowers blooming that are superior to any conservatory in Pulasky County,' he says. 'I see the low and vicious inhabitants of the country soon, I hope, to be my fellow-citizens, and as I sat there and watched the sea rolling up its countless millions of feet of blue water, and the stars sparkling like lamp-posts we pass in the night, as I see the mountains raising their snow-capped heads to salute the sun, while their feet extended almost to the spot where I stood; when I see all the glories of that almost, I may say, tropical climate, and think what a good place this would be to ship base-burning parlor stoves, and men's shirtings to the cursed natives of neighboring China, I say to myself, 'This is no mere man's work. A Higher Power even than Mack, as much as I respect him, is in this job. We cannot pause, we cannot hesitate, we cannot delay, we cannot even stop! We must, in other words, go on with a holy purpose in our hearts, the flag over our heads and the inspired words of A. Jeremiah Beveridge in our ears,' he says. And he sat down.”
“Well, sir, 'twas a gr-reat speech. 'Twas a speech ye cud waltz to. Even younger men thin Sinitor Beveridge had niver made grander orations. Th' throuble is th' sinit is too common f'r such magnificent sintimints; its too common and its too old. Th' young la-ad comes fr'm home, where's he's paralyzed th' Lithry Society an' th' Debatin' Club, an' he loads himsilf up with a speech an' he says to himsilf: 'Whin I begin peggin' ar-round a few iv these vilets I'll make Ol' Hoar look like confederate money,' an' th' pa-apers tell that th' Infant Demostheens iv Barry's Junction is about f'r to revive th oratorical thraditions iv th' sinit an' th' fire department comes up f'r a week, an' wets down th' capitol buildin'. Th' speech comes off, they ain't a dhry eye in th' House, an' th' pa-apers say: 'Where's ye'er Dan'l Webster an' ye'er Champ Clark, now?' An' th' young man goes away an' has his pitchers took on a kinetoscope. He has a nice time while it lasts, Hinnissy, but it don't las' long. It don't las' long. Th' la-ad has th' wind, but it's endurance that counts.”
“Well, sir, that was a great speech. It was the kind of speech you could dance to. Even younger folks think Senator Beveridge has never given better speeches. The problem is the Senate is too common for such magnificent sentiments; it's too common and it's too old. The young guy comes home, where he’s impressed the Literary Society and the Debating Club, and he loads himself up with a speech and says to himself: 'When I start throwing around a few of these compliments, I'll make Old Hoar look like Confederate money,' and the papers report that the young Demosthenes of Barry's Junction is about to revive the oratorical traditions of the Senate, and the fire department comes for a week to wet down the Capitol building. The speech happens, and there isn't a dry eye in the House, and the papers say: 'Where's your Daniel Webster and your Champ Clark now?' The young man then goes away and gets his picture taken on a kinetoscope. He has a great time while it lasts, Hinnissy, but it doesn't last long. It doesn't last long. The guy has the talent, but it's endurance that counts.”
“Th' wise ol' boys with their long whiskers discusses him over th' sivin-up game, an' says wan iv thim: 'What ye think iv th' kid's speech?' ''Twas a good speech,' says th' other. 'It carries me back to me own boyhood days. I made a speech just like that durin' th' Mexican War. Oh, thim days, thim days! I lead th' ace, Mike.' An' afther awhile th' Boy Demostheens larns that while he's polishin' off his ipigrams, an' ol' guy, that spinds all his time sleepin' on a bench, is polishin' him off. Th' man that sinds seeds to his constitooents lasts longer thin th' wan that sinds thim flowers iv iloquence, an' though th' hand iv Gawd may be in th' Ph'lippeen question, it hasn't interfered up to date in th' sergeant-at-arms question. An' whin th' young man sees this he says, 'sky,' whin he means 'sky' an' not 'th' jooled canopy iv hiven,' an' he says, 'Ph'lippeens,' an' not 'th' gloryous isles iv th' Passyfic,' an' bein' onto th' character iv his fellow-sinitors, he mintions nobody higher in their prisence thin th' steward iv th' capitol. An' he niver makes a speech but whin he wants to smoke, an' thin he moves that th' sinit go into executive session. Thin he's a rale sinitor. I've seen it manny's th' time—th' boy orator goin' into th' sinit, an' comin' out a deef mute. I've seen a man that made speeches that was set to music an' played be a silver cornet band in Ioway that hadn't been in Congress f'r a month befure he wudden't speak above a whisper or more thin an inch fr'm ye'er ear.”
“The wise old guys with their long beards discuss him over the seven-up game, and one of them says, 'What do you think of the kid's speech?' 'It was a good speech,' says the other. 'It takes me back to my own childhood days. I gave a speech just like that during the Mexican War. Oh, those days, those days! I lead the ace, Mike.' And after a while, the Boy Demosthenes learns that while he's polishing off his epigrams, an old guy who spends all his time sleeping on a bench is polishing him off. The man who sends seeds to his constituents lasts longer than the one who sends them flowers of eloquence, and though the hand of God may be in the Philippine question, it hasn't interfered so far in the sergeant-at-arms question. And when the young man sees this, he says 'sky' when he means 'sky' and not 'the jeweled canopy of heaven,' and he says 'Philippines' and not 'the glorious isles of the Pacific,' and being aware of the character of his fellow senators, he mentions nobody higher in their presence than the steward of the capitol. And he never makes a speech except when he wants to smoke, and then he moves that the Senate go into executive session. Then he’s a real senator. I've seen it many times—the boy orator going into the Senate and coming out a deaf mute. I've seen a man who made speeches that were set to music and played by a silver cornet band in Iowa who hadn’t been in Congress for a month before he wouldn’t speak above a whisper or more than an inch from your ear.”
“Do ye think Hiven sint us to th' Ph'lippeens?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Do you think God sent us to the Philippines?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“I don't know,” said Mr. Dooley, “th' divvle take thim.”
“I don't know,” said Mr. Dooley, “the devil take them.”
PUBLIC GRATITUDE
“This man Dewey—,” began Mr. Dooley.
“This guy Dewey—,” started Mr. Dooley.
“I thought he was ye'er cousin George,” Mr. Hennessy interrupted.
"I thought he was your cousin George," Mr. Hennessy interrupted.
“I thought he was,” said Mr. Dooley, “but on lookin' closer at his features an' r-readin' what th' pa-apers says about him, I am convinced that I was wrong. Oh, he may be a sicond cousin iv me Aunt Judy. I'll not say he ain't. There was a poor lot, all iv them. But I have no close rilitives in this counthry. 'Tis a way I have of savin' a little money. I'm like th' good an' gr-rateful American people. Th' further ye stay away fr'm thim th' more they like ye. Sicond-cousin-iv-me Aunt-Judy-George made a mistake comin' home, or if he did come home he ought've invistigated his welcome and see that it wasn't mined. A man cud stand up all day an' lave Packy Mountjoy whale away at him, but th' affiction iv th' American people is always aimed thrue an' is invaryably fatal.”
“I thought he was,” said Mr. Dooley, “but after looking closer at his features and reading what the papers say about him, I'm convinced I was wrong. Oh, he might be a second cousin of my Aunt Judy. I won't say he isn't. They were a poor bunch, all of them. But I have no close relatives in this country. It’s my way of saving a little money. I'm like the good and grateful American people. The further you stay away from them, the more they like you. Second-cousin-of-my-Aunt-Judy-George made a mistake coming home, or if he did come home, he should have checked his welcome and seen that it wasn't genuine. A man could stand up all day and let Packy Mountjoy hit him, but the affliction of the American people is always directed accurately and is invariably fatal.”
“Th' la-ad Dougherty was in to-day, an' he exprissed th' feelin's iv this grateful raypublic. He says, says he, 'This fellow Dewey ain't what I thought he was,' he says. 'I thought he was a good, broad, lib'ral man, an' it turns out he's a cheap skate,' he says. 'We made too much fuss over him,' he says. 'To think,' he says, 'iv him takin' th' house we give him an' tur-rnin' it over to his wife,' he says. ''Tis scand'lous,' he says. 'How much did ye con-thribute?' says I. 'I didn't give annything,' he says 'The collector didn't come around, an' I'm glad now I hung on to me coin,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'I apprechate ye'er feelin's,' I says. 'Ye agree with th' other subscribers,' I says. 'But I've med up me mind not to lave annywan talk to me about Dewey,' I says, 'unless,' I says, 'he subscribed th' maximum amount iv th' subscription,' I says, 'thirty-eight cints,' I says. 'So I'll thank ye to tip-toe out,' I says, 'befure I give ye a correct imitation iv Dewey an' Mountjoy at th' battle of Manila,' I says. An' he wint away.”
“The guy Dougherty was in today, and he expressed the feelings of this grateful republic. He says, ‘This guy Dewey isn’t who I thought he was.’ He says, ‘I thought he was a good, broad, liberal man, and it turns out he’s a cheapskate.’ He says, ‘We made too much fuss over him.’ He says, ‘Can you believe he took the house we gave him and turned it over to his wife?’ He says, ‘It’s scandalous.’ ‘How much did you contribute?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t give anything,’ he says. ‘The collector didn’t come around, and I’m glad I held onto my change,’ he says. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I appreciate your feelings,’ I say. ‘You agree with the other subscribers,’ I said. ‘But I’ve made up my mind not to let anyone talk to me about Dewey,’ I said, ‘unless,’ I said, ‘he contributed the maximum amount of the subscription,’ I said, ‘thirty-eight cents,’ I said. ‘So I’d appreciate it if you’d tiptoe out,’ I said, ‘before I give you a correct imitation of Dewey and Mountjoy at the Battle of Manila,’ I said. And he walked away.”
“Th' throuble with Dewey is he was so long away he lost his undherstanding iv th' thrue feelin' iv th' American people. George r-read th' newspapers, an' he says to himself: 'Be hivins, they think well iv what I done. I guess I'll put a shirt in me thrunk an' go home, f'r 'tis hot out here, an' ivrybody'll be glad f'r to see me,' he says. An' he come along, an' New York was r-ready f'r him. Th' business in neckties had been poor that summer, an' they was necessity f'r pullin' it together, an' they give George a welcome an' invited his admirers fr'm th' counthry to come in an' buy something f'r th' little wans at home. An' he r-rode up Fifth Avnoo between smilin' rows iv hotels an' dhrug stores, an' tin-dollar boxes an' fifty-cint seats an' he says to himsilf: 'Holy smoke, if Aggynaldoo cud on'y see me now.' An' he was proud an' happy, an' he says: 'Raypublics ar-re not always ongrateful.' An' they ain't. On'y whin they give ye much gratichood ye want to freeze some iv it, or it won't keep.”
“The trouble with Dewey is that he was away so long he lost touch with the true feelings of the American people. George read the newspapers and thought to himself, 'Wow, they think highly of what I did. I guess I’ll throw a shirt in my suitcase and go home because it’s hot out here, and everyone will be glad to see me.' So he came back, and New York was ready for him. The necktie business had been slow that summer, and they needed to pick it up, so they gave George a warm welcome and invited his supporters from the countryside to come in and buy something for the little ones at home. He rode up Fifth Avenue between smiling rows of hotels, drugstores, ten-dollar shops, and fifty-cent seats, and he thought, 'Wow, if Aguinaldo could only see me now.' He felt proud and happy, and he said, 'Republics aren’t always ungrateful.' And they aren’t. Only when they give you a lot of gratitude do you want to hold on to some of it, or it won’t last.”
“'Tis unsafe f'r anny man alive to receive th' kind wurruds that ought to be said on'y iv th' dead. As long as George was a lithograph iv himsilf in a saloon window he was all r-right. Whin people saw he cud set in a city hall hack without flowers growin' in it an' they cud look at him without smoked glasses they begin to weaken in their devotion. 'Twud've been th' same, almost, if he'd married a Presbyteeryan an' hadn't deeded his house to his wife. 'Dewey don't look much like a hero,' says wan man. 'I shud say not,' says another. 'He looks like annybody else.' 'He ain't a hero,' says another. 'Why, annybody cud've done what he did. I got an eight-year-old boy, an' if he cudden't take a baseball club an' go in an' bate that Spanish fleet into junk in twinty minyits I'd call him Alger an' thrade him off f'r a bicycle,' he says. 'I guess that's r-right. They say he was a purty tough man befure he left Wash'n'ton.' 'Sure he was. Why, so-an'-so-an'-so-an'-so.' 'Ye don't tell me!' 'Is there annything in that story about his beatin' his poor ol' aunt an' her iliven childher out iv four dollars?' 'I guess that's straight. Ye can tell be th' looks iv him he's a mean man. I niver see a man with squintin' eyes an' white hair that wudden't rob a church!' 'He's a cow'rd, too. Why, he r-run away at th' battle iv Manila. Ivrybody knows it. I r-read what Joe What's-His-Name wrote—th' br-rave corryspondint. He says this feller was sick at his stummick an' retired befure th' Spanish fire. Why, what'd he have to fight but a lot iv ol' row-boats? A good swimmer with sharp teeth cud've bit his way through th' whole Spanish fleet. An' he r-run away. I tell ye, it makes me tired to think iv th' way we abused th' Spanyards not long ago. Why, say, they done a lot betther thin this fellow Dewey, with his forty or fifty men-iv-war an' this gran' nation, miles away, standin' shoulder to shoulder at his back. They niver tur-rned over their property to their wives.' 'Yes,' says wan man, 'Dewey was a cow'rd. Let's go an' stone his house.' 'No,' says the crowd, 'he might come out. Let's go down to th' v'riety show an' hiss his pitcher in th' kinetoscope.' Well!'”
“It's unsafe for any living man to hear the kind words that should only be spoken about the dead. As long as George was just a picture of himself in a saloon window, he was fine. When people saw he could sit in a city hall back without flowers growing around him and they could look at him without sunglasses, they started to lose their devotion. It would have been almost the same if he had married a Presbyterian and hadn't transferred his house to his wife. 'Dewey doesn't look like much of a hero,' says one guy. 'I wouldn't say so,' responds another. 'He looks like anyone else.' 'He isn’t a hero,' says another. 'I mean, anyone could have done what he did. I have an eight-year-old son, and if he couldn’t take a baseball bat and go in and smash that Spanish fleet into junk in twenty minutes, I'd call him a loser and trade him for a bicycle,' he says. 'I suppose that's right. They say he was a pretty tough guy before he left Washington.' 'Of course he was. Why, so-and-so-and-so-and-so.' 'You don’t say!' 'Is there any truth to the story about him beating his poor old aunt and her eleven kids out of four dollars?' 'I guess that's true. You can tell by the way he looks that he’s a mean man. I’ve never seen a man with squinty eyes and white hair who wouldn’t rob a church!' 'He's a coward, too. Why, he ran away during the battle of Manila. Everybody knows it. I read what Joe What's-His-Name wrote—the brave correspondent. He says this guy was sick to his stomach and backed out before the Spanish fire. Why, what was he fighting but a bunch of old rowboats? A good swimmer with sharp teeth could have bitten his way through the whole Spanish fleet. And he ran away. I tell you, it makes me tired to think of how we abused the Spaniards not long ago. I mean, they did a lot better than this guy Dewey, with his forty or fifty warships and this grand nation, miles away, standing shoulder to shoulder behind him. They never handed over their property to their wives.' 'Yes,' says one man, 'Dewey was a coward. Let's go and throw stones at his house.' 'No,' says the crowd, 'he might come out. Let's go down to the variety show and boo his picture in the kinetoscope.' Well!”
“Well what?” demanded Mr. Hennessy.
“Well, what?” demanded Mr. Hennessy.
“Well,” Mr. Dooley continued, “I was on'y goin' to say, Hinnissy, that in spite iv me hathred iv George as a man—a marrid man—an' me contimpt f'r his qualities as a fighter, in spite iv th' chickens he has stole an' the notes he has forged an' th' homes he has rooned, if he was to come r-runnin' up Archey road, as he might, pursooed be ladies an' gintlemen an' th' palajeem iv our liberties peltin him with rotten eggs an' ol' cats, I'd open th' dure f'r him, an' whin he come in I'd put me fut behind it an' I'd say to th' grateful people: 'Fellow-citizens,' I'd say, 'lave us,' I'd say. 'They'se another hero down in Halstead Sthreet that's been marrid. Go down an' shivaree him. An' you, me thrusted collagues iv th' press, disperse to ye'er homes,' I'd say. 'Th' keyholes is closed f'r th' night, I'd say. An' thin I'd bolt th' dure an' I'd say, 'George, take off ye'er coat an' pull up to th' fire. Here's a noggin' iv whisky near ye'er thumb an' a good seegar f'r ye to smoke. I'm no hero-worshiper. I'm too old. But I know a man whin I see wan, an' though we cudden't come out an' help ye whin th' subscription list wint wild, be sure we think as much iv ye as we did whin ye'er name was first mintioned be th' stanch an' faithful press. Set here, ol' la-ad, an' warrum ye'er toes by th' fire. Set here an' r-rest fr'm th' gratichood iv ye'er fellow-counthrymen, that, as Shakspere says, biteth like an asp an' stingeth like an adder. R-rest here, as ye might r-rest at th' hearth iv millyons iv people that cud give ye no house but their own!”
“Well,” Mr. Dooley continued, “I was just going to say, Hinnissy, that despite my hatred for George as a man—a married man—and my contempt for his qualities as a fighter, despite the chickens he’s stolen and the checks he’s forged and the homes he’s ruined, if he were to come running up Archey Road, as he might, pursued by ladies and gentlemen and the guardians of our liberties pelting him with rotten eggs and old cats, I’d open the door for him, and when he came in I’d put my foot behind it and I’d say to the grateful people: ‘Fellow citizens,’ I’d say, ‘leave us,’ I’d say. ‘There’s another hero down on Halstead Street who’s been married. Go down and celebrate him. And you, my trusted colleagues in the press, head home,’ I’d say. ‘The keyholes are closed for the night,’ I’d say. And then I’d bolt the door and I’d say, ‘George, take off your coat and pull up to the fire. Here’s a shot of whiskey near your thumb and a nice cigar for you to smoke. I’m no hero-worshiper. I’m too old for that. But I know a man when I see one, and even though we couldn’t come out and help you when the subscription list went wild, be sure we think just as much of you as we did when your name was first mentioned by the loyal and faithful press. Sit here, old man, and warm your toes by the fire. Sit here and rest from the gratitude of your fellow countrymen, which, as Shakespeare says, bites like a snake and stings like an adder. Rest here, as you might rest at the hearth of millions of people who could offer you no house but their own!”
“I dinnaw about that,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I like Dewey, but I think he oughtn't to've give away th' gift iv th' nation.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I like Dewey, but I think he shouldn’t have given away the gift of the nation.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “if 'twas a crime f'r an American citizen to have his property in his wife's name they'd be close quarthers in th' pinitinchry.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “if it was a crime for an American citizen to have his property in his wife's name, they'd be in tight quarters in the penitentiary.”
MARRIAGE AND POLITICS
“I see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “that wan iv thim New York joods says a man in pollytics oughtn't to be marrid.”
“I see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “that one of those New York Jews says a man in politics shouldn't be married.”
“Oh, does he?” said Mr. Dooley.
“Oh, really?” said Mr. Dooley.
“Well, 'tis little he knows about it. A man in pollytics has got to be marrid. If he ain't marrid where'll he go f'r another kind iv throuble? An' where'll he find people to support? An unmarrid man don't get along in pollytics because he don't need th' money. Whin he's in th' middle iv a prim'ry, with maybe twinty or thirty iv th' opposite party on top iv him, thinks he to himsilf: 'What's th' good iv fightin' f'r a job? They'se no wan depindant on me f'r support,' an' he surrinders. But a marrid man says: 'What'll happen to me wife an' twelve small childher if I don't win out here today?' an' he bites his way to th' top iv th' pile an' breaks open th' ballot box f'r home and fireside. That's th' thruth iv it, Hinnissy. Ye'll find all th' big jobs held be marrid men an' all th' timpry clerkships be bachelors.”
“Well, he doesn't know much about it. A man in politics has to be married. If he isn't married, where's he going to find another kind of trouble? And where will he find people to support? An unmarried man doesn’t thrive in politics because he doesn’t need the money. When he's in the middle of a primary, with maybe twenty or thirty people from the opposing party coming after him, he thinks to himself: ‘What’s the point of fighting for a job? No one depends on me for support,’ and he gives up. But a married man thinks: ‘What will happen to my wife and twelve small children if I don’t succeed today?’ and he fights his way to the top and opens the ballot box for home and family. That’s the truth of it, Hinnissy. You’ll find all the big jobs held by married men and all the temporary clerk positions held by bachelors.”
“Th' reason th' New York jood thinks marrid men oughtn't to be in pollytics is because he thinks pollytics is spoort. An' so it is. But it ain't amachoor spoort, Hinnissy. They don't give ye a pewter mug with ye'er name on it f'r takin' a chanst on bein' kilt. 'Tis a profissional spoort, like playin' base-ball f'r a livin' or wheelin' a thruck. Ye niver see an amachoor at annything that was as good as a profissional. Th' best amachoor ball team is beat be a bad profissional team; a profissional boxer that thrains on bock beer an' Swiss cheese can lam the head off a goold medal amachoor champeen that's been atin' moldy bread an' dhrinkin' wather f'r six months, an' th' Dago that blows th' cornet on th' sthreet f'r what annywan 'll throw him can cut the figure eight around Dinnis Finn, that's been takin' lessons f'r twinty year. No, sir, pollytics ain't dhroppin' into tea, an' it ain't wurrukin' a scroll saw, or makin' a garden in a back yard. 'Tis gettin' up at six o'clock in th' mornin' an' r-rushin' off to wurruk, an' comin' home at night tired an' dusty. Double wages f'r overtime an' Sundahs.”
“The reason the New York Jew thinks married men shouldn’t be in politics is that he sees politics as a sport. And it is. But it’s not an amateur sport, Hinnissy. They don’t give you a pewter mug with your name on it for taking a chance on getting killed. It’s a professional sport, like playing baseball for a living or driving a truck. You never see an amateur do anything as well as a professional. The best amateur baseball team gets beaten by a bad professional team; a professional boxer who trains on beer and Swiss cheese can knock out a gold medal amateur champion who’s been eating moldy bread and drinking water for six months, and the Italian guy playing the cornet on the street for whatever anyone will throw him can outdo Dinnis Finn, who’s been taking lessons for twenty years. No, sir, politics isn’t like dropping into tea, and it’s not working a scroll saw or making a garden in a backyard. It’s getting up at six o’clock in the morning and rushing off to work, and coming home at night tired and dusty. Double pay for overtime and Sundays.”
“So a man's got to be marrid to do it well. He's got to have a wife at home to make him oncomfortable if he comes in dhrunk, he's got to have little prattlin' childher that he can't sind to th' Young Ladies' academy onless he stuffs a ballotbox properly, an' he's got to have a sthrong desire f'r to live in th' av'noo an' be seen dhrivin' downtown in an open carredge with his wife settin' beside him undher a r-red parasol. If he hasn't these things he won't succeed in pollytics—or packin' pork. Ye niver see a big man in pollytics that dhrank hard, did ye? Ye never will. An' that's because they're all marrid. Th' timptation's sthrong, but fear is sthronger.”
“So a man’s got to be married to do it well. He needs to have a wife at home to make him uncomfortable if he comes in drunk, and he’s got to have little kids that he can’t send to the Young Ladies' academy unless he properly stuffs a ballot box. He’s got to have a strong desire to live on the avenue and be seen driving downtown in an open carriage with his wife sitting beside him under a red parasol. If he doesn’t have these things, he won’t succeed in politics—or in making a living. You never see a major player in politics who drinks heavily, do you? You never will. And that’s because they’re all married. The temptation is strong, but fear is stronger.”
“Th' most domestic men in th' wurruld ar-re politicians, an' they always marry early. An' that's th' sad part iv it, Hinnissy. A pollytician always marries above his own station. That's wan sign that he'll be a successful pollytician. Th' throuble is, th' good woman stays planted just where she was, an' he goes by like a fast thrain by a whistlin' station. D'ye mind O'Leary, him that's a retired capitalist now, him that was aldherman, an' dhrainage thrustee, an' state sinitor f'r wan term? Well, whin I first knew O'Leary he wurruked down on a railroad section tampin' th' thrack at wan-fifty a day. He was a sthrong, willin' young fellow, with a stiff right-hand punch an' a schamin' brain, an' anny wan cud see that he was intinded to go to th' fr-ront. Th' aristocracy iv th' camp was Mrs. Cassidy, th' widdy lady that kept th' boordin'-house. Aristocracy, Hinnissy, is like rale estate, a matther iv location. I'm aristocracy to th' poor O'Briens back in th' alley, th' brewery agent's aristocracy to me, his boss is aristocracy to him, an' so it goes, up to the czar of Rooshia. He's th' pick iv th' bunch, th' high man iv all, th' Pope not goin' in society. Well, Mrs. Cassidy was aristocracy to O'Leary. He niver see such a stylish woman as she was whin she turned out iv a Sundah afthernoon in her horse an' buggy. He'd think to himsilf, 'If I iver can win that I'm settled f'r life,' an' iv coorse he did. 'Twas a gran' weddin'; manny iv th' guests didn't show up at wurruk f'r weeks.”
“The most ordinary people in the world are politicians, and they always marry young. And that's the sad part of it, Hinnissy. A politician always marries above his own status. That's one sign that he'll be a successful politician. The problem is, the good woman stays right where she is, while he speeds by like a fast train past a whistling station. Do you remember O'Leary, that retired businessman, the one who was an alderman, drainage trustee, and a state senator for one term? Well, when I first met O'Leary, he worked on a railroad crew, pounding the tracks for a dollar fifty a day. He was a strong, willing young guy, with a solid right hook and a clever mind, and anyone could see that he intended to move up. The top person in the camp was Mrs. Cassidy, the widow who ran the boarding house. Aristocracy, Hinnissy, is like real estate, it's all about location. I’m aristocracy to the poor O'Briens in the alley, the brewery agent's aristocracy to me, his boss is aristocracy to him, and so on, all the way up to the czar of Russia. He's the top of the heap, the highest man of all, with the Pope not entering the social scene. Well, Mrs. Cassidy was aristocracy to O'Leary. He had never seen such a stylish woman as her when she came out on a Sunday afternoon in her horse and buggy. He thought to himself, ‘If I can ever win her over, I’m set for life,’ and of course, he did. It was a grand wedding; many of the guests didn’t show up for work for weeks.”
“O'Leary done well, an' she was a good wife to him. She made money an' kept him sthraight an' started him for constable. He won out, bein' a sthrong man. Thin she got him to r-run f'r aldher-man, an' ye shud've seen her th' night he was inaugurated! Be hivins, Hinnissy, she looked like a fire in a pawnshop, fair covered with dimons an' goold watches an' chains. She was cut out to be an aldherman's wife, and it was worth goin' miles to watch her leadin' th' gran' march at th' Ar-rchy Road Dimmycratic Fife an' Dhrum Corps ball.”
“O'Leary did well, and she was a great wife to him. She made money and kept him in line and got him started towards becoming constable. He succeeded, being a strong man. Then she got him to run for alderman, and you should have seen her the night he was inaugurated! Goodness, Hinnissy, she looked like a fire in a pawnshop, covered in diamonds and gold watches and chains. She was made to be an alderman's wife, and it was worth traveling miles to see her leading the grand march at the Archy Road Democratic Fife and Drum Corps ball.”
“But there she stopped. A good woman an' a kind wan, she cudden't go th' distance. She had th' house an' th' childher to care f'r an' her eddy-cation was through with. They isn't much a woman can learn afther she begins to raise a fam'ly. But with O'Leary 'twas diffrent. I say 'twas diff'rent with O'Leary. Ye talk about ye'er colleges, Hinnissy, but pollytics is th' poor man's college. A la-ad without enough book larnin' to r-read a meal-ticket, if ye give him tin years iv polly-tical life, has th' air iv a statesman an' th' manner iv a jook, an' cud take anny job fr'm dalin' faro bank to r-runnin th' threasury iv th' United States. His business brings him up again' th' best men iv th' com-munity, an' their customs an' ways iv speakin' an' thinkin' an robbin' sticks to him. Th' good woman is at home all day. Th' on'y people she sees is th' childher an' th' neighbors. While th' good man in a swallow-tail coat is addhressin' th' Commercial club on what we shud do f'r to reform pollytics, she's discussin' th' price iv groceries with th' plumber's wife an' talkin' over th' back fince to the milkman. Thin O'Leary moves up on th' boolyvard. He knows he'll get along all r-right on th' boolyvard. Th' men'll say: 'They'se a good deal of rugged common sinse in that O'Leary. He may be a robber, but they's mighty little that escapes him.' But no wan speaks to Mrs. O'Leary. No wan asts her opinion about our foreign policy. She sets day in an' day out behind th' dhrawn curtains iv her three-story brownstone risidence prayin' that somewan'll come in an' see her, an if annywan comes she's frozen with fear. An' 'tis on'y whin she slips out to Ar-rchey r-road an' finds th' plumber's wife, an' sets in th' kitchen over a cup iv tay, that peace comes to her. By an' by they offer O'Leary th' nommynation f'r congress. He knows he's fit for it. He's sthronger thin th' young lawyer they have now. People'll listen to him in Wash'nton as they do in Chicago. He says: 'I'll take it.' An' thin he thinks iv th' wife an' they's no Wash'nton f'r him. His pollytical career is over. He wud niver have been constable if he hadn't marrid, but he might have been sinitor if he was a widower.”
“But there she stopped. A good woman and a kind one, she couldn't go the distance. She had the house and the kids to take care of, and her education was finished. There's not much a woman can learn after she starts raising a family. But with O'Leary, it was different. I say it was different with O'Leary. You talk about your colleges, Hinnissy, but politics is the poor man's college. A guy without enough book learning to read a meal ticket, if you give him ten years of political life, has the air of a statesman and the manner of a joker, and could take any job from dealing at a faro bank to running the treasury of the United States. His work brings him up against the best men in the community, and their customs and ways of speaking and thinking and robbing stick to him. The good woman is at home all day. The only people she sees are the kids and the neighbors. While the good man in a tailcoat is addressing the Commercial Club on what we should do to reform politics, she’s discussing the price of groceries with the plumber's wife and chatting over the back fence with the milkman. Then O'Leary moves up on the boulevard. He knows he'll be just fine on the boulevard. The men will say: 'There's a good deal of rugged common sense in that O'Leary. He may be a crook, but there's very little that gets by him.' But no one talks to Mrs. O'Leary. No one asks her opinion about our foreign policy. She sits day in and day out behind the drawn curtains of her three-story brownstone residence, praying that someone will come in and see her, and if anyone does come, she’s frozen with fear. And it's only when she slips out to Archie Road and finds the plumber's wife, and sits in the kitchen over a cup of tea, that peace comes to her. Eventually, they offer O'Leary the nomination for congress. He knows he's fit for it. He's stronger than the young lawyer they have now. People will listen to him in Washington as they do in Chicago. He says: 'I'll take it.' And then he thinks of his wife, and there's no Washington for him. His political career is over. He would never have been constable if he hadn't married, but he might have been senator if he were a widower.”
“Mrs. O'Leary was in to see th' Dargans th' other day. 'Ye mus' be very happy in ye'er gran' house, with Mr. O'Leary doin' so well,' says Mrs. Dargan. An' th' on'y answer th' foolish woman give was to break down an' weep on Mrs. Dargan's neck.”
“Mrs. O'Leary came by to see the Dargans the other day. 'You must be very happy in your grand house, with Mr. O'Leary doing so well,' says Mrs. Dargan. And the only response the foolish woman gave was to break down and cry on Mrs. Dargan's shoulder.”
“Yet ye say a pollytician oughtn't to get marrid,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Yet you say a politician shouldn’t get married,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Up to a certain point,” said Mr. Dooley, “he must be marrid. Afther that—well, I on'y say that, though pollytics is a gran' career f'r a man, 'tis a tough wan f'r his wife.”
“Up to a certain point,” said Mr. Dooley, “he has to be married. After that—well, I only say that, although politics is a great career for a man, it's a tough one for his wife.”
ALCOHOL AS FOOD
“If a man come into this saloon—” Mr. Hennessy was saying.
“If a guy walks into this bar—” Mr. Hennessy was saying.
“This ain't no saloon,” Mr. Dooley interrupted. “This is a resthrant.”
“This isn't a saloon,” Mr. Dooley interrupted. “This is a restaurant.”
“A what?” Mr. Hennessy exclaimed.
“A what?” Mr. Hennessy said.
“A resthrant,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ye don't know, Hinnissy, that liquor is food. It is though. Food—an' dhrink. That's what a doctor says in the pa-apers, an' another doctor wants th' gover'mint to sind tubs iv th' stuff down to th' Ph'lipeens. He says 'tis almost issintial that people shud dhrink in thim hot climates. Th' prespiration don't dhry on thim afther a hard pursoot iv Aggynaldoo an' th' capture iv Gin'ral Pantaloons de Garshy; they begin to think iv home an' mother sindin' down th' lawn-sprinkler to be filled with bock, an' they go off somewhere, an' not bein' able to dhry thimsilves with dhrink, they want to die. Th' disease is called nostalgia or home-sickness, or thirst.”
“A restaurant,” said Mr. Dooley. “You don't know, Hinnissy, that liquor is food. It really is. Food—and drink. That's what a doctor says in the papers, and another doctor wants the government to send barrels of the stuff down to the Philippines. He says it's almost essential for people to drink in those hot climates. The sweat doesn't dry on them after a hard pursuit of Aguinaldo and the capture of General Pantaloons de Garshy; they start thinking about home and mother sending down the lawn sprinkler to be filled with beer, and they wander off somewhere, and not being able to dry themselves with drink, they want to die. The disease is called nostalgia or homesickness, or thirst.”
“'What we want to do f'r our sojer boys in th' Ph'lipeens besides killin' thim,' says th' ar-rmy surgeon, 'is make th' place more homelike,' he says. 'Manny iv our heroes hasn't had th' deleeryum thremens since we first planted th' stars an' sthripes,' he says, 'an' th' bay'nits among th' people,' he says. 'I wud be in favor iv havin' th' rigimints get their feet round wanst a week, at laste,' he says. 'Lave us,' he says, 'reform th' reg'lations,' he says, 'an' insthruct our sojers to keep their powdher dhry an' their whistles wet,' he says.”
“'What we want to do for our soldiers in the Philippines besides killing them,' says the army surgeon, 'is make the place more homelike,' he says. 'Many of our heroes haven't had delirium tremens since we first put up the stars and stripes,' he says, 'and the bayonets among the people,' he says. 'I would be in favor of having the regiments get their feet on the ground at least once a week,' he says. 'Let us,' he says, 'reform the regulations,' he says, 'and instruct our soldiers to keep their powder dry and their whistles wet,' he says.”
“Th' idee ought to take, Hinnissy, f'r th' other doctor la-ad has discovered that liquor is food. 'A man,' says he, 'can live f'r months on a little booze taken fr'm time to time,' he says 'They'se a gr-reat dale iv nourishment in it,' he says. An' I believe him, f'r manny's th' man I know that don't think iv eatin' whin he can get a dhrink. I wondher if the time will iver come whin ye'll see a man sneakin' out iv th' fam'ly enthrance iv a lunch-room hurridly bitin' a clove! People may get so they'll carry a light dinner iv a pint iv rye down to their wurruk, an' a man'll tell ye he niver takes more thin a bottle iv beer f'r breakfast. Th' cook'll give way to th' bartinder and th' doctor 'll ordher people f'r to ate on'y at meals. Ye'll r-read in th' pa-apers that 'Anton Boozinski, while crazed with ham an' eggs thried to kill his wife an' childher.' On Pathrick's day ye'll see th' Dr. Tanner Anti-Food Fife an' Drum corpse out at th' head iv th' procession instead iv th' Father Macchews, an' they'll be places where a man can be took whin he gets th' monkeys fr'm immodhrate eatin'. Th' sojers 'll complain that th' liquor was unfit to dhrink an' they'll be inquiries to find out who sold embammin' flood to th' ar-rmy—Poor people 'll have simple meals—p'raps a bucket iv beer an' a little crame de mint, an' ye'll r-read in th' pa-apers about a family found starvin' on th' North side, with nawthin' to sustain life but wan small bottle iv gin, while th' head iv th' family, a man well known to the polis, spinds his wages in a low doggery or bakeshop fuddlin' his brains with custars pie. Th' r-rich 'll inthrajoose novelties. P'raps they'll top off a fine dinner with a little hasheesh or proosic acid. Th' time'll come whin ye'll see me in a white cap fryin' a cocktail over a cooksthove, while a nigger hollers to me: 'Dhraw a stack iv Scotch,' an' I holler back: 'On th' fire.' Ye will not.”
“The idea should catch on, Hinnissy, because the other doctor has figured out that booze is food. 'A man,' he says, 'can live for months on just a little alcohol taken now and then.' He says, 'There's a great deal of nourishment in it.' And I believe him, because many of the guys I know don’t think about eating when they can have a drink. I wonder if the time will ever come when you’ll see a man sneaking out of a lunchroom, quickly biting into a clove! People might start carrying a light dinner of a pint of whiskey to work, and a guy will tell you he never drinks more than a bottle of beer for breakfast. The cook will give way to the bartender, and the doctor will order people to eat only at mealtimes. You’ll read in the papers that 'Anton Boozinski, while crazed with ham and eggs, tried to kill his wife and kids.' On St. Patrick's Day, you’ll see the Dr. Tanner Anti-Food Fife and Drum Corps leading the parade instead of Father Macchews, and there will be places where a man can go when he gets the shakes from eating too much. The soldiers will complain that the liquor was undrinkable, and there will be inquiries to find out who sold embalming fluid to the army—Poor people will have simple meals—maybe a bucket of beer and a little crème de menthe, and you’ll read in the papers about a family found starving on the North side, with nothing to live on but one small bottle of gin, while the head of the family, a man well-known to the police, spends his wages in a low dive or bakery, fogging his brain with custard pie. The rich will introduce novelties. Maybe they’ll finish off a fancy dinner with a bit of hashish or prussic acid. The time will come when you’ll see me in a white cap frying a cocktail over a stovetop, while a guy yells to me: 'Pour me a shot of Scotch,' and I’ll yell back: 'It’s on the stove.' You will not.”
{Illustration}
{Illustration}
“That's what I thought,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“That's what I thought,” Mr. Hennessy said.
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Whisky wudden't be so much iv a luxury if'twas more iv a necissity. I don't believe 'tis a food, though whin me frind Schwartzmeister makes a cocktail all it needs is a few noodles to look like a biled dinner. No, whisky ain't food. I think betther iv it thin that. I wudden't insult it be placin' it on th' same low plane as a lobster salad. Father Kelly puts it r-right, and years go by without him lookin' on it even at Hallowe'en. 'Whisky,' says he, 'is called the divvle, because,' he says, ''tis wan iv the fallen angels,' he says. 'It has its place,' he says, 'but its place is not in a man's head,' says he. 'It ought to be th' reward iv action, not th' cause iv it,' he says. 'It's f'r th' end iv th' day, not th' beginnin',' he says. 'Hot whisky is good f'r a cold heart, an' no whisky's good f'r a hot head,' he says. 'Th' minyit a man relies on it f'r a crutch he loses th' use iv his legs. 'Tis a bad thing to stand on, a good thing to sleep on, a good thing to talk on, a bad thing to think on. If it's in th' head in th' mornin' it ought not to be in th' mouth at night. If it laughs in ye, dhrink; if it weeps, swear off. It makes some men talk like good women, an' some women talk like bad men. It is a livin' f'r orators an' th' death iv bookkeepers. It doesn't sustain life, but, whin taken hot with wather, a lump iv sugar, a piece iv lemon peel, and just th' dustin' iv a nutmeg-grater, it makes life sustainable.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Whiskey wouldn’t be such a luxury if it were more of a necessity. I don't think it's food, though when my friend Schwartzmeister makes a cocktail, all it needs is a few noodles to look like a boiled dinner. No, whiskey isn’t food. I think it’s better than that. I wouldn’t insult it by putting it on the same low level as a lobster salad. Father Kelly puts it perfectly, and years go by without him looking at it even on Halloween. 'Whiskey,' he says, 'is called the devil because it’s one of the fallen angels.' He says, 'It has its place, but its place is not in a man's head.' He says, 'It should be the reward for action, not the cause of it.' He says, 'It's for the end of the day, not the beginning.' He says, 'Hot whiskey is good for a cold heart, and no whiskey is good for a hot head.' He says, 'The minute a man relies on it as a crutch, he loses the use of his legs. It's a bad thing to stand on, a good thing to sleep on, a good thing to talk on, a bad thing to think on. If it's in the head in the morning, it shouldn't be in the mouth at night. If it makes you laugh, drink; if it makes you cry, swear it off. It makes some men talk like good women, and some women talk like bad men. It is a livelihood for orators and the death of bookkeepers. It doesn’t sustain life, but when taken hot with water, a lump of sugar, a piece of lemon peel, and just a dusting of nutmeg, it makes life bearable.”
“D'ye think ye-ersilf it sustains life?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“Do you think it sustains life?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“It has sustained mine f'r many years,” said Mr. Dooley.
“It has supported me for many years,” said Mr. Dooley.
HIGH FINANCE
“I think,” said Mr. Dooley, “I'll go down to th' stock yards an' buy a dhrove iv Steel an' Wire stock.”
“I think,” said Mr. Dooley, “I’ll go down to the stockyards and buy a bunch of Steel and Wire stock.”
“Where wud ye keep it?” asked the unsuspecting Hennessy.
“Where would you keep it?” asked the unsuspecting Hennessy.
“I'll put it out on th' vacant lot,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' lave it grow fat by atin' ol' bur-rd cages an' tin cans. I'll milk it hard, an' whin 'tis dhry I'll dispose iv it to th' widdies an' orphans iv th' Sixth Ward that need household pets. Be hivins, if they give me half a chanst, I'll be as gr-reat a fi-nanceer as anny man in Wall sthreet.
“I'll put it out in the vacant lot,” said Mr. Dooley, “and let it grow fat by eating old birdcages and tin cans. I'll milk it hard, and when it's dry I'll give it to the widows and orphans of the Sixth Ward who need household pets. To be honest, if they give me half a chance, I'll be as great a financier as anyone on Wall Street.”
“Th' reason I'm so confident iv th' value iv Steel an' Wire stock, Hinnissy, is they're goin' to hur-rl th' chairman iv th' comity into jail. That's what th' pa-apers calls a ray iv hope in th' clouds iv dipression that've covered th' market so long. 'Tis always a bull argymint. 'Snowplows common was up two pints this mornin' on th' rumor that th' prisidint was undher ar-rest.' 'They was a gr-reat bulge in Lobster preferred caused be th' report that instead iv declarin' a dividend iv three hundhred per cint. th' comp'ny was preparin' to imprison th' boord iv directors.' 'We sthrongly ricommind th' purchase iv Con and Founder. This comp'ny is in ixcillint condition since th' hangin' iv th' comity on reorganization.'”
"The reason I'm so confident in the value of Steel and Wire stock, Hinnissy, is that they're going to haul the chairman of the committee into jail. That's what the papers are calling a ray of hope in the clouds of depression that have covered the market for so long. It's always a strong argument. 'Snowplows Common was up two points this morning on the rumor that the president was under arrest.' 'There was a great spike in Lobster Preferred due to the report that instead of declaring a dividend of three hundred percent, the company was preparing to imprison the board of directors.' 'We strongly recommend the purchase of Con and Founder. This company is in excellent condition since the hanging of the committee on reorganization.'"
“What's th' la-ad been doin', Hinnissy? He's been lettin' his frinds in on th' groun' flure—an' dhroppin' thim into th' cellar. Ye know Cassidy, over in th' Fifth, him that was in th' ligislachure? Well, sir, he was a gr-reat frind iv this man. They met down in Springfield whin th' la-ad had something he wanted to get through that wud protect th' widdies an' orphans iv th' counthry again their own avarice, an' he must've handed Cassidy a good argymint, f'r Cassidy voted f'r th' bill, though threatened with lynchin' be stockholders iv th' rival comp'ny. He come back here so covered with dimons that wan night whin he was standin' on th' rollin' mill dock, th' captain iv th' Eliza Brown mistook his shirt front f'r th' bridge lights an' steered into a soap facthry on th' lee or gas-house shore.”
“What's that guy been up to, Hinnissy? He's been letting his friends in on the ground floor— and dropping them into the cellar. You know Cassidy, over in the Fifth, the one who was in the legislature? Well, he was a great friend of this guy. They met down in Springfield when the guy had something he wanted to get through that would protect the widows and orphans of the country from their own greed, and he must've given Cassidy a solid argument, because Cassidy voted for the bill, even though he was threatened with lynching by the stockholders of the rival company. He came back here so covered in diamonds that one night when he was standing on the rolling mill dock, the captain of the Eliza Brown mistook his shirt front for the bridge lights and steered into a soap factory on the lee or gas-house shore.”
“Th' man made a sthrong impression on Cassidy. 'Twas: 'As me frind Jawn says,' or 'I'll ask Jawn about that,' or 'I'm goin' downtown to-day to find out what Jawn advises.' He used to play a dollar on th' horses or sivin-up f'r th' dhrinks, but afther he met Jawn he wanted me to put in a ticker, an' he wud set in here figurin' with a piece iv chalk on how high Wire'd go if hoopskirts come into fashion again. 'Give me a dhrop iv whisky,' he says, 'f'r I'm inthrested in Distillers,' he says, 'an' I'd like to give it a shove,' he says. 'How's Gas?' he says. 'A little weak, to-day,'” says I.
“The man made a strong impression on Cassidy. It was: 'As my friend John says,' or 'I'll ask John about that,' or 'I'm going downtown today to find out what John advises.' He used to bet a dollar on the horses or pitch in for the drinks, but after he met John, he wanted me to place a wager, and he would sit here calculating with a piece of chalk how high Wire would go if hoopskirts came back in fashion. 'Give me a drop of whiskey,' he says, 'because I'm interested in Distillers,' he says, 'and I'd like to give it a push,' he says. 'How's Gas?' he asks. 'A little weak today,' I said.”
“Twill be sthronger,' he says. 'If it ain't,' says I, 'I'll take out th' meter an' connect th' pipe with th' ventilator. I might as well bur-rn th' wind free as buy it,'” I says.
“Twill be stronger,” he says. “If it isn't,” I say, “I'll take out the meter and connect the pipe to the ventilator. I might as well burn the wind for free as buy it,” I say.
“A couple iv weeks ago he see Jawn an' they had a long talk about it. 'Cassidy,' says Jawn, 'ye've been a good frind iv mine,' he says, 'an' I'd do annything in the wurruld f'r ye, no matther what it cost ye,' he says. 'If ye need a little money to tide over th' har-rd times till th' ligislachure meets again buy'—an' he whispered in Cassidy's ear. 'But,' he says, 'don't tell annywan. 'Tis a good thing, but I want to keep it bottled up,'” he says.
“A couple of weeks ago, he saw John, and they had a long talk about it. 'Cassidy,' said John, 'you've been a good friend of mine,' he said, 'and I'd do anything in the world for you, no matter what it cost you,' he said. 'If you need a little money to get through the hard times until the legislature meets again, buy'—and he whispered in Cassidy's ear. 'But,' he said, 'don't tell anyone. It's a good thing, but I want to keep it under wraps,'” he said.
“Thin Jawn took th' thrain an' begun confidin' his secret to a few select frinds. He give it to th' conductor on th' thrain, an' th' porther, an' th' candy butcher; he handed it to a switchman that got on th' platform at South Bend, an' he stopped off at Detroit long enough to tell about it to the deepo' policeman. He had a sign painted with th' tip on it an' hung it out th' window, an' he found a man that carrid a thrombone in a band goin' over to Buffalo, an' he had him set th' good thing to music an' play it through th' thrain. Whin he got to New York he stopped at the Waldorf Asthoria, an' while th' barber was powdhrin' his face with groun' dimons Jawn tol' him to take th' money he was goin' to buy a policy ticket with an' get in on th' good thing. He tol' th' bootblack, th' waiter, th' man at th' news-stand, th' clerk behind th' desk, an' th' bartinder in his humble abode. He got up a stereopticon show with pitchers iv a widow-an-orphan befure an' afther wirin', an' he put an advertisement in all th' pa-apers tellin' how his stock wud make weak men sthrong. He had th' tip sarved hot in all th' resthrants in Wall sthrcet, an' told it confidintially to an open-air meetin' in Madison Square. 'They'se nawthin,' he says, 'that does a tip so much good as to give it circulation,' he says. 'I think, be this time,' he says, 'all me frinds knows how to proceed, but—Great Hivins!' he says. 'What have I done? Whin all the poor people go to get th' stock they won't be anny f'r thim. I can not lave thim thus in th' lurch. Me reputation as a gintleman an' a fi-nanceer is at stake,' he says. 'Rather than see these brave people starvin' at th' dure f'r a morsel iv common or preferred, I'll—I'll sell thim me own stock,' he says. An' he done it. He done it, Hinnissy, with unfalthrin' courage an' a clear eye. He sold thim his stock, an' so's they might get what was left at a raysonable price, he wrote a confidintial note to th' pa-apers tellin' thim th' stock wasn't worth thirty cints a cord, an' now, be hivins, they're talkin' iv puttin' him in a common jail or pinitinchry preferred. Th' ingratichood iv man.”
“Thin Jawn took the train and started confiding his secret to a few select friends. He told the conductor on the train, the porter, and the candy vendor; he passed it on to a switchman who got on the platform at South Bend, and he stopped off in Detroit long enough to share it with the depot policeman. He had a sign made with the tip on it and hung it out the window, and he found a guy who played a trombone in a band heading to Buffalo, and he had him turn the good news into a tune and play it throughout the train. When he reached New York, he stopped at the Waldorf Astoria, and while the barber was powdering his face with ground diamonds, Jawn told him to take the money he was going to use to buy a ticket and invest it in the good deal. He informed the shoeshiner, the waiter, the guy at the newsstand, the clerk behind the desk, and the bartender in his little establishment. He organized a slide show featuring images of a widow and orphan before and after wiring, and he placed an advertisement in all the newspapers stating how his stock would make weak men strong. He had the tip served hot in all the restaurants on Wall Street and confidentially shared it at an open-air meeting in Madison Square. 'There's nothing,' he said, 'that does a tip more good than to give it some circulation,' he said. 'I think by this time,' he said, 'all my friends know how to proceed, but—Great Heavens!' he said. 'What have I done? When all the poor people go to buy the stock, there won't be any left for them. I can't leave them hanging like this. My reputation as a gentleman and a financier is at stake,' he said. 'Rather than see these brave people starving at the door for a morsel of common or preferred stock, I'll—I’ll sell them my own stock,' he said. And he did it. He did it, Hinnissy, with unwavering courage and a clear eye. He sold them his stock, and to ensure they could get what was left at a reasonable price, he wrote a confidential note to the newspapers telling them the stock wasn’t worth thirty cents a share, and now, by heavens, they’re talking about throwing him in a common jail or preferred penitentiary. The ingratitude of mankind.”
“But what about Cassidy?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“But what about Cassidy?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Oh,” said Mr. Dooley, “he was in here las' night. 'How's our old frind Jawn?' says I. He said nawthin'. 'Have ye seen ye'er collidge chum iv late?' says I. 'Don't mintion that ma-an's name,' says he. 'To think iv what I've done f'r him,' he says, 'an' him to throw me down,' he says. 'Did ye play th' tip?' says I. 'I did,' says he. 'How did ye come out?' says I. 'I haven't a cint lift but me renommynation f'r th' ligislachure,' says he. 'Well,' says I, 'Cassidy,' I says, 'ye've been up again what th' pa-apers call hawt finance,' I says. 'What th' divvle's that?' says he. 'Well,' says I, 'it ain't burglary, an' it ain't obtainin' money be false pretinses, an' it ain't manslaughter,' I says. 'It's what ye might call a judicious seliction fr'm th' best features iv thim ar-rts,' I says. 'T'was too sthrong f'r me,' he says. 'It was,' says I. 'Ye're about up to simple thransom climbin', Cassidy,' I says.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Dooley, “he was here last night. 'How's our old friend John?' I asked. He said nothing. 'Have you seen your college buddy lately?' I asked. 'Don’t mention that man’s name,' he replied. 'To think of what I've done for him,' he said, 'and for him to throw me under the bus,' he said. 'Did you place the bet?' I asked. 'I did,' he said. 'How did it turn out for you?' I asked. 'I haven't a cent left but my nomination for the legislature,' he said. 'Well,' I said, 'Cassidy,' I said, 'you’ve been up against what the papers call hot finance,' I said. 'What the devil is that?' he said. 'Well,' I said, 'it’s not burglary, and it's not obtaining money by false pretenses, and it’s not manslaughter,' I said. 'It's what you might call a selective picking from the best aspects of those arts,' I said. 'It was too strong for me,' he said. 'It was,' I said. 'You’re getting close to simple ransom climbing, Cassidy,' I said.”
THE PARIS EXPOSITION
“If this r-rush iv people to th' Paris exposition keeps up,” said Mr. Hennessy, “they won't be enough left here f'r to ilict a prisidint.”
“If this rush of people to the Paris exposition keeps up,” said Mr. Hennessy, “there won’t be enough left here to elect a president.”
“They'll be enough left,” said Mr. Dooley. “There always is. No wan has gone fr'm Arrchey r-road, where th' voters ar-re made. I've looked ar-round ivry mornin' expectin' to miss some familyar faces. I thought Dorgan, th' plumber, wud go sure, but he give it up at th' las' moment, an' will spind his summer on th' dhrainage canal. Th' baseball season 'll keep a good manny others back, an' a number iv riprisintative cit'zens who have stock or jobs in th' wire mills have decided that 'tis much betther to inthrust their savin's to John W. Gates thin to blow thim in again th' sthreets iv Cairo.”
“They’ll be enough left,” said Mr. Dooley. “There always are. No one has left from Arrchey Road, where the voters are made. I’ve looked around every morning expecting to miss some familiar faces. I thought Dorgan, the plumber, would go for sure, but he backed out at the last moment and will spend his summer on the drainage canal. The baseball season will keep quite a few others back, and a number of respected citizens who have stocks or jobs in the wire mills have decided it’s much better to trust their savings to John W. Gates than to waste them in the streets of Cairo.”
“But takin' it by an' large 'twill be a hard winter f'r th' r-rich. Manny iv thim will have money enough f'r to return, but they'll be much sufferin' among thim. I ixpict to have people dhroppin' in here nex' fall with subscription books f'r th' survivors iv th' Paris exhibition. Th' women down be th' rollin' mills 'll be sewin' flannels f'r th' disthressed millyonaires, an' whin th' childher kick about th' food ye'll say, Hinnissy, 'Just think iv th' poor wretches in th' Lake Shore dhrive an' thank Gawd f'r what ye have.' Th' mayor 'll open soup kitchens where th' unforchnit people can come an' get a hearty meal an' watch th' ticker, an' whin th' season grows hard, ye'll see pinched an' hungry plutocrats thrampin' th' sthreets with signs r-readin': 'Give us a cold bottle or we perish.' Perhaps th' polis 'll charge thim an' bust in their stovepipe hats, th' prisidint 'll sind th' ar-rmy here, a conspiracy 'll be discovered at th' club to blow up th' poorhouse, an' volunteers 'll be called on fr'm th' nickel bed houses to protect th' vested inthrests iv established poverty.”
“But taking it by and large, it’s going to be a tough winter for the rich. Many of them will have enough money to get by, but there will be a lot of suffering among them. I expect to have people dropping in here next fall with subscription books for the survivors of the Paris exhibition. The women down by the rolling mills will be sewing flannels for the distressed millionaires, and when the kids complain about the food, you’ll say, Hinnissy, 'Just think of the poor wretches in the Lake Shore drive and thank God for what you have.' The mayor will open soup kitchens where the unfortunate can come and get a hearty meal and keep an eye on the news ticker, and when the season gets tough, you’ll see pinched and hungry plutocrats trampling the streets with signs reading: 'Give us a cold bottle or we perish.' Maybe the police will charge them and smash their stovepipe hats, the president will send the army here, a conspiracy will be discovered at the club to blow up the poorhouse, and volunteers will be called from the cheap boarding houses to protect the vested interests of established poverty.”
“'Twill be a chanst f'r us to get even, Hinnissy. I'm goin' to organize th' Return Visitin' Nurses' association, composed entirely iv victims iv th' parent plant. 'Twill be worth lookin' at to see th' ladies fr'm th' stock yards r-rushin' into some wretched home down in Peerary avenue, grabbin' th' misthress iv th' house be th' shouldhers an' makin' her change her onhealthy silk dhress f'r a pink wrapper, shovelin' in a little ashes to sprinkle on th' flure, breakin' th' furniture an' rollin' th' baby in th' coal box. What th' r-rich needs is intilligint attintion. 'Don't ate that oatmeal. Fry a nice piece iv r-round steak with onions, give th' baby th' bone to play with, an' sind Lucille Ernestine acrost th' railroad thrack f'r a nickel's worth iv beer. Thin ye'll be happy, me good woman.' Oh, 'twill be gran'. I won't give annything to people that come to th' dure. More har-m is done be indiscriminate charity than anny wan knows, Hinnissy. Half th' bankers that'll come to ye-er kitchen nex' winter cud find plenty iv wurruk to do if they really wanted it. Dhrink an' idleness is th' curse iv th' class. If they come to me I'll sind thim to th' Paris Survivors' Mechanical Relief Association, an' they can go down an' set on a cake iv ice an' wait till th' man in charge finds thim a job managin' a diamond mine.”
“It'll be a chance for us to get even, Hinnissy. I'm going to set up the Return Visiting Nurses' Association, made up entirely of victims from the parent plant. It'll be something to see the ladies from the stockyards rushing into some rundown home on Peary Avenue, grabbing the mistress of the house by the shoulders and making her change her unhealthy silk dress for a pink wrapper, shoveling in a little ash to sprinkle on the floor, breaking the furniture, and rolling the baby in the coal box. What the rich need is intelligent attention. 'Don't eat that oatmeal. Fry a nice piece of round steak with onions, give the baby the bone to play with, and send Lucille Ernestine across the railroad track for a nickel's worth of beer. Then you'll be happy, my good woman.' Oh, it'll be great. I won't give anything to people who come to the door. More harm is done by indiscriminate charity than anyone realizes, Hinnissy. Half the bankers who'll come to your kitchen next winter could find plenty of work to do if they really wanted it. Drink and idleness are the curse of the class. If they come to me, I’ll send them to the Paris Survivors' Mechanical Relief Association, and they can go down and sit on a block of ice and wait until the man in charge finds them a job managing a diamond mine.”
{Illustration}
{Illustration}
Mr. Hennessy dismissed Mr. Dooley's fancy sketch with a grin and remarked: “These here expositions is a gran' thing f'r th' progress iv th' wurruld.”
Mr. Hennessy laughed off Mr. Dooley's elaborate sketch and said: “These exhibitions are a great thing for the progress of the world.”
“Ye r-read that in th' pa-apers,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' it isn't so. Put it down fr'm me, Hinnissy, that all expositions is a blind f'r th' hootchy-kootchy dance. They'll be some gr-reat exhibits at th' Paris fair. Th' man that has a machine that'll tur-rn out three hundhred thousan' toothpicks ivry minyit'll sind over his inthrestin' device, they'll be mountains iv infant food an' canned prunes, an' pickle casters, an' pants, an' boots, an' shoes an' paintin's. They'll be all th' wondhers iv modhern science. Ye can see how shirts ar-re made, an' what gives life to th' sody fountain. Th' man that makes th' glue that binds 'll be wearin' more medals thin an officer iv th' English ar-rmy or a cinchry bicycle rider, an' years afther whin ye see a box iv soap ye'll think iv th' manufacthrer standin' up befure a hundhred thousan' frinzied Fr-rinchmen in th' Boss du Boloney while th' prisidint iv th' Fr-rinch places a goold wreath on his fair brow an' says: 'In th' name iv th' ar-rts an' science, undher th' motto iv our people, “Libertinity, insanity, an' frugality,” I crown ye th' champeen soapmaker iv th' wurruld. {Cheers.} Be ye'er magnificint invintion ye have dhrawn closer th' ties between Paris an' Goshen, Indyanny {frantic applause}, which I hope will niver be washed away. I wish ye much success as ye climb th' lather iv fame.' Th' invintor is thin dhrawn ar-roun' th' sthreets iv Paris in a chariot pulled be eight white horses amid cries iv 'Veev Higgins,' 'Abase Castile,' et cethra, fr'm th' populace. An' manny a heart beats proud in Goshen that night. That's th' way ye think iv it, but it happens diff'rent, Hinnissy. Th' soap king, th' prune king, an' th' porous plaster king fr'm here won't stir up anny tumult in Paris this year. Th' chances ar-re th' prisidint won't know they're there, an' no wan'll speak to thim but a cab dhriver, an' he'll say: 'Th' fare fr'm th' Changs All Easy to th' Roo de Roo is eighteen thousan' francs, but I'll take ye there f'r what ye have in ye-er pockets.'”
“Did you read that in the papers?” said Mr. Dooley. “It's not true. Mark my words, Hinnissy, all fairs are just a setup for the hootchy-kootchy dance. There will be some amazing exhibits at the Paris fair. The guy with a machine that can churn out three hundred thousand toothpicks every minute will send over his fascinating invention, there will be mountains of baby food and canned prunes, pickling containers, pants, boots, shoes, and paintings. They’ll showcase all the wonders of modern science. You can see how shirts are made and what keeps the soda fountain running. The guy who makes the glue that holds everything together will have more medals than an officer in the English army or a century bicycle racer, and years later when you see a box of soap, you’ll think of the manufacturer standing in front of a hundred thousand frenzied Frenchmen in the Boss du Boloney while the president of France places a gold wreath on his head and says, ‘In the name of arts and sciences, under our people's motto, “Liberty, insanity, and frugality,” I crown you the champion soapmaker of the world.' {Cheers.} By your magnificent invention, you have brought Paris and Goshen, Indiana closer together {frantic applause}, which I hope will never be washed away. I wish you much success as you climb the lather of fame.' The inventor is then paraded around the streets of Paris in a chariot pulled by eight white horses amid shouts of 'Vive Higgins,' 'Abase Castile,' etc., from the crowd. And many a heart swells with pride in Goshen that night. That’s how you picture it, but it goes differently, Hinnissy. The soap king, the prune king, and the porous plaster king from here won’t create any excitement in Paris this year. Chances are the president won’t even know they’re there, and no one will talk to them except a cab driver, and he’ll say, ‘The fare from Changs All Easy to Rue de Rue is eighteen thousand francs, but I’ll take you there for whatever you have in your pockets.’”
“The millyonaire that goes over there to see th' piled up riches iv th' wurruld in sausage-makin' 'll take a look ar-round him an' he'll say to th' first polisman he meets: 'Gossoon, this is a fine show an' I know yon palace is full to th' seams with chiny-ware an' washtubs, but wud ye be so kind, mong brav', as to p'int out with ye-er club th' partic'lar house where th' houris fr'm th' sultan's harem dances so well without the aid iv th' human feet?' I know how it was whin we had th' fair here. I had th' best intintions in th' wurruld to find out what I ought to have larned fr'm me frind Armour, how with th' aid iv Gawdgiven machinery ye can make a bedstead, a pianola, a dozen whisk-brooms, a barrel iv sour mash whisky, a suit iv clothes, a lamp chimbly, a wig, a can iv gunpowdher, a bah'rl iv nails, a prisidintial platform, an' a bur-rdcage out iv what remains iv th' cow-I was detarmined to probe into th' wondhers iv science, an' I started fair f'r th' machinery hall. Where did I bring up, says ye? In th' fr-ront seat iv a playhouse with me eye glued on a lady iv th' sultan's coort, near Brooklyn bridge, thryin' to twisht out iv hersilf.”
“The millionaire who goes over there to see the amassed riches of the world in sausage-making will look around and say to the first cop he sees: ‘Hey, this is a great show and I know that palace is packed with china and washbasins, but could you kindly point out with your club the specific house where the houris from the sultan's harem dance so beautifully without the use of human feet?’ I remember when we had the fair here. I had the best intentions in the world to figure out what I should have learned from my friend Armour, how with the help of God-given machinery you can make a bed frame, a player piano, a dozen whisk brooms, a barrel of sour mash whiskey, a suit of clothes, a lamp chimney, a wig, a can of gunpowder, a barrel of nails, a presidential platform, and a birdcage out of what’s left of the cow. I was determined to explore the wonders of science, and I started off for the machinery hall. Where did I end up, you ask? In the front seat of a theater with my eyes glued to a lady from the sultan’s court, near the Brooklyn Bridge, trying to twirl out of her own self.”
“No, Hinnissy, they'll be manny things larned be Americans that goes to Paris, but they won't be about th' 'convarsion iv boots into food, or vicey varsa,' as Hogan says. An' that's r-right. If I wint over there 'tis little time I'd be spindin' thryin' to discover how th' wondhers iv mechanical janius are projooced that makes livin' so much more healthy an' oncomfortable. But whin I got to Paris I'd hire me a hack or a dhray painted r-red, an' I'd put me feet out th' sides an' I'd say to th' dhriver: 'Rivolutionist, pint ye-er horse's head to'rds th'home iv th' skirt dance, hit him smartly, an' go to sleep. I will see th' snow-plow show an' th' dentisthry wurruk in th' pa-apers. F'r th' prisint I'll devote me attintion to makin' a noise in th' sthreets an' studyin' human nature.'”
“No, Hinnissy, there will be many things learned by Americans who go to Paris, but they won’t be about turning boots into food, or vice versa, as Hogan says. And that's right. If I went over there, I’d spend little time trying to figure out how the wonders of mechanical genius are produced that make living so much healthier and more uncomfortable. But when I get to Paris, I’d hire myself a red cab, stretch my legs out the sides, and say to the driver: 'Revolutionist, point your horse’s head towards the home of the skirt dance, give him a good kick, and go to sleep. I’ll catch the snow-plow show and the dentistry work in the papers. For now, I’ll focus on making noise in the streets and studying human nature.'”
“Ye'd be a lively ol' buck over there,” said Mr. Hennessy, admiringly. '“Tis a good thing ye can't go.”
“You’d be quite the lively guy over there,” said Mr. Hennessy, admiringly. “It’s a good thing you can’t go.”
“It is so,” said Mr. Dooley. “I'm glad I have no millyonaire rilitives to be depindent on me f'r support whin th' show's over.”
“It is so,” said Mr. Dooley. “I'm glad I have no millionaire relatives to be dependent on me for support when the show's over.”
CHRISTIAN JOURNALISM
“I see,” said Mr. Dooley, “that th' la-ad out in Kansas that thried to r-run a paper like what th' Lord wud r-run if he had lived in Topeka, has thrun up th' job.”
“I see,” said Mr. Dooley, “that the guy out in Kansas who tried to run a paper like the Lord would if He had lived in Topeka, has quit the job.”
“Sure, I niver heerd iv him,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Sure, I never heard of him,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Well, 'twus this way with him,” Mr. Dooley explained. “Ye see, he didn't like th' looks iv th' newspapers. He got tired iv r-readin' how many rows iv plaits Mrs. Potther Pammer had on th' las' dhress she bought, an' whether McGovern oughtn't to go into th' heavy-weight class an' fight Jeffries, an' he says, says th' la-ad, 'This is no right readin' f'r th' pure an' passionless youth iv Kansas,' he says. 'Give me,' he says, 'a chanst an' I'll projooce th' kind iv organ that'd be got out in hiven,' he says, 'price five cints a copy,' he says, 'f'r sale be all newsdealers; f'r advertisin' rates consult th' cashier,' he says. So a man in Topeka that had a newspaper, he says: 'I will not be behindhand,' he says, 'in histin' Kansas up fr'm its prisint low an' irrellijous position,' he says. 'I don't know how th' inhabitants iv th' place ye refer to is fixed,' he says, 'f'r newspapers,' he says, 'an' I niver heerd iv annybody fr'm Kansas home-stakin' there,' he says, 'but if ye'll attind to th' circulation iv thim parts,' he says, 'I'll see that th' paper is properly placed in th' hands iv th' vile an' wicked iv this earth, where,' he says, 'th' returns ar-re more quick,' he says.”
“Well, here’s how it was with him,” Mr. Dooley explained. “You see, he didn’t like the look of the newspapers. He got tired of reading about how many rows of pleats Mrs. Potther Pammer had on the last dress she bought, and whether McGovern should go into the heavyweight class and fight Jeffries, and he says, says the guy, ‘This isn’t appropriate reading for the pure and passionless youth of Kansas,’ he says. ‘Give me,’ he says, ‘a chance and I’ll produce the kind of publication that’d be found in heaven,’ he says, ‘priced five cents a copy,’ he says, ‘for sale by all news dealers; for advertising rates consult the cashier,’ he says. So a man in Topeka who had a newspaper says, ‘I won’t be behind in uplifting Kansas from its current low and irreligious position,’ he says. ‘I don’t know how the residents of the place you’re talking about are set up,’ he says, ‘for newspapers,’ he says, ‘and I’ve never heard of anyone from Kansas staking a claim there,’ he says, ‘but if you’ll handle the circulation in those parts,’ he says, ‘I’ll make sure that the paper is properly placed in the hands of the vile and wicked of this Earth, where,’ he says, ‘the returns are quicker,’ he says.”
“Well, th' la-ad wint at it, an' 'twas a fine paper he made. Hogan was in here th' other day with a copy iv it an' I r-read it. I haven't had such a lithry threat since I was a watchman on th' canal f'r a week with nawthin' to r-read but th' delinquent tax list an' the upper half iv a weather map. 'Twas gran'. Th' editor, it seems, Hinnissy, wint into th' editoryal rooms iv th' pa-aper an' he gathered th' force around him fr'm their reg'lar jobs in th' dhrug stores, an' says he, 'Gintlemen,' he says, 'tell me ye'er plans f'r to enoble this here Christyan publication f'r to-day!' he says. 'Well,' says th' horse rayporther, 'they's a couple iv rabbits goin' to sprint around th' thrack at th' fair groun's,' he says. I think 'twud be a good thing f'r rellijon if ye'd lind me tin that I might br-reak th' sin-thralled bookys that come down here fr'm Kansas City f'r to skin th' righteous,' he says. 'No,' says th' editor, he says, 'no horse racin' in this paper,' he says. ''Tis th' roonation iv th' young, an' ye can't beat it,' he says. 'An' you, fair-haired youth,' he says, 'what d'ye do that makes ye'er color so good an' ye'er eye so bright?' 'I,' says th' la-ad, 'am th' boy that writes th' fightin' dope,' he says. 'They'se a couple iv good wans on at th' op'ra house to-night, an' if his Spiklets don't tin-can 'tis like findin' money in an ol' coat that—' 'Fightin',' says th' editor, 'is a crool an' onchristyan spoort,' he says. 'Instead iv chroniclin' th' ruffyanism iv these misguided wretches that weigh in at th' ringside at 125 poun's, an' I see in a pa-aper I r-read in a barber shop th' other day that Spike's gone away back—what's that I'm sayin'? Niver mind. D'ye go down to th' home iv th' Rivrind Aloysius Augustus Morninbinch an'interview him on th' question iv man's co-operation with grace in conversion. Make a nice chatty article about it an' I'll give ye a copy iv wan iv me books.' 'I will,' says th' la-ad, 'if he don't swing on me,' he says. The editor thin addhressed th' staff. 'Gintlemen,' he says, 'I find that th' wurruk ye've been accustomed to doin',' he says, 'is calc'lated f'r to disthroy th' morality an' debase th' home life iv Topeka, not to mintion th' surroundin' methrolopuses iv Valencia, Wanamaker, Sugar Works, Paxico an' Snokomo,' he says. 'Th' newspaper, instead iv bein' a pow'rful agent f'r th' salvation iv mankind, has become something that they want to r-read,' he says. 'Ye can all go home,' he says. 'I'll stay here an' write th' paper mesilf,' he says. 'I'm th' best writer ar-round here, annyhow, an' I'll give thim something that'll prepare thim f'r death,' he says.
“Well, the guy went for it, and it was a great paper he made. Hogan was in here the other day with a copy of it and I read it. I haven’t had such engaging reading since I was a watchman on the canal for a week with nothing to read but the delinquent tax list and the upper half of a weather map. It was great. The editor, it seems, Hinnissy, went into the editorial rooms of the paper and gathered the staff around him from their regular jobs in the drug stores, and he says, ‘Gentlemen,’ he says, ‘tell me your plans to uplift this Christian publication for today!’ he says. ‘Well,’ says the horse reporter, ‘there’s a couple of rabbits going to run around the track at the fairgrounds,’ he says. I think it would be a good thing for religion if you’d lend me ten bucks so I could break the sin-bound bookies that come down here from Kansas City to cheat the good people,’ he says. ‘No,’ says the editor, ‘no horse racing in this paper,’ he says. ‘It’s about the coronation of the young, and you can’t beat that,’ he says. ‘And you, fair-haired youth,’ he says, ‘what do you do that makes your complexion so good and your eyes so bright?’ ‘I,’ says the guy, ‘am the one who writes the fight news,’ he says. ‘They’re a couple of good ones at the opera house tonight, and if his Spiklets don’t get canned, it’s like finding money in an old coat that—’ ‘Fighting,’ says the editor, ‘is a cruel and un-Christian sport,’ he says. ‘Instead of chronicling the ruffianism of these misguided individuals that weigh in at the ringside at 125 pounds, and I saw in a paper I read in a barber shop the other day that Spike’s gone away back—what am I saying? Never mind. You go down to the home of the Riverind Aloysius Augustus Morninbinch and interview him on the question of man’s cooperation with grace in conversion. Make a nice conversational article about it and I’ll give you a copy of one of my books.’ ‘I will,’ says the guy, ‘if he doesn’t swing at me,’ he says. The editor then addressed the staff. ‘Gentlemen,’ he says, ‘I find that the work you’ve been doing,’ he says, ‘is calculated to destroy the morality and debase the home life of Topeka, not to mention the surrounding metropolises of Valencia, Wanamaker, Sugar Works, Paxico, and Snokomo,’ he says. ‘The newspaper, instead of being a powerful agent for the salvation of mankind, has become something that they want to read,’ he says. ‘You can all go home,’ he says. ‘I’ll stay here and write the paper myself,’ he says. ‘I’m the best writer around here anyway, and I’ll give them something that’ll prepare them for death,’ he says.
“An' he did, Hinnissy, he did. 'Twas a gran' paper. They was an article on sewerage an' wan on prayin' f'r rain, an' another on muni-cipal ownership iv gas tanks, an' wan to show that they niver was a good milker ownded be a pro-fane man. They was pomes, too, manny iv thim, an' fine wans: 'Th' Man with th' Shovel,' 'Th' Man with th' Pick, 'Th' Man with th' Cash-Raygisther,' 'Th' Man with th' Snow Plow,' 'Th' Man with th' Bell Punch,' 'Th' Man with th' Skate,' 'Th' Man with No Kick Comin'.' Fine pothry, th' editor askin' who pushed this here man's forehead back an' planed down his chin, who made him wear clothes that didn't fit him and got him a job raisin' egg-plant f'r th' monno-polists in Topeka at a dollar a day. A man in th' editor's position ought to know, but he didn't, so he ast in th'pomes. An' th' advertisin', Hinnissy! I'd be scandalized f'r to go back readin' th' common advertisin' in th' vile daily press about men's pantings, an' DoesannyoneknowwhereIcangeta biscuit, an' In th' spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to Pocohontas plug, not made be th' thrusts. Th' editor left thim sacrilegious advertisements f'r his venal contimp'raries. His was pious an' nice: 'Do ye'er smokin' in this wurruld. Th' Christyan Unity Five-Cint See-gar is made out iv th' finest grades iv excelsior iver projooced in Kansas!' 'Nebuchednezzar grass seed, f'r man an' beast.' 'A handful iv meal in a barrel an' a little ile in a curse. Swedenborgian bran fried in kerosene makes th' best breakfast dish in th' wurruld.' 'Twus nice to r-read. It made a man feel as if he was in church—asleep.”
“Yeah, he did, Hinnissy, he really did. It was a great paper. There was an article on sewage, one on praying for rain, another on municipal ownership of gas tanks, and one showing that a good milker was never owned by a profane person. There were poems too, many of them, and they were fine: 'The Man with the Shovel,' 'The Man with the Pick,' 'The Man with the Cash Register,' 'The Man with the Snow Plow,' 'The Man with the Bell Punch,' 'The Man with the Skate,' 'The Man with No Kick Coming.' Great poetry, the editor was asking who pushed this man's forehead back and straightened his chin, who made him wear clothes that didn’t fit and got him a job growing eggplant for the monopolists in Topeka for a dollar a day. A man in the editor’s position should know, but he didn’t, so he asked in the poems. And the advertising, Hinnissy! I’d be appalled to go back to reading the typical ads in the terrible daily press about men’s pants, and DoesanyoneknowwhereIcangetabiscuit, and In the spring, a young man’s fancy lightly turns to Pocohontas plug, not made by the thrusts. The editor left those sacrilegious advertisements for his greedy contemporaries. His were pious and nice: 'Do your smoking in this world. The Christian Unity Five-Cent Cigar is made from the finest grades of excelsior ever produced in Kansas!' 'Nebuchadnezzar grass seed, for man and beast.' 'A handful of meal in a barrel and a little oil in a curse. Swedenborgian bran fried in kerosene makes the best breakfast dish in the world.' It was nice to read. It made a man feel like he was in church—asleep.”
“How did th'pa-aper sthrike th' people?” says ye. “Oh, it sthruck thim good. Says th' Topeka man, skinnin' over th' gossip about Christyan citizenship an' th' toolchest iv pothry: 'Eliza, here's a good paper, a fine wan, f'r ye an' th' childher. Sind Tommy down to th' corner an' get me a copy iv th' Polis Gazette.'”
“How did the paper affect the people?” you ask. “Oh, it hit them hard. The Topeka man, skimming over the gossip about Christian citizenship and the toolbox of poetry, says, 'Eliza, here’s a good newspaper, a nice one, for you and the kids. Send Tommy down to the corner and get me a copy of the Polish Gazette.'”
“Ye see, Hinnissy, th' editor wint to th' wrong shop f'r what Hogan calls his inspiration. Father Kelly was talkin' it over with me, an' says he: 'They ain't anny news in bein' good. Ye might write th' doin's iv all th' convents iv th' wurruld on th' back iv a postage stamp, an' have room to spare. Supposin' ye took out iv a newspaper all th' murdhers, an' suicides, an' divorces, an elopements, an' fires, an' disease, an' war, an' famine,' he says, 'ye wudden't have enough left to keep a man busy r-readin' while he rode ar-roun' th' block on th' lightnin' express. No,' he says, 'news is sin an' sin is news, an' I'm worth on'y a line beginnin': “Kelly, at the parish-house, April twinty-sicond, in th' fiftieth year iv his age,” an' pay f'r that, while Scanlan's bad boy is good f'r a column anny time he goes dhrunk an' thries to kill a polisman. A rellijious newspaper? None iv thim f'r me. I want to know what's goin' on among th' murdher an' burglary set. Did ye r-read it?' he says. 'I did,' says I. 'What did ye think iv it?' says he. 'I know,' says I, 'why more people don't go to church,' says I.”
“Listen, Hinnissy, the editor went to the wrong place for what Hogan calls his inspiration. Father Kelly was discussing it with me and he said, 'There’s not much news in being good. You could write about everything happening in all the convents in the world on the back of a postage stamp and still have space left over. Suppose you took out of a newspaper all the murders, suicides, divorces, elopements, fires, diseases, wars, and famines,' he says, 'you wouldn’t have enough left to keep a man busy reading while he rode around the block on the express train. No,' he says, 'news is sin and sin is news, and I’m only worth a line starting: “Kelly, at the parish house, April twenty-second, in the fiftieth year of his age,” and I'd have to pay for that, while Scanlan's bad boy is good for a column any time he gets drunk and tries to kill a policeman. A religious newspaper? None of those for me. I want to know what’s happening in the murder and burglary crowd. Did you read it?' he says. 'I did,' I said. 'What did you think of it?' he asked. 'I understand,' I replied, 'why more people don’t go to church,' I said.”
THE ADMIRAL'S CANDIDACY
“I see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “that Dewey is a candydate f'r prisidint.”
“I see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “that Dewey is a candidate for president.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I hope to hiven he won't get it. No rilitive iv mine iver held a pollytical job barrin' mesilf. I was precint captain, an' wan iv th' best they was in thim days, if I do say so that shudden't. I was called Cap f'r manny years aftherward, an' I'd've joined th' Gr-rand Army iv th' Raypublic if it hadn't been f'r me poor feet. Manny iv me rilitives has been candydates, but they niver cud win out again th' r-rest iv th' fam'ly. 'Tis so with Cousin George. I'm again him. I've been a rayspictable saloon-keeper f'r forty years in this ward, an' I'll not have th' name dhragged into pollytics.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I really hope he doesn’t get it. None of my relatives have ever held a political job except for me. I was a precinct captain, and one of the best they had back then, if I do say so myself. People called me Cap for many years afterward, and I would’ve joined the Grand Army of the Republic if it hadn’t been for my bad feet. Many of my relatives have been candidates, but they could never win against the rest of the family. It’s the same with Cousin George. I’m against him. I’ve been a respectable bar owner for forty years in this ward, and I won’t have the name dragged into politics.”
“Iv coorse, I don't blame Cousin George. I'm with him f'r annything else in th' gift iv th' people, fr'm a lovin'-cup to a house an' lot. He don't mean annything be it. Did ye iver see a sailor thryin' to ride a horse? 'Tis a comical sight. Th' reason a sailor thries to ride a horse is because he niver r-rode wan befure. If he knew annything about it he wouldn't do it. So be Cousin George. Afther he'd been over here awhile an' got so 'twas safe f'r him to go out without bein' torn to pieces f'r soovenirs or lynched be a mob, he took a look ar-round him an' says he to a polisman: 'What's th' governmint iv this counthry?' 'Tis a raypublic,' says th' polisman. 'What's th' main guy called?' says George. 'He's called prisidint,' says th' polisman. 'Is it a good job?' says Cousin George. ''Tis betther thin thravelin' beat,' says th' bull. 'What's th' la-ad's name that's holdin' it now?' says Cousin George. 'Mack,' says th' cop. 'Irish?' says George. 'Cross,' says th' elbow. 'Where fr'm?' says George. 'Ohio,' says the peeler. 'Where's that?' says George. 'I dinnaw,' says th' bull. An' they parted th' best iv frinds.”
“I of course don't blame Cousin George. I'm with him on anything else in the people's gift, from a trophy to a house and lot. He doesn't mean anything by it. Did you ever see a sailor trying to ride a horse? It's a funny sight. The reason a sailor tries to ride a horse is that he’s never done it before. If he knew anything about it, he wouldn't do it. So with Cousin George. After he'd been over here a while and it became safe for him to go out without being torn to pieces for souvenirs or lynched by a mob, he took a look around him and said to a policeman: 'What's the government of this country?' 'It's a republic,' says the policeman. 'What's the main guy called?' says George. 'He's called president,' says the policeman. 'Is it a good job?' says Cousin George. 'It's better than traveling beat,' says the cop. 'What's the lad's name that's holding it now?' says Cousin George. 'Mack,' says the cop. 'Irish?' says George. 'Cross,' says the cop. 'Where's he from?' says George. 'Ohio,' says the cop. 'Where's that?' says George. 'I don't know,' says the cop. And they parted the best of friends.”
“'Well,'” says George to himsilf, “'I guess I'll have to go up an' have a look at this la-ad's place,' he says, 'an' if it looks good,' he says, 'p'raps I cud nail it,' he says. An' he goes up an' sees Mack dictatin' his Porther Rickyan policy to a kinetoscope, an' it looks like a nice employmint f'r a spry man, an' he goes back home an' sinds f'r a rayporther, an' says he: 'I always believe since I got home in dealin' frankly with th' press. I haven't seen manny papers since I've been at sea, but whin I was a boy me father used to take the Montpelier Paleejum. 'Twas r-run be a man be th' name iv Horse Clamback. He was quite a man whin sober. Ye've heerd iv him, no doubt. But what I ast ye up here f'r was to give ye a item that ye can write up in ye'er own way an' hand to th' r-rest iv th' boys. I'm goin' to be prisidint. I like th' looks iv the job an' nobody seems to care f'r it, an' I've got so blame tired since I left th' ship that if I don't have somethin' to do I'll go crazy,' he says. 'I wisht ye'd make a note iv it an' give it to th' other papers,' he says. 'Ar-re ye a raypublican or a dimmycrat?' says the rayporter. 'What's that?' says Cousin George. 'D'ye belong to th' raypublican or th' dimmycrat party?' 'What ar-re they like?' says Cousin George. 'Th' raypublicans ar-re in favor iv expansion.' 'Thin I'm a raypublican.' 'Th' dim-mycrats ar-re in favor iv free thrade.' 'Thin I'm a dimmycrat.' 'Th' raypublicans ar-re f'r upholdin' th' goold standard.' 'So'm I. I'm a raypublican there.' 'An' they're opposed to an income tax.' 'On that,' says Cousin George, 'I'm a dimmycrat. I tell ye, put me down as a dimmycrat. Divvle th' bit I care. Just say I'm a dimmycrat with sthrong raypublican leanings. Put it this way: I'm a dimmycrat, be a point raypublican, dimmycrat. Anny sailor man'll undherstand that.' 'What'll I say ye'er platform is?' 'Platform?' 'Ye have to stand on a platform.' 'I do, do I? Well, I don't. I'll stand on no platform, an' I'll hang on no sthrap. What d'ye think th'prisidincy is—a throlley car? No, sir, whin ye peek in th' dure to sell ye'er paper ye'll see ye'er Uncle George settin' down comfortable with his legs crossed, thrippin' up annywan that thries to pass him. Go out now an' write ye'er little item, f'r 'tis late an' all hands ar-re piped to bed,' he says.”
“'Well,'” says George to himself, “'I guess I'll have to go check out this guy's place,' he says, 'and if it looks good,' he says, 'maybe I could get it,' he says. Then he goes up and sees Mack dictating his policy to a film camera, and it looks like a nice job for a lively guy, so he goes back home and sends for a reporter, and says to him: 'I always believe in being honest with the press since I've been home. I haven't seen many papers since I was at sea, but when I was a boy my father used to bring home the Montpelier Palladium. It was run by a man named Horse Clamback. He was quite a guy when sober. You've heard of him, no doubt. But what I called you up here for was to give you something you can write up in your own way and share with the rest of the guys. I'm going to be president. I like the looks of the job and nobody seems to want it, and I've gotten so darn tired since I left the ship that if I don't have something to do, I'll go crazy,' he says. 'I wish you'd make a note of it and give it to the other papers,' he says. 'Are you a Republican or a Democrat?' asks the reporter. 'What's that?' says Cousin George. 'Do you belong to the Republican or the Democratic party?' 'What are they like?' says Cousin George. 'The Republicans are in favor of expansion.' 'Then I'm a Republican.' 'The Democrats are in favor of free trade.' 'Then I'm a Democrat.' 'The Republicans are for maintaining the gold standard.' 'So am I. I'm a Republican on that.' 'And they're against an income tax.' 'On that,' says Cousin George, 'I'm a Democrat. I tell you, put me down as a Democrat. I don't care at all. Just say I'm a Democrat with strong Republican leanings. Put it this way: I'm a Democrat, but a point Republican, Democrat. Any sailor will understand that.' 'What should I say your platform is?' 'Platform?' 'You have to stand on a platform.' 'I do, do I? Well, I don't. I won't stand on any platform, and I won't hang on any strap. What do you think the presidency is—a streetcar? No, sir, when you peek in the door to sell your paper you'll see your Uncle George sitting down comfortably with his legs crossed, tripping anyone who tries to pass him. Now go out and write your little piece, for it's late and all hands are called to bed,' he says.”
“An' there ye ar-re. Well, sir, 'tis a hard year Cousin George has in store f'r him. Th' first thing he knows he'll have to pay f'r havin' his pitchers in th' pa-aper. Thin he'll larn iv siv'ral prevyous convictions in Vermont. Thin he'll discover that they was no union label on th' goods he delivered at Manila. 'Twill be pointed out be careful observers that he was ilicted prisidint iv th' A. P. A. be th' Jesuits. Thin somewan'll dig up that story about his not feelin' anny too well th' mornin' iv th' fight, an' ye can imajine th' pitchers they'll print, an' th' jokes that'll be made, an' th' songs: 'Dewey Lost His Appetite at th' Battle iv Manila. Did McKinley Iver Lose His?' An' George'll wake up th' mornin' afther iliction an' he'll have a sore head an' a sorer heart, an' he'll find that th' on'y support he got was fr'm th' goold dimmycratic party, an' th' chances ar-re he caught cold fr'm goin' out without his shawl an' cudden't vote. He'll find that a man can be r-right an' be prisidint, but he can't be both at th' same time. An' he'll go down to breakfast an' issue Gin'ral Ordher Number Wan, 'To All Superyor Officers Commandin' Admirals iv th' United States navy at home or on foreign service: If anny man mintions an admiral f'r prisidint, hit him in th' eye an' charge same to me.' An' thin he'll go to his office an' prepare a plan f'r to capture Dublin, th' capital iv England, whin th' nex' war begins. An' he'll spind th' r-rest iv his life thryin' to live down th' time he was a candydate.”
"Well, here we are. It's going to be a tough year for Cousin George. The first thing he’ll know is that he’ll have to pay for having his pictures in the paper. Then he’ll learn about several prior convictions in Vermont. After that, he’ll find out there was no union label on the goods he delivered in Manila. Observant people will point out that he was voted president of the A.P.A. by the Jesuits. Then someone will dig up that story about him not feeling too well the morning of the fight, and you can imagine the pictures they'll print, the jokes they'll make, and the songs: 'Dewey Lost His Appetite at the Battle of Manila. Did McKinley Ever Lose His?' George will wake up the morning after the election with a bad headache and a broken heart, and he’ll realize the only support he got came from the golden Democratic Party, and there’s a good chance he caught a cold from going out without his shawl and couldn't vote. He'll find that a man can be right and be president, but he can't be both at the same time. Then he'll head down to breakfast and issue General Order Number One, 'To All Superior Officers Commanding Admirals of the United States Navy at home or on foreign service: If anyone mentions an admiral for president, hit him in the eye and charge it to me.' Then he'll go to his office and prepare a plan to capture Dublin, the capital of England, when the next war starts. And he'll spend the rest of his life trying to live down the time he was a candidate."
“Well, be hivins, I think if Dewey says he's a dimmycrat an' Joyce is with him, I'll give him a vote,” said Mr. Hennessy. “It's no sin to be a candydate f'r prisidint.”
“Well, by heavens, I think if Dewey says he's a Democrat and Joyce is backing him, I'll cast my vote for him,” said Mr. Hennessy. “It's not a sin to run for president.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Tis sometimes a misfortune an' sometimes a joke. But I hope ye won't vote f'r him. He might be ilicted if ye did. I'd like to raymimber him, an' it might be I cudden't if he got th' job. Who was the prisidint befure Mack? Oh, tubby sure!”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Sometimes it’s a misfortune and sometimes it’s a joke. But I hope you don’t vote for him. He might get elected if you do. I’d like to remember him, and I might not be able to if he gets the job. Who was the president before Mack? Oh, sure!”
CUSTOMS OF KENTUCKY
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “'tis good to see that th' gloryous ol' commonwealth iv Kentucky is itsilf again.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “it's good to see that the glorious old commonwealth of Kentucky is itself again.”
“How's that?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
"How's that?" Mr. Hennessy asked.
“F'r some time past,” said Mr. Dooley, “they's been nawthin' doin' that'd make a meetin' iv th' Epworth League inthrestin'. Th' bystanders in Kentucky has been as safe as a journeyman highwayman in Chicago. Perfectly innocent an' unarmed men wint into th' state an' come out again without a bullethole in their backs. It looked f'r awhile as if th' life iv th' ordn'ry visitor was goin' to be as harmless in Kentucky as in Utah, th' home iv th' desthroyers iv American domestic life. I dinnaw why it was, whether it was th' influence iv our new citizens in Cubia an' th' Ph'lippeens or what it was, but annyhow th' on'y news that come out iv Kentucky was as peaceful, Hinnissy, as th' rayports iv a bloody battle in South Africa. But Kentucky, as Hogan says, was not dead but on'y sleepin'. Th' other day that gran' ol' state woke up through two iv its foremost rapid firin' citizens.”
“For some time now,” said Mr. Dooley, “there hasn't been anything happening that would make a meeting of the Epworth League interesting. The bystanders in Kentucky have been as safe as a skilled robber in Chicago. Totally innocent and unarmed men went into the state and came out again without a bullet hole in their backs. For a while, it seemed like the life of an ordinary visitor was going to be as harmless in Kentucky as in Utah, the home of the destroyers of American domestic life. I don't know why that was, whether it was the influence of our new citizens in Cuba and the Philippines or something else, but anyway, the only news coming out of Kentucky was as peaceful, Hinnissy, as reports of a bloody battle in South Africa. But Kentucky, as Hogan says, was not dead but only sleeping. The other day that grand old state woke up thanks to two of its leading rapid-firing citizens.”
“They met be chanst in a hotel con-tagious to a bar. Colonel Derringer was settin' in a chair peacefully fixin' th' hammer iv his forty-four Colt gun, presinted to him be his constitooents on th' occasion iv his mim'rable speech on th' nicissity iv spreadin' th' civilization iv th' United States to th' ends iv th' wur-ruld. Surroundin' him was Major Bullseye, a well-known lawyer, cattle-raiser an' journalist iv Athens, Bulger County, whose desthruction iv Captain Cassius Glaucus Wiggins at th' meetin' iv' th' thrustees in th' Sicond Baptist Church excited so much comment among spoortin' men three or four years ago, Gin'ral Rangefinder iv Thebes, Colonel Chivvy iv Sparta, who whittled Major Lycurgus Gam iv Thermopylae down to th' wishbone at th' anti-polygamist meetin' las' June, an' other well-known gintlemen.”
“They met by chance in a hotel next to a bar. Colonel Derringer was sitting in a chair peacefully fixing the hammer of his .44 Colt gun, which had been presented to him by his constituents on the occasion of his memorable speech about the necessity of spreading the civilization of the United States to the ends of the world. Surrounding him was Major Bullseye, a well-known lawyer, cattle rancher, and journalist from Athens, Bulger County, whose destruction of Captain Cassius Glaucus Wiggins at the meeting of the trustees in the Second Baptist Church had stirred up so much talk among sportsmen three or four years ago, General Rangefinder of Thebes, Colonel Chivvy of Sparta, who whittled Major Lycurgus Gam of Thermopylae down to the wishbone at the anti-polygamist meeting last June, and other well-known gentlemen.”
“Th' party was suddenly confronted be Major Lyddite iv Carthage an' a party iv frinds who were in town for th' purpose iv protectin' th' suffrage again' anny pollution but their own. Colonel Derringer an' Major Lyddite had been inimies f'r sivral months, iver since Major Lyddite in an attimpt to desthroy wan iv his fellow-citizens killed a cow belongin' to th' janial Colonel. Th' two gintlemen had sworn f'r to slay each other at sight or thirty days, an' all Kentucky society has been on what Hogan calls th' quee veev or look-out f'r another thrajeedy to be added to th' long list iv sim'lar ivints that marks th' histhry iv th' Dark an' Bloody Groun'—which is a name given to Kentucky be her affectionate sons.”
“The party was suddenly confronted by Major Lyddite from Carthage and a group of friends who were in town to protect the suffrage against any pollution except for their own. Colonel Derringer and Major Lyddite had been enemies for several months, ever since Major Lyddite, in an attempt to destroy one of his fellow citizens, killed a cow belonging to the cantankerous Colonel. The two gentlemen had sworn to kill each other on sight or within thirty days, and all of Kentucky society has been on what Hogan calls the quee veev or lookout for another tragedy to be added to the long list of similar events that marks the history of the Dark and Bloody Ground—which is a name given to Kentucky by her affectionate sons.”
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“Without a wur-rud or a bow both gintlemen dhrew on each other an' begun a deadly fusillade. That is, Hinnissy, they begun shootin' at th' bystanders. I'll tell ye what th' pa-apers said about it. Th' two antagonists was in perfect form an' well sustained th' reputation iv th' state f'r acc'rate workmanship. Colonel Derringer's first shot caught a boot an' shoe drummer fr'm Chicago square in th' back amid consid'rable applause. Major Lyddite tied th' scoor be nailin' a scrubwoman on th' top iv a ladder. Th' man at th' traps sprung a bell boy whom th' Colonel on'y winged, thus goin' back wan, but his second barrel brought down a book-canvasser fr'm New York, an' this bein' a Jew man sint him ahead three. Th' Major had an aisy wan f'r th' head waiter, nailin' him just as he jumped into a coal hole. Four all. Th' Colonel thried a difficult polisman, lamin' him. Thin th' Major turned his attintion to his own frinds, an' made three twos in succession. Th' Colonel was not so forch'nate. He caught Major Bullseye an' Captain Wiggins, but Gin'ral Rangefinder was safe behind a barber's pole an' Colonel Chivvy fluttered out iv range. Thus th' scoor was tin to six at th' conclusion iv th' day's spoort in favor iv Major Lyddite. Unforchnately th' gallant Major was onable f'r to reap th' reward iv his excellent marksmanship, f'r in a vain indeavor f'r a large scoor, he chased th' barber iv th' sicond chair into th' street, an' there slippin' on a banana peel, fell an' sustained injuries fr'm which he subsequently died. In him th' counthry loses a valu'ble an' acc'rate citizen, th' state a lile an' rapid firin' son, an' society a leadin' figure, his meat-market an' grocery bein' wan iv th' largest outside iv Minerva. Some idee iv th' acc'racy iv th' fire can be gained fr'm th' detailed scoor, as follows: Lyddite, three hearts, wan lung, wan kidney, five brains. Derringer, four hearts, two brains. This has seldom been excelled. Among th' minor casualties resultin' fr'm this painful but delightful soiree was th' followin': Erastus Haitch Muggins, kilt be jumpin' fr'm th' roof; Blank Cassidy, hide an' pelt salesman fr'm Chicago, burrid undher victims; Captain Epaminondas Lucius Quintus Cassius Marcellus Xerxes Cyrus Bangs of Hoganpolis, Hamilcar Township, Butseen County, died iv hear-rt disease whin his scoor was tied. Th' las' named was a prominent leader in society, a crack shot an' a gintleman iv th' ol' school without fear an' without reproach. His son succeeds to his lunch car. Th' others don't count.”
“Without a word or a bow, both gentlemen drew on each other and started a deadly shootout. That is, Hinnissy, they started shooting at the bystanders. I'll tell you what the papers said about it. The two opponents were in perfect form and upheld the reputation of the state for accurate shooting. Colonel Derringer's first shot hit a boot and shoe salesman from Chicago square in the back amid considerable applause. Major Lyddite tied the score by hitting a cleaning lady at the top of a ladder. The guy at the traps got a bellboy whom the Colonel only winged, thus going back one, but his second shot brought down a book salesman from New York, and since he was a Jewish man, that counted as three. The Major had an easy one for the head waiter, hitting him just as he jumped into a coal hole. Four all. The Colonel tried a difficult policeman, taking him down. Then the Major turned his attention to his own friends, making three twos in a row. The Colonel wasn't so fortunate. He hit Major Bullseye and Captain Wiggins, but General Rangefinder was safe behind a barber's pole, and Colonel Chivvy slipped out of range. Thus the score was ten to six at the end of the day’s sport in favor of Major Lyddite. Unfortunately, the gallant Major couldn't enjoy the reward of his excellent marksmanship because, in a futile attempt for a big score, he chased the barber from the second chair into the street, and there slipping on a banana peel, fell and sustained injuries from which he later died. The country lost a valuable and accurate citizen, the state a brave and quick-firing son, and society a leading figure, his meat market and grocery being one of the largest outside of Minerva. An idea of the accuracy of the shots can be gained from the detailed score, as follows: Lyddite, three hearts, one lung, one kidney, five brains. Derringer, four hearts, two brains. This has seldom been matched. Among the minor casualties resulting from this painful but delightful gathering were the following: Erastus Haitch Muggins, killed jumping from the roof; Blank Cassidy, hide and pelt salesman from Chicago, buried under victims; Captain Epaminondas Lucius Quintus Cassius Marcellus Xerxes Cyrus Bangs of Hoganpolis, Hamilcar Township, Butseen County, died of heart disease when his score was tied. The last named was a prominent leader in society, an excellent marksman, and a gentleman of the old school without fear and without reproach. His son takes over his lunch cart. The others don’t really count.”
“'Twas a gr-reat day f'r Kentucky, Hinnissy, an' it puts th' gran' ol' state two or three notches ahead iv anny sim'lar community in th' wur-ruld. Talk about th' Boer war an' th' campaign in th' Ph'lippeens! Whin Kentucky begins f'r to shoot up her fav'rite sons they'll be more blood spilled thin thim two play wars'd spill between now an' th' time whin Ladysmith's relieved f'r th' las' time an' Agynaldoo is r-run up a three in th' outermost corner iv Hoar County, state iv Luzon. They'se rale shootin' in Kentucky, an' whin it begins ivrybody takes a hand. 'Tis th' on'y safe way. If ye thry to be an onlooker an' what they calls a non-combatant 'tis pretty sure ye'll be taken home to ye'er fam'ly lookin' like a cribbage-boord. So th' thing f'r ye to do is to be wan iv th' shooters ye'ersilf, load up ye'er gun an' whale away f'r th' honor iv ye'er counthry.”
“It was a great day for Kentucky, Hinnissy, and it puts the grand old state two or three notches ahead of any similar community in the world. Talk about the Boer War and the campaign in the Philippines! When Kentucky starts to rally its favorite sons, there will be more blood spilled than those two minor conflicts could cause between now and the time when Ladysmith is relieved for the last time and Aguinaldo is run up a tree in the farthest corner of Hoar County, Luzon. There's real shooting in Kentucky, and when it begins, everyone gets involved. It’s the only safe way. If you try to be a spectator and what they call a non-combatant, it’s pretty much guaranteed you'll go home to your family looking like a wreck. So the thing for you to do is to be one of the shooters yourself, load up your gun, and go for it for the honor of your country.”
“'Tis a disgrace,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Where were th' polis?”
“It's a disgrace,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Where were the police?”
“This was not th' place f'r a polisman,” said Mr. Dooley. “I suspict though, fr'm me knowledge iv th' kind iv man that uses firear-rms that if some wan'd had th' prisence iv mind to sing out 'They'se a man at th' bar that offers to buy dhrinks f'r th' crowd,' they'd be less casu'lties fr'm bullets, though they might be enough people kilt in th' r-rush to even it up. But whin I read about these social affairs in Kentucky, I sometimes wish some spool cotton salesman fr'm Matsachoosets, who'd be sure to get kilt whin th' shootin' begun, wud go down there with a baseball bat an' begin tappin' th' gallant gintlemen on th' head befure breakfast an' in silf definse. I'll bet ye he'd have thim jumpin' through thransoms in less thin two minyits, f'r ye can put this down as thrue fr'm wan that's seen manny a shootin', that a man, barrin' he's a polisman, on'y dhraws a gun whin he's dhrunk or afraid. Th' gun fighter, Hinnissy, tin to wan is a cow'rd.”
“This wasn't the place for a cop,” said Mr. Dooley. “I suspect, from my knowledge of the kind of person who carries firearms, that if someone had the presence of mind to shout, 'There's a guy at the bar who’s buying drinks for everyone,' there’d be fewer casualties from bullets, though there might be enough people killed in the rush to balance it out. But when I read about these social events in Kentucky, I sometimes wish some cotton salesman from Massachusetts, who would definitely get killed when the shooting started, would go down there with a baseball bat and start tapping the brave gentlemen on the head before breakfast and in self-defense. I bet he'd have them jumping through windows in less than two minutes, because you can take this from someone who’s seen many shootouts: a guy, unless he’s a cop, only pulls a gun when he’s drunk or scared. The gunfighter, Hinnissy, ten to one is a coward.”
“That's so,” said Mr. Hennessy. “But it don't do to take anny chances on.”
“That's true,” said Mr. Hennessy. “But it's not wise to take any chances on that.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley, “he might be dhrunk.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley, “he might be drunk.”
A SOCIETY SCANDAL
“Well, sir, I guess I'm not up on etiket,” said Mr. Dooley.
“Well, sir, I guess I’m not up on etiquette,” said Mr. Dooley.
“How's that?” demanded Mr. Hennessy.
“How's that?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“I've been readin' about Willum Waldorf Asthor,” replied Mr. Dooley, “an' th' throuble he had with a la-ad that bummed his way into his party. Ye see, Hinnissy, Willum Waldorf Asthor give a party at his large an' commodjious house in London. That's where he lives—in London—though he r-runs a hotel in New York, where ye can see half th' state iv Ioway near anny night, they tell me. Well, he give this party on a gran' scale, an' bought gr-reat slathers iv food an' dhrink, an' invited th' neighbors an' the neighbors' childher. But wan man he wudden't have. He's goin' over th' list iv th' people that's to come, an' he says to his sicrety: 'Scratch that boy. Him an' me bump as we pass by.' He didn't want this fellow, ye see, Hinnissy. I don't know why. They was dissatisfaction between thim; annyhow, he says: 'Scratch him,' an' he was out iv it.”
“I’ve been reading about William Waldorf Astor,” Mr. Dooley replied, “and the trouble he had with a kid who crashed his party. You see, Hinnissy, William Waldorf Astor hosted a big party at his large and spacious house in London. That's where he lives—in London—although he runs a hotel in New York, where you can see half the state of Iowa any night, they tell me. So, he threw this party on a grand scale, bought tons of food and drinks, and invited the neighbors and their children. But there was one guy he didn’t want there. He’s going over the guest list, and he tells his secretary: 'Scratch that guy. He and I clash whenever we cross paths.' He didn’t want this guy, you see, Hinnissy. I don’t know why. There was some bad blood between them; anyway, he said, 'Scratch him,' and that was that.”
“Well, wan night, th' fellow was settin' down f'r a bite to eat with Lady O——, an' Lady S——, an' Lady G——, an' Lady Y——, an' other ladies that had lost their names, an' says wan iv thim, 'Cap,' she says, 'ar-re ye goin' to Asthor's doin's tonight?' she says. 'Not that I know iv,' says th' Cap. 'He hasn't sint me anny wurrud that I'm wanted,' he says. 'What differ does it make,' says th' lady. 'Write an invitation f'r ye'rsilf on ye'er cuff an' come along with us,' says she. 'I'll do it,' says the Cap, an' he sint f'r an automobile an' goes along.
“Well, one night, the guy was sitting down for a bite to eat with Lady O——, and Lady S——, and Lady G——, and Lady Y——, and other ladies whose names had slipped away, and one of them says, 'Cap, are you going to Asthor's event tonight?' she asks. 'Not that I know of,' says the Cap. 'He hasn't sent me any word that I'm invited,' he says. 'What difference does it make?' says the lady. 'Just write an invitation for yourself on your cuff and come along with us,' she says. 'I'll do it,' says the Cap, and he sends for a car and goes along.
“Well, ivrything was all r-right f'r awhile, an' th' Cap was assaultin' a knuckle iv ham an' a shell iv beer, whin Willum Waldorf Asthor comes up an' taps him on th' shoulder an' says: 'Duck.' 'What name?' says th' Cap. 'Asthor,' says Willum. 'Oh,' says th' Cap, 'ye're th' American gazabo that owns this hut,' he says. 'I am,' says Willum. 'I can't go,' says th' Cap. 'Ye didn't ask me here an' ye can't sind me away,' he says. 'Gossoon, another shell iv malt, an' dhraw it more slow,' he says. 'I am an English gintleman an' I know me rights,' he says. 'Dure or window,' says Willum. 'Take ye'er choice,' he says. 'If ye insist,' says th' Cap, 'I'll take th' dure,' he says, 'but ye don't know th' customs iv civilization,' he says; an' th' hired man just grazed him on th' dure sthep.
“Well, everything was all right for a while, and the Captain was assaulting a knuckle of ham and a glass of beer when William Waldorf Astor comes up and taps him on the shoulder and says: 'Duck.' 'What name?' says the Captain. 'Astor,' says William. 'Oh,' says the Captain, 'you’re the American guy that owns this place,' he says. 'I am,' says William. 'I can't leave,' says the Captain. 'You didn’t invite me here and you can’t send me away,' he says. 'Boy, another glass of malt, and pour it slower,' he says. 'I am an English gentleman and I know my rights,' he says. 'Door or window,' says William. 'Take your pick,' he says. 'If you insist,' says the Captain, 'I’ll take the door,' he says, 'but you don’t know the customs of civilization,' he says; and the hired man just brushed past him at the door step.”
“Well, Willum Waldorf Asthor was that mad, he wint down to his pa-aper office, an' says he, 'I want to put in an item,' he says, an' he put it in. 'It is wished,' he says, 'to be apprihinded,' he says, 'be those desirous not to have been misinformed,' he says, 'concarnin' th' recent appearance iv Cap Sir Mills at me party,' he says, 'that 'twas not be me that said Cap Sir Mills come to be on th' site,' he says, 'but rather,' he says, 'through a desire on th' part iv Cap Sir Mills to butt into a party to which his invitation was lost about three hours befure 'twas written,' he says.”
"Well, Willum Waldorf Asthor was so upset that he went down to his office and said, 'I want to put in a notice,' and he put it in. 'It is requested,' he said, 'to be understood,' he said, 'by those who do not wish to be misinformed,' he said, 'regarding the recent appearance of Cap Sir Mills at my party,' he said, 'that it was not me who said Cap Sir Mills was supposed to be there,' he said, 'but rather,' he said, 'due to Cap Sir Mills' desire to crash a party for which his invitation was lost about three hours before it was written,' he said."
“Well, now, ye'd think that was all right, wudden't ye? Ye'd say Asthor acted mild whin he didn't take down his goold ice pick from th' wall an' bate th' Cap over th' head. Th' Cap, though a ganial soul, had no business there. 'Twas Willum Waldorf Asthor that paid f'r the ice cream an' rented th' chiny. But that's where ye'd be wrong, an' that's where I was wrong. Whin th' Prince iv Wales heerd iv it he was furyous. 'What,' he says, 'is an English gintleman goin' to be pegged out iv dures be a mere American be descent?' he says. 'A man,' he says, 'that hasn't an entail to his name,' he says. 'An American's home in London is an Englishman's castle,' he says. 'As th' late Earl iv Pitt said, th' furniture may go out iv it, th' constable may enther, th' mortgage may fall on th' rooned roof, but a thrue Englishman'll niver leave,' he says, 'while they'se food an' dhrink,' he says. 'Willum Waldorf Asthor has busted th' laws iv hospitality, an' made a monkey iv a lile subjick iv th' queen,' he says. 'Hinceforth,' he says, 'he's ast to no picnics iv th' Buckingham Palace Chowder Club,' he says. An' th' nex' day Willum Waldorf Asthor met him at th' races where he was puttin' down a bit iv money an' spoke to him, an' th' Prince iv Wales gave him wan in th' eye. He must've had something in his hand, f'r the pa-aper said he cut him. P'raps 'twas his scipter. An' now no wan'll speak to Willum Waldorf Asthor, an' he's not goin' to be a jook at all, an' he may have to come back here an' be nachurlized over again like a Bohamian. He's all broke up about it. He's gone to Germany to take a bath.”
“Well, you’d think that was fine, wouldn’t you? You’d say Asthor acted calm when he didn’t grab his gold ice pick from the wall and hit the Captain over the head. The Captain, though a friendly guy, shouldn’t have been there. It was William Waldorf Asthor who paid for the ice cream and rented the china. But that’s where you’d be wrong, and that’s where I was wrong. When the Prince of Wales heard about it, he was furious. ‘What,’ he says, ‘is an English gentleman going to be treated like a mere American by descent?’ he says. ‘A man,’ he says, ‘who doesn’t have an estate to his name,’ he says. ‘An American’s home in London is an Englishman’s castle,’ he says. ‘As the late Earl of Pitt said, the furniture may leave it, the constable may enter, the mortgage may fall on the ruined roof, but a true Englishman will never leave,’ he says, ‘while there’s food and drink,’ he says. ‘William Waldorf Asthor has broken the laws of hospitality and made a fool of a little subject of the queen,’ he says. ‘From now on,’ he says, ‘he’s not invited to any picnics of the Buckingham Palace Chowder Club,’ he says. And the next day, William Waldorf Asthor met him at the races where he was betting a bit of money and spoke to him, and the Prince of Wales gave him a black eye. He must have had something in his hand, because the paper said he cut him. Perhaps it was his scepter. And now no one will speak to William Waldorf Asthor, and he’s not going to be a duke at all, and he may have to come back here and be naturalized all over again like a Bohemian. He’s really upset about it. He’s gone to Germany to take a bath.”
“Lord, help us,” said Mr. Hennessy, “can't he get wan nearer home?”
“Lord, help us,” said Mr. Hennessy, “can’t he get one closer to home?”
“It seems not,” said Mr. Dooley. “Mebbe the Prince iv Wales has had th' wather cut off. He has a big pull with th' people in th' city hall.”
“It doesn't seem so,” said Mr. Dooley. “Maybe the Prince of Wales has had the water shut off. He has a lot of influence with the people in city hall.”
DOINGS OF ANARCHISTS
“Why should anny man want to kill a king?” said Mr. Dooley. “That's what I'd like to know. Little gredge have I again' anny monarch in th' deck. Live an' let live's me motto. Th' more ye have in this wurruld th' less ye have. Make in wan place, lose in another's th' rule, me boy. Little joy, little sorrow. Takin' it all an' all I'd rather be where I am thin on a throne, an' be th' look iv things I'll have me wish. 'Tis no aisy job bein' a king barrin' th' fact that ye don't have to marry th' woman iv ye'er choice but th' woman iv somebody else's. 'Tis like takin' a conthract an' havin' th' union furnish th' foreman an' th' mateeryal. Thin if th' wurruk ain't good a wild-eyed man fr'm Paterson, Noo Jarsey, laves his monkey an' his hand organ an' takes a shot at ye. Thank th' Lord I'm not so big that anny man can get comfort fr'm pumpin' a Winchester at me fr'm th' top iv a house.”
“Why would anyone want to kill a king?” said Mr. Dooley. “That's what I want to know. I have no grudge against any monarch out there. Live and let live is my motto. The more you have in this world, the less you have. Gain in one place, lose in another—that's the rule, my boy. Little joy, little sorrow. Taking it all into account, I'd rather be where I am than on a throne, and if I’m wishing for things, I'd rather that. It’s not an easy job being a king except for the fact that you don’t get to marry the woman of your choice, but rather someone else's. It’s like signing a contract and having the union provide the foreman and the materials. Then if the work isn't good, a wild-eyed guy from Paterson, New Jersey, leaves his monkey and his hand organ and takes a shot at you. Thank the Lord I'm not so important that anyone can find comfort in aiming a rifle at me from the top of a house.”
“But if I was king ne'er an organ grinder'd get near enough me to take me life with a Hotchkiss gun. I'd be so far away fr'm the multitood, Hinnissy, that they cud on'y distinguish me rile features with a spy-glass. I'd have polismen at ivry tur-rn, an' I'd have me subjicks retire to th' cellar whin I took me walk. Divvle a bit wud you catch me splattherin' mesilf with morthar an' stickin' newspapers in a hole in a corner shtone to show future gin'rations th' progress iv crime in this cinchry. They'd lay their own corner-shtone f'r all iv me. I'd communicate with th' pop'lace be means iv ginral ordhers, an' I'd make it a thing worth tellin' about to see th' face iv th' gr-reat an' good King Dooley.”
“But if I were king, no organ grinder would get close enough to take my life with a Hotchkiss gun. I’d be so far away from the crowd, Hinnissy, that they could only make out my real features with a spyglass. I’d have police at every turn, and I’d make my subjects retreat to the cellar when I went for a walk. There’s no way you’d catch me splattering myself with mortar and sticking newspapers in a hole in a corner stone to show future generations the progress of crime in this country. They’d lay their own corner stone for all of me. I’d communicate with the populace through general orders, and it would be something worth talking about to see the face of the great and good King Dooley.”
“Kings is makin' thimsilves too common. Nowadays an arnychist dhrops into a lunch-room at th' railroad depot an' sees a man settin' on a stool atin' a quarther section iv a gooseb'ry pie an' dhrinkin' a glass iv buttermilk. 'D'ye know who that is?' says th' lunch-counter lady. 'I do not,' says th' arnychist, 'but be th' look iv him he ain't much.' 'That's th' king,' says th' lady. 'Th' king, is it,' says th' arnychist. 'Thin here's f'r wan king less,' he says, an' 'tis all over. A king ought to be a king or he oughtn't. He don't need to be a good mixer. If he wants to hang on he must keep out iv range. 'Tis th' kings an' queens that thrusts so much in th' lilety iv their people that they live in summer resort hotels an' go out walkin' with a dog that's hurted. Th' on'y person that ought to be able to get near enough a rale king to kill him is a jook, or th' likes iv that. Th' idee iv a man from Noo Jarsey havin' th' chanst!”
“Kings are making themselves too common. Nowadays, an anarchist drops into a lunchroom at the railroad depot and sees a guy sitting on a stool eating a quarter of a gooseberry pie and drinking a glass of buttermilk. 'Do you know who that is?' says the lunch-counter lady. 'I do not,' says the anarchist, 'but by the look of him he isn't much.' 'That’s the king,' says the lady. 'The king, huh,' says the anarchist. 'Then here’s one less king,' he says, and that’s all there is to it. A king should be a king or not at all. He doesn’t need to be a good mixer. If he wants to stay in power, he must keep his distance. It’s the kings and queens who demand so much loyalty from their people that they end up living in summer resort hotels and walking around with a hurt dog. The only person who should be close enough to a real king to kill him is a jester or someone like that. The idea of a guy from New Jersey having the chance!”
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“What on earth's to be done about thim arnychists?” Mr. Hennessy asked. “What ails thim annyhow? What do they want?”
“What on earth are we going to do about those anarchists?” Mr. Hennessy asked. “What’s wrong with them anyway? What do they want?”
“Th' Lord on'y knows,” said Mr. Dooley.
“Only the Lord knows,” said Mr. Dooley.
“They don't want annything, that's what they want. They want peace on earth an' th' way they propose to get it is be murdhrin' ivry man that don't agree with thim. They think we all shud do as they please. They're down on th' polis foorce an' in favor iv th' pop'lace, an' whin they've kilt a king they call on th' polis to save thim fr'm th' mob. An' between you an' me, Hinnissy, ivry arnychist I've knowed, an' I've met manny in me time, an' quite, law-abidin' citizens they was, too, had th' makin' iv a thradeejan in him. If they was no newspapers they'd be few arnychists. They want to get their pitchers in th' pa-apers an' they can't do it be wheelin' bananas through th' sthreets or milkin' a cow, so they go out an' kill a king. I used to know a man be th' name iv Schmitt that was a cobbler be profession an' lived next dure but wan to me. He was th' dacintist man ye iver see. He kep' a canary bur-rd, an' his devotion to his wife was th' scandal iv th' neighborhood. But bless my soul, how he hated kings. He cudden't abide Cassidy afther he heerd he was a dayscinded fr'm th' kings iv Connock, though Cassidy was what ye call a prolotoorio or a talkin' workin'man. An' th' wan king he hated above all others was th' king iv Scholizwig-Holstein, which was th' barbarous counthry he come fr'm. He cud talk fairly dacint about other kings, but this wan—Ludwig was his name an' I seen his pitcher in th' pa-apers wanst—wud throw him into a fit. He blamed ivrything that happened to Ludwig. If they was a sthrike he charged it to Ludwig. If Schwartzmeister didn't pay him f'r half-solin' a pair iv Congress gaiters he used to wear in thim days, he tied a sthring arround his finger f'r to remind him that he had to kill Ludwig. 'What have ye again' th' king?' says I. 'He is an opprissor iv th' poor,' he says. 'So ar-re ye,' I says, 'or ye'd mend boots free.' 'He's explodin' th' prolotoorio,' he says. 'Sure,' says I, 'th' prolotoorio can explode thimsilves pretty well,' says I. 'He oughtn't to be allowed to live in luxury while others starve,' he says. 'An' wud ye be killin' a man f'r holdin' a nice job?' says I. 'What good wud it do ye?' says I. 'I'd be th' emancipator iv th' people,' says he. 'Ye'd have th' wurred on th' coffin lid,' says I. 'Why,' says he, 'think iv me, Schmitt, Owgoost Schmitt, stalkin' forth to avinge th' woes iv th' poor,' he says. 'Loodwig, th' cursed, goes by. I jumps fr'm behind a three an' society is freed fr'm th' monsther,' he says. 'Think iv th' glory iv it,' he says. 'Owgoost Schmitt, emancipator,' he says. 'I'll prove to Mary Ann that I'm a man,' he says. Mary Ann was his wife. Her maiden name was Riley. She heard him say it. 'Gus,' says she, 'if iver I hear iv ye shootin' e'er a king I'll lave ye,' she says.”
“They don’t want anything, that’s what they want. They want peace on earth and the way they plan to get it is by murdering every man who doesn’t agree with them. They think we should all do as they please. They’re against the police force and in favor of the people, and when they’ve killed a king, they call on the police to save them from the mob. And between you and me, Hinnissy, every anarchist I've known, and I've met many in my time, and they were quite law-abiding citizens too, had the making of a tragedy in them. If there were no newspapers, there would be few anarchists. They want to get their pictures in the papers and they can’t do it by wheeling bananas through the streets or milking a cow, so they go out and kill a king. I used to know a man named Schmitt who was a cobbler by trade and lived next door to me. He was the nicest man you’d ever see. He kept a canary bird, and his devotion to his wife was the talk of the neighborhood. But bless my soul, how he hated kings. He couldn’t stand Cassidy after he heard he was a descendant of the kings of Connock, even though Cassidy was what you’d call a proletarian or a talking working man. And the one king he hated above all others was the king of Schleswig-Holstein, which was the barbarous country he came from. He could talk fairly decently about other kings, but this one—Ludwig was his name and I saw his picture in the papers once—would throw him into a fit. He blamed everything that happened to Ludwig. If there was a strike, he charged it to Ludwig. If Schwartzmeister didn’t pay him for half-soling a pair of Congress gaiters he used to wear back then, he tied a string around his finger to remind him he had to kill Ludwig. ‘What do you have against the king?’ I asked. ‘He is an oppressor of the poor,’ he said. ‘So are you,’ I replied, ‘or you’d mend boots for free.’ ‘He’s exploiting the proletariat,’ he said. ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘the proletariat can explode themselves pretty well,’ I said. ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to live in luxury while others starve,’ he said. ‘And would you be killing a man for holding a decent job?’ I asked. ‘What good would it do you?’ I asked. ‘I’d be the emancipator of the people,’ he said. ‘You’d have the word on the coffin lid,’ I said. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘think of me, Schmitt, August Schmitt, stalking forth to avenge the woes of the poor,’ he said. ‘Ludwig, the cursed, goes by. I jump from behind a tree and society is freed from the monster,’ he said. ‘Think of the glory of it,’ he said. ‘August Schmitt, emancipator,’ he said. ‘I’ll prove to Mary Ann that I’m a man,’ he said. Mary Ann was his wife. Her maiden name was Riley. She heard him say it. ‘Gus,’ she said, ‘if I ever hear of you shooting at a king, I’ll leave you,’ she said.”
“Well, sir, I thought he was jokin', but be hivins, wan day he disappeared, an' lo an' behold, two weeks afther I picks up a pa-aper an' r-reads that me brave Schmitt was took up be th' polis f'r thryin' to cop a monarch fr'm behind a three. I sint him a copy iv a pa-aper with his pitcher in it, but I don't know if iver he got it. He's over there now an' his wife is takin' in washin'.”
“Well, sir, I thought he was joking, but believe it or not, one day he vanished, and sure enough, two weeks later I pick up a newspaper and read that my brave Schmitt was caught by the police trying to steal a monarch from behind a tree. I sent him a copy of the newspaper with his picture in it, but I don’t know if he ever received it. He’s over there now and his wife is doing laundry.”
“It's vanity that makes arnychists, Hinnissy—vanity an' th' habits kings has nowadays iv bein' as common as life insurance agents.”
“It's vanity that creates anarchists, Hinnissy—vanity and the habits of kings today being as common as life insurance agents.”
“I don't like kings,” said Mr. Hennessy, “but I like arnychists less. They ought to be kilt off as fast as they're caught.”
“I don't like kings,” said Mr. Hennessy, “but I like anarchists even less. They should be taken out as quickly as they're caught.”
“They'll be that,” said Mr. Dooley. “But killin' thim is like wringin' th' neck iv a mickrobe.”
“They'll be that,” said Mr. Dooley. “But killing them is like wringing the neck of a microbe.”
ANGLO-AMERICAN SPORTS
“Hinnissy, if iver we have war with what me frind Carl Schurz'd call th' Mother County, it'll not come fr'm anny Vinnyzwalan question. Ye can't get me excited over th' throbbin' debate on th' location iv th' Orynocoo River or whether th' miners that go to Alaska f'r goold ar're buried be th' Canajeen or th' American authorities. Ye bet ye can't. But some day we'll be beat in a yacht r-race or done up at futball an' thin what Hogan call th' dogs iv war'll break out iv th' kennel an' divastate th' wurruld.”
“Hinnissy, if we ever go to war with what my friend Carl Schurz would call the Mother Country, it won't be because of any issue from Vinnyzwala. You can't get me worked up over the endless debate about where the Orynocoo River is located or whether the miners heading to Alaska for gold are buried by the Canadian or American authorities. You bet you can't. But someday we'll lose a yacht race or get beaten at football, and then what Hogan calls the dogs of war will break out of the kennel and wreak havoc on the world.”
“Well,” said Mr. Hennessy, complacently, “if we wait f'r that we might as well disband our navy.”
“Well,” said Mr. Hennessy, confidently, “if we wait for that, we might as well disband our navy.”
“I dinnaw about that,” said Mr. Dooley, “I dinnaw abut that; afther ye left to investigate th' ir'n foundhries an' other pitcheresque roons iv this misguided counthry, I wint out to give a few raw rahs f'r me fellow colleejens, who was attimptin' to dimonsthrate their supeeryority over th' effete scholars iv England at what I see be th' pa-apers is called th' Olympian games. Ye get to th' Olympian games be suffocation in a tunnel. Whin ye come to, ye pay four shillin's or a dollar in our degraded currency, an' stand in th' sun an' look at th' Prince iv Wales. Th' Prince iv Wales looks at ye, too, but he don't see ye.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Mr. Dooley, “I don’t know about that; after you left to check out the iron foundries and other picturesque spots in this misguided country, I went out to cheer on my fellow students, who were trying to show their superiority over the weak scholars of England at what I see in the papers is called the Olympian games. You get to the Olympian games by suffocating in a tunnel. When you come to, you pay four shillings or a dollar in our degraded currency, and stand in the sun and look at the Prince of Wales. The Prince of Wales looks at you too, but he doesn’t actually see you.”
“Me frind, th' American ambassadure was there, an' manny iv th' seats iv larnin' in th' gran' stand was occupied be th' flower iv our seminaries iv meditation or thought conservatories. I r-read it in th' pa-apers. At th' time I come in they was recitin' a pome fr'm th' Greek, to a thoughtful-lookin' young profissor wearin' th' star-spangled banner f'r a necktie an' smokin' a cigareet. 'Now, boys,' says th' profissor, 'all together.' 'Rickety, co-ex, co-ex, hullabaloo, bozoo, bozoo, Harvard,' says th' lads. I was that proud iv me belovid counthry that I wanted to take off me hat there an' thin an' give th' colledge yell iv th' Ar-rchey road reform school. But I was resthrained be a frind iv mine that I met comin' over. He was fr'm Matsachoosetts, an' says he: 'Don't make a disturbance,' he says. 'We've got to create a fav'rable impression here,' he says, 'Th' English,' he says, 'niver shows enthusyasm,' he says. 'Tis regarded as unpolite,' he says. 'If ye yell,' he says, 'they'll think we want to win,' he says, 'an' we didn't come over here to win,' he says. 'Let us show thim,' he says, 'that we're gintlemen, be it iver so painful,' he says. An' I resthrained mesilf be puttin' me fist in me mouth.”
“Hey buddy, the American embassy was there, and many of the seats in the grandstand were filled with the best of our schools for meditation or thought. I read about it in the papers. By the time I arrived, they were reciting a poem from the Greeks, to a thoughtful-looking young professor wearing a stars-and-stripes tie and smoking a cigarette. 'Now, guys,' the professor said, 'all together.' 'Rickety, co-ex, co-ex, hullabaloo, bozoo, bozoo, Harvard,' the students said. I was so proud of my beloved country that I wanted to take off my hat right then and cheer for the college yell of the Archy Road reform school. But I was held back by a friend I ran into on the way over. He was from Massachusetts and said, 'Don’t make a disturbance,' he said. 'We’ve got to create a favorable impression here,' he said. 'The English,' he said, 'never shows enthusiasm,' he said. 'It’s seen as rude,' he said. 'If you yell,' he said, 'they’ll think we want to win,' he said, 'and we didn’t come over here to win,' he said. 'Let’s show them,' he said, 'that we’re gentlemen, even if it’s painful,' he said. And I held myself back by putting my fist in my mouth.”
{Illustration}
{Illustration}
“They was an Englishman standin' behind me, Hinnissy, an' he was a model iv behaviour f'r all Americans intindin' to take up their homes in Cubia. Ye cudden't get this la-ad war-rmed up if ye built a fire undher him. He had an eye-glass pinned to his face an' he niver even smiled whin a young gintleman fr'm Harvard threw a sledge hammer wan mile, two inches. A fine la-ad, that Harvard man, but if throwin' th' hammer's spoort, thin th' rowlin' mills is th' athletic cintre iv our belovid counthry. Whin an Englishman jumped further thin another la-ad, me frind th' Ice-box, says he: 'H'yah, h'yah!' So whin an American la-ad lept up in th' air as though he'd been caught be th' anchor iv a baloon, I says: 'H'yah, h'yah!' too. Whin a sign iv th' effete aristocracy iv England done up sivral free-bor-rn Americans fr'm Boston in a fut r-race, me frind the Farthest North, he grabs his wan glass eye an' says he: 'Well r-run, Cambridge!' he says; 'Well r-run,' he says. An' 'Well r-run, whativer colledge ye're fr'm,' says I, whin wan iv our la-ads jumped over a fence ahead iv some eager but consarvative English scholars.”
“There was an Englishman standing behind me, Hinnissy, and he was a model of behavior for all Americans planning to settle in Cuba. You couldn't get this guy excited even if you built a fire under him. He had a monocle pinned to his face and he never even smiled when a young gentleman from Harvard threw a sledgehammer a mile and two inches. A fine lad, that Harvard man, but if throwing the hammer counts as a sport, then the rolling mills are the athletic center of our beloved country. When an Englishman jumped further than another lad, my friend the Ice-box said, 'Hurray, hurray!' So when an American lad leapt into the air as if he’d been caught by a balloon’s anchor, I said, 'Hurray, hurray!' too. When a sign of the effete aristocracy of England beat several free-born Americans from Boston in a foot race, my friend the Farthest North grabbed his monocle and said, 'Well run, Cambridge!' he said; 'Well run,' he said. And 'Well run, whatever college you’re from,' I said, when one of our lads jumped over a fence ahead of some eager but conservative English scholars.”
“Well, like a good game, it come three an' three. Three times had victhry perched upon our banner an' thrice—I see it in th' pa-aper—had th' flag iv th' mother counthry proclaimed that Englishmen can r-run. It was thryin' on me narves an' I wanted to yell whin th' tie was r-run off but th' man fr'm Matsachoosetts says: 'Contain ye'ersilf,' he says. 'Don't allow ye'er frinzied American spirit to get away with ye'er manners,' he says. 'Obsarve.' he says, 'th' ca'm with which our brother Anglo-Saxon views th' scene,' he says. 'Ah!' he says, 'they're off an' be th' jumpin' George Wash'nton, I bet ye that fellow fr'm West Newton'll make that red-headed, long-legged, bread-ballasted Englishman look like thirty cints. 'Hurroo,' he says. 'Go on, Harvard,' he says. 'Go on,' he says. 'Rah, rah, rah,' he says. 'Ate him up, chew him up,' he says. 'Harvard!' he says.”
"Well, like a good game, it ended three to three. Victory had perched on our banner three times, and three times—I saw it in the paper—our mother country's flag declared that Englishmen can run. It was trying on my nerves, and I wanted to yell when the tie was broken, but the guy from Massachusetts says, 'Calm down,' he says. 'Don't let your frenzied American spirit take over your manners,' he says. 'Look,' he says, 'at the calmness with which our Anglo-Saxon brother views the scene,' he says. 'Ah!' he says, 'they're off, and by jumping George Washington, I bet that guy from West Newton will make that red-headed, long-legged, bread-ballasted Englishman look like a joke. 'Hooray,' he says. 'Go on, Harvard,' he says. 'Go on,' he says. 'Rah, rah, rah,' he says. 'Get him, chew him up,' he says. 'Harvard!' he says."
“I looked ar-round at th' ca'm dispassyonate Englishman. He dhropped his eye-glass so he cud see th' race an' he had his cane in th' air. 'Well r-run,' he says. 'Well r-run, Cambridge,' he says. 'Pull him down,' he says. 'Run over him,' he says. 'Thrip him up,' he says. 'They can't r-run,' he says, 'except whin they're Ph'lipinos behind thim,' he says. 'Well r-run,' he says, an' he welted th' man fr'm Matsachoosetts with his cane. 'Be careful what ye're doin' there,' says th' Anglo-Saxon. 'If it wasn't f'r th' 'liance I'd punch ye'er head off,' he says. 'An',' says th' ca'm Englishman, 'if it wasn't f'r our common hurtage,' he says, 'I'd make ye jump over th' gran' stand,' he says. 'Th' English always cud beat us r-runnin',' says the sage iv Matsachoosetts. 'Th' Americans start first an' finishes last,' says th' Englishman. An' I had to pull thim apart.”
“I looked around at the calm, detached Englishman. He dropped his monocle so he could see the race and had his cane in the air. 'Well run,' he said. 'Well run, Cambridge,' he said. 'Pull him down,' he said. 'Run over him,' he said. 'Trip him up,' he said. 'They can't run,' he said, 'unless there are Filipinos behind them,' he said. 'Well run,' he said, and he hit the guy from Massachusetts with his cane. 'Be careful what you're doing there,' said the Anglo-Saxon. 'If it wasn't for the alliance, I'd knock your head off,' he said. 'And,' said the calm Englishman, 'if it wasn't for our common heritage,' he said, 'I'd make you jump over the grandstand,' he said. 'The English always could beat us in running,' said the wise guy from Massachusetts. 'The Americans start first and finish last,' said the Englishman. And I had to pull them apart.”
“Whether it is that our American colleejans spinds too much iv their lung power in provin' their devotion to what Hogan calls their Almy Matthers or not, I dinnaw, but annyhow, we had to dhrag th' riprisintative iv our branch iv th' Anglo-Saxon an' Boheemyan civilization in th' three-mile race fr'm undher two thousand iv our cousins or brothers-in-law that was ca'mly an' soberly, but hurridly an' noisily chargin' acrost th' thrack to cheer their own man.”
“Whether our American college students are spending too much of their energy showing their devotion to what Hogan calls their Alma Mater or not, I don't know, but anyway, we had to drag the representative of our branch of Anglo-Saxon and Bohemian civilization from under two thousand of our cousins or brothers-in-law who were calmly and soberly, but hurriedly and noisily charging across the track to cheer for their guy.”
“Me frind fr'm Matsachoosets was blue as we winded our way to th' sthrangulation railway an' started back f'r home. 'I'm sorry,' he says, 'to lose me timper,' he says, 'but,' he says, 'afther all th' pretinded affection iv these people f'r us,' he says, 'an' afther all we've done f'r thim in Alaska an'—an' ivrywhere,' he says, 'an' thim sellin' us coal whin they might've sold it to th' Spanyards if th' Spanyards'd had th' money,' he says, 'to see th' conduct iv that coarse an' brutal Englishman—' 'Th' wan that won th' r-race?' says I. 'Yes,' he says. 'No, I mean th' wan that lammed me with his cane,' he says. 'If it hadn't been,' he says, 'that we're united,' he says, 'be a common pathrimony,' he says, 'I'd've had his life,' he says. 'Ye wud so,' says I, 'an' ye're r-right,' I says. 'If all th' la-ads enthered into th' r-races with th' same spirit ye show now,' I says, 'th' English flag'd be dhroopin' fr'm th' staff, an' Cyrus Bodley iv Wadham, Mass., 'd be paintin' th' stars an' sthripes on th' Nelson monnymint,' I says. 'Whin we hated th' English,' I says, 'an' a yacht r-race was li'ble to end in a war message fr'm the prisidint, we used to bate thim,' I says. 'Now,' says I, 'whin we're afraid to injure their feelin's,' I says, 'an' whin we 'pologise befure we punch, they bate us,' I says. 'They're used to 'pologisin' with wan hand an' punchin' with th' other,' I says. 'Th' on'y way is th' way iv me cousin Mike,' I says. 'He was a gr-reat rassler an' whin he had a full Nelson on th' foolish man that wint again him, he used to say, 'Dear me, am I breakin' ye'er neck, I hope so.'”
“My friend from Massachusetts was feeling really down as we made our way to the strangulation railway and started heading back home. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'for losing my temper,' he added, 'but with all the fake affection these people have for us,' he continued, 'and after everything we’ve done for them in Alaska and—everywhere else,' he noted, 'and them selling us coal when they could have sold it to the Spaniards if the Spaniards had the money,' he complained, 'seeing the behavior of that rude and brutal Englishman—' 'The one that won the race?' I asked. 'Yes,' he replied. 'No, I mean the one that hit me with his cane,' he clarified. 'If it hadn't been,' he said, 'that we're united,' he remarked, 'by a common heritage,' he insisted, 'I would have taken his life,' he said. 'You would have for sure,' I agreed, 'and you're right,' I stated. 'If all the guys entered the races with the same spirit you’re showing now,' I said, 'the English flag would be drooping from the mast, and Cyrus Bodley from Wadham, Mass., would be painting the stars and stripes on the Nelson monument,' I said. 'When we hated the English,' I pointed out, 'and a yacht race was likely to end in a war message from the president, we used to beat them,' I recalled. 'Now,' I said, 'when we’re afraid of hurting their feelings,' I continued, 'and when we apologize before we punch, they beat us,' I remarked. 'They’re used to apologizing with one hand and punching with the other,' I commented. 'The only way is the way of my cousin Mike,' I said. 'He was a great wrestler and when he had a full Nelson on the foolish guy who went against him, he used to say, 'Dear me, am I breaking your neck? I hope so.''”
“But th' Matsachoosetts man didn't see it that way. An' some time, I tell ye, Hinnissy, an' Englishman'll put th' shot wan fut further than wan iv our men th' Lord save us fr'm th' disgrace!—an' th' next day we'll invade Canada.”
“But the Massachusetts guy didn't see it that way. And someday, I tell you, Hinnissy, an Englishman will shoot one foot further than any of our men—God save us from the disgrace!—and the next day we'll invade Canada.”
“We ought to do it, annyhow,” said Mr. Hennessy stoutly.
“We should do it, anyway,” said Mr. Hennessy firmly.
“We wud,” said Mr. Dooley, “if we were sure we cud lave it aftherwards.”
“We would,” said Mr. Dooley, “if we were sure we could leave it afterwards.”
VOICES FROM THE TOMB
“I don't think,” said Mr. Dooley, “that me frind Willum Jennings Bryan is as good an orator as he was four years ago.”
“I don't think,” said Mr. Dooley, “that my friend William Jennings Bryan is as good an orator as he was four years ago.”
“He's th' grandest talker that's lived since Dan'l O'Connell,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“He's the best talker that's been around since Daniel O'Connell,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Ye've heerd thim all an' ye know,” said Mr. Dooley. “But I tell ye he's gone back. D'ye mind th' time we wint down to th' Coleesyum an' he come out in a black alapaca coat an' pushed into th' air th' finest wurruds ye iver heerd spoke in all ye'er bor-rn days? 'Twas a balloon ascinsion an' th' las' days iv Pompey an' a blast on th' canal all in wan. I had to hold on to me chair to keep fr'm goin' up in th' air, an' I mind that if it hadn't been f'r a crack on th' head ye got fr'm a dillygate fr'm Westconsin ye'd 've been in th' hair iv Gin'ral Bragg. Dear me, will ye iver f'rget it, th' way he pumped it into th' pluthocrats? 'I tell ye here an' now,' he says, 'they'se as good business men in th' quite counthry graveyards iv Kansas as ye can find in the palathial lunch-counthers iv Wall street,' he says. 'Whin I see th' face iv that man who looks like a two-dollar pitcher iv Napolyeon at Saint Heleena,' he says, 'I say to mesilf, ye shall not—ye shall not'—what th' divvle is it ye shall not do, Hinnissy?”
“You've heard them all and you know,” said Mr. Dooley. “But I tell you, he’s gone back. Do you remember the time we went down to the Coliseum and he came out in a black alpaca coat and delivered the most amazing words you’ve ever heard in your life? It was a balloon ascension and the last days of Pompeii and a blast on the canal all at once. I had to hold onto my chair to keep from floating up in the air, and I remember that if it hadn’t been for a bump on the head you got from a delegate from Wisconsin, you’d have been in the hair of General Bragg. Dear me, will you ever forget it, the way he went after the plutocrats? 'I tell you here and now,' he says, 'there are just as good businessmen in the quiet country graveyards of Kansas as you can find in the lavish lunch counters of Wall Street,' he says. 'When I see the face of that man who looks like a two-dollar picture of Napoleon at Saint Helena,' he says, 'I say to myself, you shall not—you shall not'—what the devil is it you shall not do, Hinnissy?”
“Ye shall not crucify mankind upon a crown iv thorns,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Don’t crucify humanity with a crown of thorns,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Right ye ar-re, I forgot,” Mr. Dooley went on. “Well, thim were his own wurruds. He was young an' he wanted something an' he spoke up. He'd been a rayporther on a newspaper an' he'd rather be prisidint thin write anny longer f'r th' pa-aper, an' he made th' whole iv th' piece out iv his own head.
“Right you are, I forgot,” Mr. Dooley continued. “Well, those were his own words. He was young and wanted something, so he spoke up. He'd been a reporter for a newspaper and he'd rather be president than write any longer for the paper, and he created the whole piece from his own mind.
“But nowadays he has tin wurruds f'r Thomas Jefferson an' th' rest iv th' sage crop to wan f'r himsilf. 'Fellow-dimmycrats,' he says, 'befure goin' anny farther, an' maybe farin' worse, I reluctantly accipt th' nommynation f'r prisidint that I have caused ye to offer me,' he says, 'an' good luck to me,' he says. 'Seein' th' counthry in th' condition it is,' he says, 'I cannot rayfuse,' he says. 'I will now lave a subject that must be disagreeable to manny iv ye an' speak a few wurruds fr'm th' fathers iv th' party, iv whom there ar-re manny,' he says, 'though no shame to th' party, f'r all iv that,' he says. 'Thomas Jefferson, th' sage iv Monticello, says: “Ye can't make a silk purse out iv a sow's ear,” a remark that will at wanst recall th' sayin' iv Binjamin Franklin, th' sage iv Camden, that “th' fartherest way ar-round is th' shortest way acrost.” Nawthin' cud be thruer thin that onliss it is th' ipygram iv Andhrew Jackson, th' sage iv Syr-acuse, that “a bur-rd in th' hand is worth two in th' bush.” What gran' wurruds thim ar-re, an' how they must torture th' prisint leaders iv th' raypublican party. Sam'l Adams, th' sage iv Salem, says: “Laugh an' the wurruld laughs with ye,” while Pathrick Hinnery, th' sage iv Jarsey City, puts it that “ye shud always bet aces befure th' dhraw.” Turnin' farther back into histhry we find that Brian Boru, th' sage iv Munsther, said: “Cead mille failthé,” an' Joolyus Caesar, th' sage iv Waukeesha, says, “Whin ye're in Rome, do th' Romans.” Nebuchedneezar—there's a name f'r ye—th' sage iv I-dinnaw-where, says: “Ye can't ate ye'er hay an' have it.” Solomon, th' sage iv Sageville, said, “Whin a man's marrid his throubles begins,” an' Adam, th' sage iv Eden, put it that “A snake in th' grass is worth two in th' boots.” Ye'll see be this, me good an' thrue frinds, that th' voices fr'm th' tombs is united in wan gran' chorus f'r th' ticket ye have nommynated. I will say no more, but on a future occasion, whin I've been down in southern Injyanny, I'll tell ye what th' sages an' fathers iv th' party in th' Ancient an' Hon'rable Association iv Mound-Builders had to say about th' prisint crisis.'”
“But nowadays he has some words for Thomas Jefferson and the rest of the wise ones to claim for himself. 'Fellow Democrats,' he says, 'before going any further, and maybe heading for worse, I reluctantly accept the nomination for president that I have caused you to offer me,' he says, 'and good luck to me,' he says. 'Seeing the country in the condition it is,' he says, 'I cannot refuse,' he says. 'I will now leave a subject that must be disagreeable to many of you and speak a few words from the founders of the party, of whom there are many,' he says, 'though no shame to the party, for all of that,' he says. 'Thomas Jefferson, the sage of Monticello, says: “You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear,” a remark that will immediately recall the saying of Benjamin Franklin, the sage of Camden, that “the farthest way around is the shortest way across.” Nothing could be truer than unless it is the epigram of Andrew Jackson, the sage of Syracuse, that “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” What great words these are, and how they must torture the current leaders of the Republican party. Sam Adams, the sage of Salem, says: “Laugh and the world laughs with you,” while Patrick Henry, the sage of Jersey City, puts it that “you should always bet aces before the draw.” Turning further back into history we find that Brian Boru, the sage of Munster, said: “Cead mille failté,” and Julius Caesar, the sage of Waukesha, says, “When you're in Rome, do the Romans.” Nebuchadnezzar—there's a name for you—the sage of I-don't-know-where, says: “You can't eat your cake and have it.” Solomon, the sage of Sageville, said, “When a man's married his troubles begin,” and Adam, the sage of Eden, put it that “A snake in the grass is worth two in the boots.” You'll see by this, my good and true friends, that the voices from the tombs are united in one grand chorus for the ticket you have nominated. I will say no more, but on a future occasion, when I've been down in southern Indiana, I'll tell you what the sages and founders of the party in the Ancient and Honorable Association of Mound-Builders had to say about the present crisis.”
“'Tisn't Bryan alone, Mack's th' same way. They're both ancesther worshippers, like th' Chinese, Hinnissy. An' what I'd like to know is what Thomas Jefferson knew about th' throubles iv ye an' me? Divvle a wurrud have I to say again' Thomas. He was a good man in his day, though I don't know that his battin' av'rage 'd be high again' th' pitchin' iv these times. I have a gr-reat rayspict f'r the sages an' I believe in namin' sthreets an' public schools afther thim. But suppose Thomas Jefferson was to come back here now an' say to himsilf: 'They'se a good dimmycrat up in Ar-rchy road an' I think I'll dhrop in on him an' talk over th' issues iv th' day.' Well, maybe he cud r-ride his old gray mare up an' not be kilt be the throlley cars, an' maybe th' la-ads'd think he was crazy an' not murdher him f'r his clothes. An' maybe they wudden't. But annyhow, suppose he got here, an' afther he'd fumbled ar-round at th' latch—f'r they had sthrings on th' dure in thim days—I let him in. Well, whin I've injooced him to take a bowl iv red liquor—f'r in his time th' dhrink was white—an' explained how th' seltzer comes out an' th' cash raygisther wurruks, an' wather is dhrawn fr'm th' fassit, an' gas is lighted fr'm th' burner, an' got him so he wud not bump his head again' th' ceilin' ivry time th' beer pump threw a fit—afther that we'd talk iv the pollytical situation.”
“It's not just Bryan; Mack's the same way. They're both ancestor worshippers, like the Chinese, Hinnissy. And what I'd like to know is what Thomas Jefferson knew about the troubles between you and me? I have nothing to say against Thomas. He was a good man in his day, though I doubt his batting average would be high against the pitching of these times. I have great respect for the sages, and I believe in naming streets and public schools after them. But imagine if Thomas Jefferson came back today and thought to himself: 'There's a good Democrat up on Anarchy Road, and I think I'll drop in on him and discuss the issues of the day.' Well, maybe he could ride his old gray mare and not get killed by the trolley cars, and maybe the kids would think he was crazy and not murder him for his clothes. Or maybe they would. But anyway, suppose he got here, and after he fumbled around at the latch—because they had strings on the door back then—I let him in. Well, once I introduced him to a bowl of red liquor—because in his time the drink was white—and explained how the seltzer comes out and the cash register works, how water is drawn from the faucet, and how gas is lit from the burner, and made sure he wouldn't bump his head against the ceiling every time the beer pump acted up—after that, we'd talk about the political situation.”
“'How does it go?' says Thomas. 'Well,' says I, 'it looks as though Ioway was sure raypublican,' says I. 'Ioway?' says he. 'What's that?' says he. 'Ioway,' says I, 'is a state,' says I. 'I niver heerd iv it,' says he. 'Faith ye did not,' says I. 'But it's a state just th' same, an' full iv corn an' people,' I says. 'An' why is it raypublican?' says he. 'Because,' says I, 'th' people out there is f'r holdin' th' Ph'lippeens,' says I. 'What th' divvle ar-re th' Ph'lippeens?' says he. 'Is it a festival,' says he, 'or a dhrink?' he says. 'Faith, 'tis small wondher ye don't know,' says I, 'f'r 'tis mesilf was weak on it a year ago,' I says. 'Th' Ph'lippeens is an issue,' says I, 'an' islands,' says I, 'an' a public nuisance,' I says. 'But,' I says, 'befure we go anny further on this subject,' I says, 'd'ye know where Minnysota is, or Westconsin, or Utah, or Californya, or Texas, or Neebrasky?' says I. 'I do not,' says he. 'D'ye know that since ye'er death there has growed up on th' shore iv Lake Mitchigan a city that wud make Rome look like a whistlin' station—a city that has a popylation iv eight million people till th' census rayport comes out?' I says. 'I niver heerd iv it,' he says. 'D'ye know that I can cross th' ocean in six days, an' won't; that if annything doesn't happen in Chiny I can larn about it in twinty-four hours if I care to know; that if ye was in Wash'nton I cud call ye up be tillyphone an ye'er wire'd be busy?' I says. 'I do not,' says Thomas Jefferson. 'Thin,' says I, 'don't presume to advise me,' I says, 'that knows these things an' manny more,' I says. 'An' whin ye go back where ye come fr'm an' set down with th' rest iv th' sages to wondher whether a man cud possibly go fr'm Richmond to Boston in a week, tell thim,' I says, 'that in their day they r-run a corner grocery an' to-day,' says I, 'we're op'ratin' a sixteen-story department store an' puttin' in ivrything fr'm an electhric lightin' plant to a set iv false teeth,' I says. An' I hist him on his horse an' ask a polisman to show him th' way home.”
“'How's it going?' Thomas asks. 'Well,' I reply, 'it looks like Iowa is definitely Republican,' I say. 'Iowa?' he asks. 'What's that?' he says. 'Iowa,' I tell him, 'is a state,' I say. 'I've never heard of it,' he says. 'You haven't?' I ask. 'But it's a state just the same, and full of corn and people,' I say. 'And why is it Republican?' he asks. 'Because,' I explain, 'the people out there support holding the Philippines,' I say. 'What the heck are the Philippines?' he asks. 'Is it a festival or a drink?' he says. 'Well, it's not surprising you don't know,' I say, 'because I was clueless about it myself a year ago,' I say. 'The Philippines is a matter,' I explain, 'and islands,' I add, 'and a public nuisance,' I say. 'But,' I continue, 'before we go any further on this topic, do you know where Minnesota is, or Wisconsin, or Utah, or California, or Texas, or Nebraska?' I ask. 'I do not,' he replies. 'Do you know that since your death, a city has popped up on the shores of Lake Michigan that would make Rome look like a small town—a city with a population of eight million people until the census report comes out?' I say. 'I've never heard of it,' he says. 'Do you know that I can cross the ocean in six days, and if nothing happens in China, I can learn about it in twenty-four hours if I want to know; that if you were in Washington, I could call you on the telephone and your line would be busy?' I say. 'I do not,' says Thomas Jefferson. 'Then,' I say, 'don't presume to advise me,' I say, 'who knows these things and many more,' I say. 'And when you go back where you came from and sit down with the rest of the sages wondering whether a man could possibly go from Richmond to Boston in a week, tell them,' I say, 'that in their day they ran a corner grocery and today,' I say, 'we're operating a sixteen-story department store and stocking everything from an electric lighting plant to a set of false teeth,' I say. And I lift him onto his horse and ask a policeman to show him the way home.”
“Be hivins, Hinnissy, I want me advice up-to-date, an' whin Mack an' Willum Jennings tells me what George Wash'nton an' Thomas Jefferson said, I says to thim: 'Gintlemen, they larned their thrade befure th' days iv open plumbin',' I says. 'Tell us what is wanted ye'ersilf or call in a journeyman who's wurrukin' card is dated this cinchry,' I says. 'An' I'm r-right too, Hinnissy.'”
“Listen, Hinnissy, I want my advice to be current, and when Mack and William Jennings tell me what George Washington and Thomas Jefferson said, I tell them: ‘Gentlemen, they learned their trade before the days of modern plumbing.’ I say, ‘Tell us what you need yourself or bring in a skilled worker whose card is dated this century.’ And I’m absolutely right too, Hinnissy.”
“Well,” said Mr. Hennessy, slowly, “those ol' la-ads was level-headed.”
“Well,” said Mr. Hennessy, slowly, “those old guys were level-headed.”
“Thrue f'r ye,” said Mr. Dooley. “But undher th' new iliction laws ye can't vote th' cimitries.”
“True for you,” said Mr. Dooley. “But under the new election laws you can’t vote from the cemeteries.”
The NEGRO PROBLEM
“What's goin' to happen to th' naygur?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“What's going to happen to the guy?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “he'll ayther have to go to th' north an' be a subjick race, or stay in th' south an' be an objick lesson. 'Tis a har-rd time he'll have, annyhow. I'm not sure that I'd not as lave be gently lynched in Mississippi as baten to death in New York. If I was a black man, I'd choose th' cotton belt in prifrince to th' belt on th' neck fr'm th' polisman's club. I wud so.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “he’ll either have to go north and be a subject race, or stay in the south and be an object lesson. It’s going to be a tough time for him, anyway. I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather be gently lynched in Mississippi than beaten to death in New York. If I were a black man, I’d choose the cotton belt any day over the belt around my neck from a policeman’s club. I really would.”
“I'm not so much throubled about th' naygur whin he lives among his opprissors as I am whin he falls into th' hands iv his liberators. Whin he's in th' south he can make up his mind to be lynched soon or late an' give his attintion to his other pleasures iv composin' rag-time music on a banjo, an' wurrukin' f'r th' man that used to own him an' now on'y owes him his wages. But 'tis th' divvle's own hardship f'r a coon to step out iv th' rooms iv th' S'ciety f'r th' Brotherhood iv Ma-an where he's been r-readin' a pome on th' 'Future of th' Moke' an' be pursooed be a mob iv abolitionists till he's dhriven to seek polis protection, which, Hinnissy, is th' polite name f'r fracture iv th' skull.
“I'm not so much worried about the Black man when he lives among his oppressors as I am when he falls into the hands of his liberators. When he's in the South, he can accept that he might get lynched eventually and focus on his other pleasures of playing ragtime music on a banjo and working for the man who used to own him and now only owes him his wages. But it’s a terrible hardship for a guy to step out of the rooms of the Society for the Brotherhood of Man where he's been reading a poem on the 'Future of the Black Man' and be chased by a mob of abolitionists until he's forced to seek police protection, which, Hinnissy, is the polite way of saying skull fracture."
“I was f'r sthrikin' off th' shackles iv th' slave, me la-ad. 'Twas thrue I didn't vote f'r it, bein' that I heerd Stephen A. Douglas say 'twas onconstitootional, an' in thim days I wud go to th' flure with anny man f'r th' constitootion. I'm still with it, but not sthrong. It's movin' too fast f'r me. But no matther. Annyhow I was f'r makin' th' black man free, an' though I shtud be th' south as a spoortin' proposition I was kind iv glad in me heart whin Gin'ral Ulyss S. Grant bate Gin'ral Lee an' th' rest iv th' Union officers captured Jeff Davis. I says to mesilf, 'Now,' I says, 'th' coon'll have a chanst f'r his life,' says I, 'an' in due time we may injye him,' I says.
“I was for breaking the chains of the slave, my friend. It’s true I didn’t vote for it, since I heard Stephen A. Douglas say it was unconstitutional, and back then I would stand up for the Constitution with anyone. I still support it, but not strongly. It’s moving too fast for me. But it doesn’t matter. Anyway, I was for making the black man free, and although I should be against the South as a sporting proposition, I was kind of glad in my heart when General Ulysses S. Grant beat General Lee and the rest of the Union officers captured Jeff Davis. I said to myself, ‘Now,’ I said, ‘the man will have a chance for his life,’ I said, ‘and in due time we may enjoy his freedom,’ I said.”
“An' sure enough it looked good f'r awhile, an' th' time come whin th' occas'nal dollar bill that wint acrost this bar on pay night wasn't good money onless it had th' name iv th' naygur on it. In thim days they was a young la-ad—a frind iv wan iv th' Donohue boys—that wint to th' public school up beyant, an' he was as bright a la-ad as ye'd want to see in a day's walk. Th' larnin' iv him wud sind Father Kelly back to his grammar. He cud spell to make a hare iv th' hedge schoolmasther, he was as quick at figures as th' iddycated pig they showed in th' tint las' week in Haley's vacant lot, and in joggerphy, asthronomy, algybbera, jommethry, chimisthry, physiojnomy, bassoophly an' fractions, I was often har-rd put mesilf to puzzle him. I heerd him gradyooate an' his composition was so fine very few cud make out what he meant.
“Sure enough, it looked good for a while, and the time came when the occasional dollar bill that crossed this bar on payday wasn’t good money unless it had the name of the guy on it. Back in those days, there was a young guy—a friend of one of the Donohue boys—who went to the public school up the road, and he was as bright a kid as you’d want to see in a day's walk. His learning would send Father Kelly back to his grammar. He could spell better than the hedge schoolmaster, he was as quick with numbers as the educated pig they showed in the tent last week in Haley's vacant lot, and in geography, astronomy, algebra, geometry, chemistry, physiology, philosophy, and fractions, I often had a hard time puzzling him. I heard him graduate, and his composition was so good that very few could figure out what he meant.”
“I met him on th' sthreet wan day afther he got out iv school. 'What ar-re ye goin' to do f'r ye'ersilf, Snowball,' says I—his name was Andhrew Jackson George Wash'n'ton Americus Caslateras Beresford Vanilla Hicks, but I called him 'Snowball,' him bein' as black as coal, d'ye see—I says to him: 'What ar-re ye goin' to do f'r ye'ersilf?' I says. 'I'm goin' to enther th' profission iv law,' he says, 'where be me acooman an' industhry I hope,' he says, 'f'r to rise to be a judge,' he says, 'a congrissman,' he says, 'a sinator,' he says, 'an' p'rhaps,' he says, 'a prisidint iv th' United States,' he says. 'Theyse nawthin to prevint,' he says. 'Divvle a thing,' says I. 'Whin we made ye free,' says I, 'we opened up all these opporchunities to ye,' says I. 'Go on,' says I, 'an' enjye th' wealth an' position conferred on ye be th' constitootion,' I says. 'On'y,' I says, 'don't be too free,' I says. 'Th' freedom iv th' likes iv ye is a good thing an' a little iv it goes a long way,' I says, 'an' if I ever hear iv ye bein' prisidint iv th' United States,' I says, 'I'll take me whitewashing' away fr'm ye'er father, ye excelsior hair, poached-egg eyed, projiny iv tar,' I says, f'r me Anglo-Saxon feelin' was sthrong in thim days.
"I met him on the street one day after he got out of school. 'What are you going to do for yourself, Snowball,' I asked—his name was Andrew Jackson George Washington Americus Caslateras Beresford Vanilla Hicks, but I called him 'Snowball' since he was as black as coal, you see—I said to him: 'What are you going to do for yourself?' He replied, 'I'm going to enter the profession of law, where I hope to use my education and hard work to rise to be a judge,' he said, 'a congressman,' he said, 'a senator,' he said, 'and perhaps,' he said, 'the president of the United States,' he said. 'There’s nothing to stop me,’ he said. 'Not a thing,' I said. 'When we set you free,' I said, 'we opened up all these opportunities for you,' I said. 'Go on,' I said, 'and enjoy the wealth and position given to you by the Constitution,' I said. 'Just,' I said, 'don't be too free,' I said. 'The freedom of people like you is a good thing and a little of it goes a long way,' I said, 'and if I ever hear of you becoming president of the United States,' I said, 'I'll wash my hands of you, you excelsior-haired, poached-egg-eyed, progeny of tar,' I said, for my Anglo-Saxon feelings were strong in those days."
“Well, I used to hear iv him afther that defindin' coons in th' polis coort, an' now an' thin bein' mintioned among th' scatthrin' in raypublican county con-vintions, an' thin he dhropped out iv sight. 'Twas years befure I see him again. Wan day I was walkin' up th' levee smokin' a good tin cint seegar whin a coon wearin' a suit iv clothes that looked like a stained glass window in th' house iv a Dutch brewer an' a pop bottle in th' fr-ront iv his shirt, steps up to me an' he says: 'How dy'e do, Mistah Dooley,' says he. 'Don't ye know me—Mistah Hicks?' he says. 'Snowball,' says I. 'Step inside this dureway,' says I, 'less Clancy, th' polisman on th' corner, takes me f'r an octoroon,' I says. 'What ar-re ye do-in'?' says I. 'How did ye enjye th' prisidincy?' says I. He laughed an' told me th' story iv his life. He wint to practisin' law an' found his on'y clients was coons, an' they had no assets but their vote at th' prim'ry. Besides a warrant f'r a moke was the same as a letther iv inthroduction to th' warden iv th' pinitinchry. Th' on'y thing left f'r th' lawyer to do was to move f'r a new thrile an' afther he'd got two or three he thought ol' things was th' best an' ye do well to lave bad enough alone. He got so sick iv chicken he cudden't live on his fees an' he quit th' law an' wint into journalism. He r-run 'Th' Colored Supplimint,' but it was a failure, th' taste iv th' public lanin' more to quadhroon publications, an' no man that owned a resthrant or theaytre or dhrygoods store'd put in an adver-tisemint f'r fear th' subscribers'd see it an' come ar-round. Thin he attimpted to go into pollytics, an' th' best he cud get was carryin' a bucket iv wather f'r a Lincoln Club. He thried to larn a thrade an' found th' on'y place a naygur can larn a thrade is in prison an' he can't wurruk at that without committin' burglary. He started to take up subscriptions f'r a sthrugglin' church an' found th' profission was overcrowded. 'Fin'ly,' says he, ''twas up to me to be a porther in a saloon or go into th' on'y business,' he says, 'in which me race has a chanst,' he says. 'What's that?' says I. 'Craps,' says he. 'I've opened a palachal imporyium,' he says, 'where,' he says, ''twud please me very much,' he says, 'me ol' abolitionist frind,' he says, 'if ye'd dhrop in some day,' he says, 'an' I'll roll th' sweet, white bones f'r ye,' he says. ''Tis th' hope iv me people,' he says. 'We have an even chanst at ivry other pursoot,' he says, 'but 'tis on'y in craps we have a shade th' best iv it,' he says.”
“Well, I used to hear about him after he defended guys in the police court, and now and then he'd be mentioned among the chatter at Republican county conventions, and then he just disappeared. It was years before I saw him again. One day I was walking up the levee, smoking a good ten-cent cigar when a guy wearing a suit that looked like a stained glass window in a Dutch brewery and a soda bottle sticking out of the front of his shirt steps up to me and says: 'How do you do, Mr. Dooley,' he says. 'Don't you recognize me—Mr. Hicks?' he says. 'Snowball,' I say. 'Step inside this doorway,' I say, 'before Clancy, the cop on the corner, mistakes me for an octoroon,' I say. 'What are you doing?' I ask. 'How did you enjoy the presidency?' I say. He laughed and told me the story of his life. He went into practicing law and found his only clients were folks without any real assets but their votes in the primary. Plus, a warrant for a black man was the same as a letter of introduction to the warden of the penitentiary. The only thing left for the lawyer to do was to motion for a new trial and after he’d done that a couple of times, he thought old cases were best left alone. He got so tired of it that he couldn’t survive on his fees, so he quit the law and went into journalism. He ran 'The Colored Supplement,' but it failed because the public preferred quadroon publications, and no one who owned a restaurant or theater or dry goods store would place an ad for fear the subscribers would see it and come around. Then he tried to get into politics, and the best he could manage was to carry a bucket of water for a Lincoln Club. He tried to learn a trade and found the only place a Black man could learn a trade was in prison, and he couldn't work at that without committing burglary. He started taking subscriptions for a struggling church and discovered the field was too crowded. 'Finally,' he said, 'it came down to me being a porter in a saloon or going into the only business,' he says, 'where my race has a chance,' he says. 'What's that?' I ask. 'Craps,' he says. 'I've opened a gambling hall,' he says, 'where,' he says, 'it would make me very happy,' he says, 'if you’d drop in some day,' he says, 'and I’ll roll the sweet, white bones for you,' he says. 'It's the hope of my people,' he says. 'We have an even chance at every other pursuit,' he says, 'but it’s only in craps where we have a slight edge,' he says.”
“So there ye ar-re, Hinnissy. An' what's it goin' to come to, says ye? Faith, I don't know an' th' naygurs don't know, an' be hivins, I think if th' lady that wrote th' piece we used to see at th' Halsted Sthreet Opry House come back to earth, she wudden't know. I used to be all broke up about Uncle Tom, but cud I give him a job tindin' bar in this here liquor store? I freed th' slave, Hinnissy, but, faith, I think' twas like tur-rnin' him out iv a panthry into a cellar.”
“So there you are, Hinnissy. And what’s it going to come to, you ask? Honestly, I don’t know, and the folks out there don’t know either, and to be honest, I think if the lady who wrote that piece we used to see at the Halsted Street Opry House came back to earth, she wouldn’t have a clue. I used to be really upset about Uncle Tom, but could I give him a job tending bar in this liquor store? I freed the slave, Hinnissy, but honestly, I think it was like throwing him out of a pantry into a cellar.”
“Well, they got to take their chances,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Ye can't do annything more f'r thim than make thim free.”
“Well, they have to take their chances,” said Mr. Hennessy. “You can't do anything more for them than make them free.”
“Ye can't,” said Mr. Dooley; “on'y whin ye tell thim they're free they know we're on'y sthringin' thim.”
“Sure you can’t,” said Mr. Dooley; “only when you tell them they're free do they understand we're just pulling their leg.”
The AMERICAN STAGE
“I've niver been much iv a hand f'r th' theaytre,” said Mr. Dooley. “Whin I was a young man an' Crosby's Opry house was r-runnin' I used to go down wanst in a while an' see Jawn Dillon throwin' things around f'r th' amusemint iv th' popylace an' whin Shakespere was played I often had a seat in th' gal'ry, not because I liked th' actin', d'ye mind, but because I'd heerd me frind Hogan speak iv Shakespere. He was a good man, that Shakespere, but his pieces is full iv th' ol' gags that I heerd whin I was a boy. Th' throuble with me about goin' to plays is that no matther where I set I cud see some hired man in his shirt sleeves argyin' with wan iv his frinds about a dog fight while Romeo was makin' th' kind iv love ye wuddent want ye'er daughter to hear to Juliet in th' little bur-rd cage they calls a balcony. It must've been because I wanst knowed a man be th' name iv Gallagher that was a scene painter that I cud niver get mesilf to th' pint iv concedin' that th' mountains that other people agreed was manny miles in th' distance was in no danger iv bein' rubbed off th' map be th' coat-tails iv wan iv th' principal char-ackters. An' I always had me watch out to time th' moon whin' twas shoved acrost th' sky an' th' record breakin' iv day in th' robbers' cave where th' robbers don't dare f'r to shtep on the rock f'r fear they'll stave it in. If day iver broke on th' level th' way it does on th' stage 'twud tear th' bastin' threads out iv what Hogan calls th' firmymint. Hogan says I haven't got th' dhramatic delusion an' he must be r-right f'r ye can't make me believe that twinty years has elapsed whin I know that I've on'y had time to pass th' time iv day with th' bartinder nex' dure.
“I've never been much of a fan of the theater,” said Mr. Dooley. “When I was younger and Crosby's Opry house was running, I used to go down once in a while to see John Dillon tossing things around for the amusement of the people. And when Shakespeare was performed, I often had a seat in the gallery, not because I liked the acting, mind you, but because I’d heard my friend Hogan talk about Shakespeare. He was a good man, that Shakespeare, but his plays are full of the old jokes I heard when I was a kid. The trouble for me about going to plays is that no matter where I sit, I can see some guy in his shirtsleeves arguing with one of his friends about a dogfight while Romeo is making the kind of love you wouldn’t want your daughter to hear to Juliet in the little birdcage they call a balcony. It must have been because I didn’t know a man named Gallagher, who was a scene painter, that I could never bring myself to the point of admitting that the mountains everyone else agreed were many miles away were in no danger of being wiped off the map by the coat-tails of one of the main characters. And I always had my watch out to time the moon when it was being moved across the sky and the record-breaking day in the robbers’ cave where the robbers don’t dare step on the rock for fear they’ll break it. If day ever broke on the level the way it does on stage, it would tear the very fabric of what Hogan calls the firmament. Hogan says I don’t have the dramatic delusion and he must be right because you can’t make me believe that twenty years have gone by when I know I’ve only had time to pass the time of day with the bartender next door.”
“Plays is upside down, Hinnissy, an' inside out. They begin with a full statement iv what's goin' to happen an' how it's goin' to come out an' thin ye're asked to forget what ye heerd an' be surprised be th' outcome. I always feel like goin' to th' office an' gettin' me money or me lithograph pass back afther th' first act.
“Plays are totally backwards, Hinnissy, and all mixed up. They start with a clear explanation of what’s going to happen and how it’s going to end, and then you’re supposed to forget what you heard and be shocked by the result. I always feel like heading to the office to get my money or my lithograph pass back after the first act.”
“Th' way to write a play is f'r to take a book an' write it over hindend foremost. They're puttin' all books on th' stage nowadays. Fox's 'Book iv Martyrs' has been done into a three-act farce-comedy an'll be projooced be Delia Fox, th' author, nex' summer. Webster's 'Onabridge Ditchnry' will be brought out as a society dhrama with eight hundherd thousan' char-ackters. Th' 'Constitution iv th' United States' (a farce) be Willum McKinley is r-runnin' to packed houses with th' cillybrated thradeejan Aggynaldoo as th' villain. In th' sixteenth scene iv th' last act they'se a naygur lynchin'. James H. Wilson, th' author iv 'Silo an' Ensilage, a story f'r boys,' is dhramatizin' his cillybrated wurruk an' will follow it with a dhramatic version iv 'Sugar Beet Culture,' a farm play. 'Th' Familiar Lies iv Li Hung Chang' is expicted to do well in th' provinces an' Hostetter's Almanac has all dates filled, I undherstand th' bible'll be r-ready f'r th' stage undher th'direction iv Einstein an' Opperman befure th' first iv th' year. Some changes has been niciss'ry f'r to adapt it to stage purposes, I see be th' pa-apers. Th' authors has become convinced that Adam an' Eve must be carrid through th' whole play, so they have considerably lessened th' time between th' creation an' th' flood an' have made Adam an English nobleman with a shady past an' th' Divvle a Fr-rinch count in love with Eve. They're rescued be Noah, th' faithful boatman who has a comic naygur son.”
“The way to write a play is to take a book and rewrite it backward. They’re putting all kinds of books on stage these days. Fox’s 'Book of Martyrs' has been turned into a three-act farce-comedy and will be produced by Delia Fox, the author, next summer. Webster’s 'Unabridged Dictionary' will be released as a society drama with eight hundred thousand characters. The 'Constitution of the United States' (a farce) by William McKinley is running to packed houses with the celebrated tragedian Aggravado as the villain. In the sixteenth scene of the last act, there’s a lynching. James H. Wilson, the author of 'Silo and Ensilage, a story for boys,' is dramatizing his celebrated work and will follow it with a dramatic version of 'Sugar Beet Culture,' a farm play. 'The Familiar Lies of Li Hung Chang' is expected to do well in the provinces, and Hostetter’s Almanac has all dates booked. I understand the Bible will be ready for the stage under the direction of Einstein and Opperman before the start of the year. Some changes have been necessary to adapt it for stage purposes, as I've seen in the papers. The authors have become convinced that Adam and Eve must be carried through the whole play, so they have significantly shortened the time between creation and the flood and have made Adam an English nobleman with a questionable past, while the Devil is a French count in love with Eve. They’re rescued by Noah, the faithful boatman who has a comic Black son.”
“I see be th' pa-aper th' stage is goin' to th' dogs what with it's Sappho's an' th' like iv that,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“I see by the paper that the stage is going to the dogs with its Sappho and the like of that,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Well, it isn't what it used to be,” said Mr. Dooley, “in th' days whin 'twas th' purpose iv th' hero to save th' honest girl from the clutches iv th' villin in time to go out with him an' have a shell iv beer at th' Dutchman's downstairs. In th' plays nowadays th' hero is more iv a villain thin th' villain himsilf. He's th' sort iv a man that we used to heave pavin' shtones at whin he come out iv th' stage dure iv th' Halsted Sthreet Opry House. To be a hero ye've first got to be an Englishman, an' as if that wasn't bad enough ye've got to have committed as many crimes as th' late H. H. Holmes. If he'd been born in England he'd be a hero. Ye marry a woman who swears an' dhrinks an' bets on th' races an' ye quarrel with her. Th' r-rest iv th' play is made up iv hard cracks be all th' char-ack-ters at each others' morals. This is called repartee be th' learned, an' Hogan. Repartee is where I say: 'Ye stole a horse' an' ye say: 'But think iv ye'er wife!' In Ar-rchy r-road 'tis called disordherly conduct. They'se another play on where a man r-runs off with a woman that's no betther thin she ought to be. He bates her an' she marries a burglar. Another wan is about a lady that ates dinner with a German. He bites her an' she hits him with a cabbage. Thin they'se a play about an English gintleman iv th' old school who thries to make a girl write a letter f'r him an' if she don't he'll tell on her. He doesn't tell an' so he's rewarded with th' love iv th' heroine, an honest English girl out f'r th' money.”
“Well, it isn't what it used to be,” said Mr. Dooley, “back in the days when the hero's mission was to save the good girl from the villain's grasp just in time to take her out for a beer at the Dutchman's downstairs. Nowadays, the hero is more of a villain than the actual villain himself. He's the type of guy we used to throw paving stones at when he stepped out of the stage door of the Halsted Street Opry House. To be a hero, you first have to be English, and as if that wasn't bad enough, you also have to have committed as many crimes as the late H. H. Holmes. If he’d been born in England, he’d be a hero. You marry a woman who swears, drinks, and bets on the races, and then you argue with her. The rest of the play is filled with sharp exchanges between the characters about each other's morals. This is called repartee by the learned, and Hogan. Repartee is when I say: 'You stole a horse,' and you reply: 'But think of your wife!' In Ar-rchy r-road it’s called disorderly conduct. There's another play where a man runs off with a woman who’s no better than she should be. He hits her, and she marries a burglar. Another one is about a lady who has dinner with a German. He bites her, and she hits him with a cabbage. Then there's a play about an English gentleman of the old school who tries to make a girl write a letter for him, and if she doesn’t, he'll tell on her. He doesn't tell, and so he's rewarded with the love of the heroine, an honest English girl looking for money.”
“Nobody's marrid in th' modhern play, Hinnissy, an' that's a good thing, too, f'r annywan that got marrid wud have th' worst iv it. In th' ol' times th' la-ads that announces what's goin' to happen in the first act, always promised ye a happy marredge in th' end an' as ivrybody's lookin' f'r a happy marredge, that held the aujeence. Now ye know that th' hero with th' wretched past is goin' to elope with th' dhrunken lady an' th' play is goin' to end with th' couples prettily divorced in th' centher iv th' stage. 'Tis called real life an' mebbe that's what it is, but f'r me I don't want to see real life on th' stage. I can see that anny day. What I want is f'r th' spotless gintleman to saw th' la-ad with th' cigareet into two-be-fours an' marry th' lady that doesn't dhrink much while th' aujeence is puttin' on their coats.”
“Nobody's getting married in the modern play, Hinnissy, and that's a good thing, too, because anyone who did would have the worst of it. In the old days, the guys who announced what was going to happen in the first act always promised you a happy marriage in the end, and since everyone is looking for a happy marriage, that kept the audience entertained. Now you know the hero with the troubled past is going to elope with the drunk lady, and the play is going to end with the couples nicely divorced in the center of the stage. It’s called real life, and maybe that's what it is, but for me, I don't want to see real life on stage. I can see that any day. What I want is for the flawless gentleman to saw the guy with the cigarette into two-by-fours and marry the lady who doesn't drink much while the audience is putting on their coats.”
“Why don't they play Shakespere any more?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Why don't they perform Shakespeare anymore?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“I undherstand,” said Mr. Dooley, “that they're goin' to dhramatize Shakespere whin th' dhramatizer gets through with th' 'Report iv th' Cinsus Department f'r 1899-1900.'”
“I understand,” said Mr. Dooley, “that they're going to dramatize Shakespeare when the dramatizer finishes the 'Report of the Census Department for 1899-1900.'”
TROUBLES OF A CANDIDATE
“I wisht th' campaign was over,” said Mr. Dooley.
“I wish the campaign was over,” said Mr. Dooley.
“I wisht it'd begin,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I niver knew annything so dead. They ain't been so much as a black eye give or took in th' ward an' its less thin two months to th' big day.”
“I wish it would start,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I’ve never known anything to be this dull. They haven't given or taken a single black eye in the ward, and it’s less than two months until the big day.”
“'Twill liven up,” said Mr. Dooley, “I begin to see signs iv th' good times comin' again. 'Twas on'y th' other day me frind Tiddy Rosenfelt opened th' battle mildly be insinuatin' that all dimmycrats was liars, horse thieves an' arnychists. 'Tis thrue he apologized f'r that be explainin' that he didn't mean all dimmycrats but on'y those that wudden't vote f'r Mack but I think he'll take th' copper off befure manny weeks. A ladin' dimmycratic rayformer has suggested that Mack though a good man f'r an idjiot is surrounded be th' vilest scoundhrels iver seen in public life since th' days iv Joolyus Caesar. Th' Sicrety iv th' Threeasury has declared, that Mr. Bryan in sayin' that silver is not convartible be th' terms iv th' Slatthry bankin' law iv 1870, an' th' sicond clause iv th' threaty iv Gansville, has committed th' onpard'nable pollytical sin iv so consthructin' th' facts as to open up th' possibility iv wan not knowin' th' thrue position iv affairs, misundhersthandin' intirely. If he had him outside he'd call him a liar. Th' raypublicans have proved that Willum Jennings Bryan is a thraitor be th' letther written be Dr. Lem Stoggins, th' cillybrated antithought agytator iv Spooten Duyvil to Aggynaldoo in which he calls upon him to do nawthin' till he hears fr'm th' doc. Th' letther was sint through th' postal authorities an' as they have established no post-office in Aggynaldoo's hat they cudden't deliver it an' they opened it. Upon r-readin' th' letther Horace Plog iv White Horse, Minnesota, has wrote to Willum Jennings Bryan declarin' that if he (Plog) iver went to th' Ph'lippeens, which he wud've done but f'r th' way th' oats was sproutin' in th' stack, an' had been hit with a bullet he'd ixpict th' Coroner to hold Bryan to th' gran' jury. This was followed be th' publication iv a letther fr'm Oscar L. Swub iv East Persepalis, Ohio, declarin' that his sister heerd a cousin iv th' man that wash'd buggies in a livery stable in Canton say Mack's hired man tol' him Mack'd be hanged befure he'd withdraw th' ar-rmy fr'm Cuba.”
"'It'll pick up,' said Mr. Dooley, 'I’m starting to see signs of good times coming back. Just the other day, my friend Tiddy Rosenfelt softly kicked off the debate by suggesting that all Democrats are liars, horse thieves, and anarchists. It’s true he apologized for that by explaining that he didn’t mean all Democrats, just those who wouldn’t vote for Mack, but I think he'll backtrack soon enough. A leading Democratic reformer has suggested that while Mack is a decent guy for an idiot, he’s surrounded by the most corrupt people we’ve seen in public life since Julius Caesar. The Secretary of the Treasury has declared that Mr. Bryan, in saying that silver is not convertible under the terms of the Slatterly banking law of 1870, and the second clause of the Gansville treaty, has committed the unforgivable political sin of distorting the facts to the point where it opens up the possibility of someone not knowing the true state of affairs, completely misunderstanding. If he had him outside, he’d call him a liar. The Republicans have proven that William Jennings Bryan is a traitor by the letter written by Dr. Lem Stoggins, the celebrated anti-thought agitator of Spooten Duyvil to Aggynaldoo, in which he calls for him to do nothing until he hears from the doc. The letter was sent through the postal service, and since they haven’t established a post office in Aggynaldoo’s hat, they couldn’t deliver it, so they opened it. After re-reading the letter, Horace Plog of White Horse, Minnesota, wrote to William Jennings Bryan declaring that if he (Plog) ever went to the Philippines, which he would have done if it weren’t for the way the oats were sprouting in the stack, and got hit by a bullet, he’d expect the Coroner to hold Bryan to the grand jury. This was followed by the publication of a letter from Oscar L. Swub of East Persepalis, Ohio, stating that his sister heard a cousin of the guy who washed carriages in a livery stable in Canton say Mack's hired man told him Mack would be hanged before he’d pull the army out of Cuba."
“Oh, I guess th' campaign is doin' as well as cud be ixpicted. I see be th' raypublican pa-apers that Andhrew Carnegie has come out f'r Bryan an' has conthributed wan half iv his income or five hundhred millyon dollars to th' campaign fund. In th' dimmycratic pa-apers I r-read that Chairman Jim Jones has inthercipted a letther fr'm the Prince iv Wales to Mack congratulatin' him on his appintmint as gintleman-in-waitin' to th' queen. A dillygation iv Mormons has started fr'm dimmycratic headquarthers to thank Mack f'r his manly stand in favor iv poly-gamy an' th' raypublican comity has undher con-sideration a letther fr'm long term criminals advisin' their colleagues at large to vote f'r Willum Jennings Bryan, th' frind iv crime.”
"Oh, I guess the campaign is going as well as could be expected. I see in the Republican papers that Andrew Carnegie has come out for Bryan and has contributed half of his income, or five hundred million dollars, to the campaign fund. In the Democratic papers, I read that Chairman Jim Jones has intercepted a letter from the Prince of Wales to Mack congratulating him on his appointment as gentleman-in-waiting to the queen. A delegation of Mormons has started from Democratic headquarters to thank Mack for his strong stance in favor of polygamy, and the Republican committee is considering a letter from long-term criminals advising their colleagues at large to vote for William Jennings Bryan, the friend of crime."
“In a few short weeks, Hinnissy, 'twill not be safe f'r ayether iv the candydates to come out on th' fr-ront porch till th' waitin' dillygations has been searched be a polisman. 'Tis th' divvle's own time th' la-ads that r-runs f'r th' prisidincy has since that ol' boy Burchard broke loose again' James G. Blaine. Sinitor Jones calls wan iv his thrusty hinchman to his side, an' says he: 'Mike, put on a pig-tail, an' a blue shirt an' take a dillygation iv Chinnymen out to Canton an' congratulate Mack on th' murdher iv mission'ries in China. An',' he says, 'ye might stop off at Cincinnati on th' way over an' arrange f'r a McKinley an' Rosenfelt club to ilict th' British Consul its prisidint an' attack th' office iv th' German newspaper,' he says. Mark Hanna rings f'r his sicrety an', says he: 'Have ye got off th' letther fr'm George Fred Willums advisin' Aggynaldoo to pizen th' wells?' 'Yes sir.' 'An' th' secret communication fr'm Bryan found on an arnychist at Pattherson askin' him to blow up th' White House?' 'It's in th' hands iv th' tyepwriter.' 'Thin call up an employmint agency an' have a dillygation iv Jesuites dhrop in at Lincoln, with a message fr'm th' pope proposin' to bur-rn all Protestant churches th' night befure iliction.'”
“In a few short weeks, Hinnissy, it won't be safe for either of the candidates to come out on the front porch until the waiting delegations have been searched by a police officer. It's a crazy time for the guys running for presidency since that guy Burchard went after James G. Blaine again. Senator Jones calls one of his trusted aides over and says, 'Mike, put on a pig-tail and a blue shirt, and take a delegation of Chinese men out to Canton to congratulate Mack on the killing of missionaries in China. And,' he says, 'you might stop off in Cincinnati on the way and set up a McKinley and Roosevelt club to elect the British Consul as president and take down the German newspaper office,' he says. Mark Hanna rings for his secretary and says, 'Have you mailed the letter from George Fred Williams advising Aguinaldo to poison the wells?' 'Yes sir.' 'And the secret communication from Bryan found on an anarchist in Patterson asking him to blow up the White House?' 'It's in the hands of the typist.' 'Then call up an employment agency and have a delegation of Jesuits drop in at Lincoln, with a message from the pope proposing to burn all Protestant churches the night before the election.'”
“I tell ye, Hinnissy, th' candydate is kept mov-in'. Whin he sees a dilly-gation pikin' up th' lawn he must be r-ready. He makes a flyin' leap f'r th' chairman, seizes him by th' throat an' says: 'I thank ye f'r th' kind sintimints ye have conveyed. I am, indeed, as ye have remarked, th' riprisintative iv th' party iv manhood, honor, courage, liberality an' American thraditions. Take that back to Jimmy Jones an' tell him to put it in his pipe an' smoke it.' With which he bounds into th' house an' locks the dure while th' baffled conspirators goes down to a costumer an' changes their disguise. If th' future prisidint hadn't been quick on th' dhraw he'd been committed to a policy iv sthranglin' all the girl babies at birth.”
"I tell you, Hinnissy, the candidate is always on the move. When he sees a delegation picking up the lawn, he has to be ready. He makes a flying leap toward the chairman, grabs him by the throat, and says: 'Thank you for the kind sentiments you've expressed. I am, as you noted, the representative of manhood, honor, courage, generosity, and American traditions. Take that back to Jimmy Jones and tell him to put it in his pipe and smoke it.' With that, he bounds into the house and locks the door while the confused conspirators head to a costume shop to change their disguise. If the future president hadn't been quick on the draw, he would have been committed to a policy of strangling all the baby girls at birth."
“No, 'tis no aisy job bein' a candydate, an' 'twud be no easy job if th' game iv photygraphs was th' on'y wan th' candydates had to play. Willum Jennings Bryan is photygraphed smilin' back at his smilin' corn fields, in a pair iv blue overalls with a scythe in his hand borrid fr'm th' company that's playin' 'Th' Ol' Homestead,' at th' Lincoln Gran' Opry House. Th' nex' day Mack is seen mendin' a rustic chair with a monkey wrinch, Bryan has a pitcher took in th' act iv puttin' on a shirt marked with th' union label, an' they'se another photygraph iv Mack carryin' a scuttle iv coal up th' cellar stairs. An' did ye iver notice how much th' candydates looks alike, an' how much both iv thim looks like Lydia Pinkham? Thim wondherful boardhin'-house smiles that our gifted leaders wears, did ye iver see annythin' so entrancin'? Whin th' las' photygrapher has packed his ar-ms homeward I can see th' gr-reat men retirin' to their rooms an' lettin' their faces down f'r a few minyits befure puttin' thim up again in curl-pa-apers f'r th' nex' day display. Glory be, what a relief 'twill be f'r wan iv thim to raysume permanently th' savage or fam'ly breakfast face th' mornin' afther iliction! What a raylief 'twill be to no f'r sure that th' man at th' dure bell is on'y th' gas collector an' isn't loaded with a speech iv thanks in behalf iv th' Spanish Gover'mint! What a relief to snarl at wife an' frinds wanst more, to smoke a seegar with th' thrust magnate that owns th' cider facthry near th' station, to take ye'er nap in th' afthernoon undisthurbed be th' chirp iv th' snap-shot! 'Tis th' day afther iliction I'd like f'r to be a candydate, Hinnissy, no matther how it wint.”
“No, it’s not an easy job being a candidate, and it wouldn’t be easy even if the only game the candidates had to play was taking photographs. William Jennings Bryan is photographed smiling back at his smiling cornfields, wearing blue overalls with a scythe borrowed from the company that’s playing 'The Old Homestead' at the Lincoln Grand Opry House. The next day, Mack is seen fixing a rustic chair with a monkey wrench, Bryan is captured putting on a shirt marked with the union label, and there’s another photograph of Mack carrying a bucket of coal up the cellar stairs. And did you ever notice how much the candidates look alike, and how much both of them look like Lydia Pinkham? Those wonderful boarding-house smiles that our gifted leaders wear, have you ever seen anything so captivating? When the last photographer has packed up his gear to head home, I can picture the great men retiring to their rooms and letting their faces down for a few minutes before putting them back up in curl papers for the next day’s display. Glory be, what a relief it will be for one of them to permanently resume the savage or family breakfast face the morning after the election! What a relief it will be to know for sure that the man at the doorbell is just the gas collector and isn’t there with a speech of thanks on behalf of the Spanish Government! What a relief to snarl at the wife and friends once more, to smoke a cigar with the magnate who owns the cider factory near the station, to take your afternoon nap undisturbed by the snap of a camera! It’s the day after the election that I’d like to be a candidate, Hinnissy, no matter how it went.”
“An' what's become iv th' vice-prisidintial candydates?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“What's happened to the vice-presidential candidates?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “Th' las' I heerd iv Adly, I didn't hear annythin', an' th' las' I heerd iv Tiddy he'd made application to th' naytional comity f'r th' use iv Mack as a soundin' board.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “The last I heard about Adly, I didn’t hear anything, and the last I heard about Tiddy, he had applied to the national committee for the use of Mack as a sounding board.”
A BACHELOR'S LIFE
“It's always been a wondher to me,” said Mr. Hennessy, “ye niver marrid.”
“It's always been a wonder to me,” said Mr. Hennessy, “you never married.”
“It's been a wondher to manny,” Mr. Dooley replied haughtily. “Maybe if I'd been as aisy pleased as most—an' this is not sayin' annything again you an' ye'ers, Hinnisy, f'r ye got much th' best iv it—I might be th' father iv happy childher an' have money in th' bank awaitin' th' day whin th' intherest on th' morgedge fell due. 'Tis not f'r lack iv opportunities I'm here alone, I tell ye that me bucko, f'r th' time was whin th' sound iv me feet'd brings more heads to th' windies iv Ar-rchey r-road thin'd bob up to see ye'er fun'ral go by. An' that's manny a wan.”
“It's been a wonder to many,” Mr. Dooley replied arrogantly. “Maybe if I had been as easily pleased as most— and I'm not saying anything against you and yours, Hinnisy, because you’ve got the best of it—I might be the father of happy children and have money in the bank waiting for the day when the interest on the mortgage was due. It’s not for lack of opportunities that I’m here alone, I tell you that, my friend, because there was a time when the sound of my footsteps would bring more heads to the windows of Archy Road than would pop up to see your funeral go by. And that’s many a one.”
“Ah, well,” said Mr. Hennessy, “I was but jokin' ye.” His tone mollified his friend, who went on: “To tell ye th' truth, Hinnissy, th' raison I niver got marrid was I niver cud pick a choice. I've th' makin' iv an ixcillint ol' Turk in me, to be sure, f'r I look on all the sect as iligeable f'r me hand an' I'm on'y resthrained fr'm r-rentin' Lincoln Park f'r a home an' askin' thim all to clave on'y to me, be me nachral modesty an' th' laws iv th' State iv Illinye. 'Twas always so with me an' I think it is so with most men that dies bachelors. Be r-readin' th' pa-apers ye'd think a bachelor was a man bor-rn with a depraved an' parvarse hathred iv wan iv our most cherished institootions, an' anti-expansionist d'ye mind. But'tis no such thing. A bachelor's a man that wud extind his benificint rule over all th' female wurruld, fr'm th' snow-capped girls iv Alaska to th' sunny eileens iv th' Passyfic. A marrid man's a person with a limited affection—a protictionist an' anti-expansionist, a mugwump, be hivins. 'Tis th' bachelor that's keepin' alive th' rivrince f'r th' sect.
“Ah, well,” Mr. Hennessy said, “I was just joking with you.” His tone calmed his friend, who continued: “To be honest, Hennessy, the reason I never got married was that I could never choose. I definitely have the makings of a great old bachelor in me, because I see all the women as eligible for my hand, and I'm only held back from renting Lincoln Park for a home and asking them all to stick with me by my natural modesty and the laws of the State of Illinois. It's always been this way for me, and I think it’s the same for most men who die single. If you read the papers, you’d think a bachelor was a man born with a twisted and perverse hatred of one of our most cherished institutions, and that he's anti-expansionist, mind you. But it’s not like that at all. A bachelor is a man who would extend his benevolent rule over all the women in the world, from the snow-capped girls of Alaska to the sunny islands of the Pacific. A married man is someone with limited affection—a protectionist and anti-expansionist, a mugwump, for sure. It’s the bachelor who keeps the reverence for women alive.
“Whin I was a young man, ye cud search fr'm wan end iv th' town to th' other f'r me akel with th' ladies. Ye niver see me in them days, but 'twas me had a rogue's eye an' a leg far beyant th' common r-run iv props. I cud dance with th' best iv thim, me voice was that sthrong 'twas impossible to hear annywan else whin I sung 'Th' Pretty Maid Milkin' th' Cow,' an' I was dhressed to kill on Sundahs. 'Twas thin I bought th' hat ye see me wear at th' picnic. 'Twas 'Good mornin', Misther Dooley, an' will ye come in an' have a cup iv tay,' an' 'How d'ye do Misther Dooley, I didn't see ye at mass this mornin',' an' 'Martin, me boy, dhrop in an' take a hand at forty-fives. Th' young ladies has been ask in' me ar-re ye dead.' I was th' pop'lar idol, ye might say, an' manny's th' black look I got over th' shouldher at picnic an' wake. But I minded thim little. If a bull again me come fr'm th' pope himsilf in thim days whin me heart was high, I'd tuck it in me pocket an' say: 'I'll r-read it whin I get time.'”
“When I was a young man, you could search from one end of the town to the other for my company with the ladies. You never saw me back then, but I had a rogue's eye and a leg well beyond the usual run of props. I could dance with the best of them, my voice was so strong it was impossible to hear anyone else when I sang 'The Pretty Maid Milking the Cow,' and I was dressed to impress on Sundays. That's when I bought the hat you see me wear at the picnic. It was 'Good morning, Mr. Dooley, will you come in and have a cup of tea,' and 'How do you do, Mr. Dooley, I didn't see you at mass this morning,' and 'Martin, my boy, drop in and play a hand at forty-fives. The young ladies have been asking me, are you dead?' I was the popular idol, you might say, and many were the envious glares I got over my shoulder at the picnic and wake. But I cared little for them. If a bull against me came from the pope himself in those days when my heart was high, I'd tuck it in my pocket and say: 'I'll read it when I get time.'”
“Well, I'd take one iv th' girls out in me horse an' buggy iv a Sundah an' I'd think she was th' finest in th' wurruld an' I'd be sayin' all kinds iv jokin' things to her about marredge licenses bein' marked down on account iv th' poor demand an' how th' parish priest was thinkin' iv bein' thransferred to a parish where th' folks was more kindly disposed to each other an' th' likes iv that, whin out iv th' corner iv me eye I'd see another girl go by, an' bless me if I cud keep th' lid iv me r-right eye still or hold me tongue fr'm such unfortchnit remark as: 'That there Molly Heaney's th' fine girl, th' fine, sthrappin' girl, don't ye think so?' Well, ye know, afther that I might as well be dhrivin' an ice wagon as a pleasure rig; more thin wanst I near lost th' tip iv me nose in th' jamb iv th' dure thryin' to give an affictshionate farewell. An' so it wint on, till I got th' repytation iv a flirt an' a philandhrer f'r no raison at all, d'ye mind, but me widespread fondness. I like thim all, dark an' light, large an' small, young an' old, marrid an' single, widdied an' divorced, an' so I niver marrid annywan. But ye'll find me photygraft in some albums an' me bills in more thin wan livery stable.”
“Well, I’d take one of the girls out in my horse and buggy on a Sunday and I’d think she was the finest in the world, and I’d be saying all kinds of joking things to her about marriage licenses being marked down because of low demand and how the parish priest was considering being transferred to a parish where people were nicer to each other and stuff like that. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I’d see another girl pass by, and I swear I couldn’t keep my right eye from wandering or hold back from making an unfortunate comment like: ‘That there Molly Heaney is a fine girl, a lovely, strong girl, don’t you think?’ Well, you know, after that I might as well have been driving an ice wagon instead of a pleasure ride; more than once I almost caught the tip of my nose in the door trying to give a heartfelt goodbye. And so it went on, until I earned a reputation as a flirt and a womanizer for no reason at all, mind you, just because of my widespread fondness. I liked them all, dark and light, big and small, young and old, married and single, widowed and divorced, and so I never married anyone. But you’ll find my photograph in some albums and my bills in more than one livery stable.”
“I think marrid men gets on th' best f'r they have a home an' fam'ly to lave in th' mornin' an' a home an' fam'ly to go back to at night; that makes thim wurruk. Some men's domestic throubles dhrives thim to dhrink, others to labor. Ye r-read about a man becomin' a millyonaire an' ye think he done it be his own exertions whin 'tis much again little 'twas th' fear iv comin' home impty handed an' dislike iv stayin' ar-round th' house all day that made him rich. Misther Standard Ile takes in millyons in a year but he might be playin' dominoes in an injine house if it wasn't f'r Mrs. Standard Ile. 'Tis th' thought iv that dear quiet lady at home, in her white cap with her ca'm motherly face, waitin' patiently f'r him with a bell-punch that injooces him to put a shtick iv dinnymite in somebody else's ile well an' bury his securities whin th' assissor comes ar-round. Near ivry man's property ought to be in wife's name an' most iv it is.
“I think married men do best because they have a home and family to leave in the morning and a home and family to come back to at night; that keeps them working. Some men's domestic troubles drive them to drink, while others turn to labor. You read about a man becoming a millionaire and think he did it through his own efforts, but often it’s the fear of coming home empty-handed and the dislike of staying around the house all day that makes him wealthy. Mr. Standard Oil takes in millions a year, but he might just be playing dominoes in a engine house if it weren’t for Mrs. Standard Oil. It’s the thought of that dear, quiet lady at home, in her white cap with her calm, motherly face, waiting patiently for him with a bell punch that encourages him to put a stick of dynamite in someone else’s oil well and hide his securities when the assessor comes around. Nearly every man's property ought to be in his wife's name, and most of it is.”
“But with a bachelor 'tis diff'rent. Ye an' I ar-re settin' here together an' Clancy dhrops in. Clancy's wife's away an' he's out f'r a good time an' he comes to me f'r it. A bachelor's f'r th' enjymint of his marrid frinds' vacations. Whin Clancy's wife's at home an' I go to see him he r-runs th' pail out in a valise, an' we take our criminal dhrink in th' woodshed. Well, th' three iv us sits here an' pass th' dhrink an' sing our songs iv glee till about ilivin o'clock; thin ye begin to look over ye'er shouldher ivry time ye hear a woman's voice an' fin'lly ye get up an' yawn an' dhrink ivrything on th' table an' gallop home. Clancy an' I raysume our argymint on th' Chinese sityation an' afterwards we carol together me singin' th' chune an' him doin' a razor edge tinor. Thin he tells me how much he cares f'r me an' proposes to rassle me an' weeps to think how bad he threats his wife an' begs me niver to marry, f'r a bachelor's life's th' on'y wan, an' 'tis past two o'clock whin I hook him on a frindly polisman an' sind him thrippin'—th' polisman—down th' sthreet. All r-right so far. But in th' mornin' another story. If Clancy gets home an' finds his wife's rayturned fr'm th' seaside or th' stock yards, or whereiver'tis she's spint her vacation, they'se no r-rest f'r him in th' mornin'. His head may sound in his ears like a automobill an' th' look iv an egg may make his knees thremble, but he's got to be off to th' blacksmith shop, an' hiven help his helper that mornin'. So Clancy's gettin' r-rich an' puttin' a coopoly on his house.”
“But with a bachelor, it’s different. You and I are sitting here together, and Clancy drops in. Clancy's wife is away, and he’s out for a good time, so he comes to me for it. A bachelor enjoys his married friends' vacations. When Clancy's wife is home and I go to see him, he sneaks the booze out in a bag, and we take our drinks in the shed. Well, the three of us sit here, passing the drink and singing our happy songs until around eleven o'clock; then you start looking over your shoulder every time you hear a woman's voice, and finally, you get up and yawn, down everything on the table, and head home. Clancy and I continue our argument about the Chinese situation, and afterward, we sing together—me doing the tune and him with a sharp tenor. Then he tells me how much he cares about me and suggests wrestling, and he cries about how badly he treats his wife and begs me never to marry, because a bachelor's life is the only one worth living, and it's past two o'clock when I hook him up with a friendly cop and send him stumbling— the cop—down the street. All right so far. But in the morning, it’s a different story. If Clancy gets home and finds his wife back from the beach or the stockyards, wherever she spent her vacation, there’s no rest for him in the morning. His head might feel like a car is revving in his ears, and just the sight of an egg might make his knees shake, but he has to head off to the blacksmith shop, and heaven help his helper that morning. So Clancy’s getting rich and putting a roof over his house.”
“But with me 'tis diff'rent. Whin Phibbius Apollo as Hogan calls th' sun, raises his head above th' gas house, I'm cuddled up in me couch an' Morpus, gawd iv sleep, has a sthrangle holt on me. Th' alarm clock begins to go off an' I've just sthrength enough to raise up an' fire it through th' window. Two hours aftherward I have a gleam iv human intillygince an' hook me watch out fr'm undher th' pillow. 'It's eight o'clock,' says I. 'But is it eight in th' mornin' or eight in th' evenin'?' says I. 'Faith, I dinnaw, an' divvle a bit care I. Eight's on'y a number,' says I. 'It riprisints nawthin',' says I.”
“But with me, it's different. When Phibbius Apollo, as Hogan calls the sun, rises above the gas house, I'm curled up on my couch and Morpheus, the god of sleep, has me in his grip. The alarm clock starts ringing, and I barely have enough strength to get up and throw it out the window. Two hours later, I have a spark of human intelligence and drag my watch out from under the pillow. 'It's eight o'clock,' I say. 'But is it eight in the morning or eight in the evening?' I ask. 'Honestly, I don't know, and I don't care at all. Eight's just a number,' I say. 'It represents nothing,' I say.”
“They'se hours enough in th' day f'r a free man. I'll turr-n over an' sleep till eight-wan and thin I'll wake up refrished,' I says. 'Tis ilivin o'clock whin me tired lids part f'r good an' Casey has been here to pay me eight dollars an' findin' me not up has gone away f'r another year.”
"There are plenty of hours in the day for a free man. I'll turn over and sleep until eight-one, then I'll wake up refreshed,' I said. 'It's eleven o'clock when my tired eyes open for good, and Casey has been here to pay me eight dollars, and finding me not up has left for another year."
“A marrid man gets th' money, Hinnissy, but a bachelor man gets th' sleep. Whin all me marrid frinds is off to wurruk pound in' th' ongrateful sand an' wheelin' th' rebellyous slag, in th' heat iv th' afthernoon, ye can see ye'er onfortchnit bachelor frind perambulatin' up an' down th' shady side iv th' sthreet, with an umbrelly over his head an' a wurrud iv cheer fr'm young an' old to enliven his loneliness.”
“A married man earns the money, Hinnissy, but a single guy gets the sleep. When all my married friends are off to work, trudging through the ungrateful sand and dealing with the restless troubles, in the heat of the afternoon, you can see your unfortunate single friend strolling back and forth on the shady side of the street, with an umbrella over his head and a word of cheer from young and old to brighten his solitude.”
“But th' childher?” asked Mr. Hennessy slyly.
“But the children?” asked Mr. Hennessy slyly.
“Childher!” said Mr. Dooley. “Sure I have th' finest fam'ly in th' city. Without scandal I'm th' father iv ivry child in Ar-rchey r-road fr'm end to end.”
“Kids!” said Mr. Dooley. “I have the best family in the city. Without a doubt, I’m the father of every child on Archie Road from one end to the other.”
“An' none iv ye'er own,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Not any of your own,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“I wish to hell, Hinnissy,” said Mr. Dooley savagely, “ye'd not lean against that mirror, I don't want to have to tell ye again.”
“I really wish, Hinnissy,” Mr. Dooley said fiercely, “you wouldn't lean against that mirror. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
THE EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG
The troubled Mr. Hennessy had been telling Mr. Dooley about the difficulty of making a choice of schools for Packy Hennessy, who at the age of six was at the point where the family must decide his career.
The troubled Mr. Hennessy had been telling Mr. Dooley about the challenge of choosing a school for Packy Hennessy, who, at the age of six, was at the stage where the family had to decide his future.
“'Tis a big question,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' wan that seems to be worryin' th' people more thin it used to whin ivry boy was designed f'r th' priesthood, with a full undherstandin' be his parents that th' chances was in favor iv a brick yard. Nowadays they talk about th' edycation iv th' child befure they choose th' name. 'Tis: 'Th' kid talks in his sleep. 'Tis th' fine lawyer he'll make.' Or, 'Did ye notice him admirin' that photygraph? He'll be a gr-reat journalist.' Or, 'Look at him fishin' in Uncle Tim's watch pocket. We must thrain him f'r a banker.' Or, 'I'm afraid he'll niver be sthrong enough to wurruk. He must go into th' church.' Befure he's baptized too, d'ye mind. 'Twill not be long befure th' time comes whin th' soggarth'll christen th' infant: 'Judge Pathrick Aloysius Hinnissy, iv th' Northern District iv Illinye,' or 'Profissor P. Aloysius Hinnissy, LL.D., S.T.D., P.G.N., iv th' faculty iv Nothre Dame.' Th' innocent child in his cradle, wondherin' what ails th' mist iv him an' where he got such funny lookin' parents fr'm, has thim to blame that brought him into th' wurruld if he dayvilops into a sicond story man befure he's twinty-wan an' is took up be th' polis. Why don't you lade Packy down to th' occylist an' have him fitted with a pair iv eyeglasses? Why don't ye put goloshes on him, give him a blue umbrelly an' call him a doctor at wanst an' be done with it?”
“It's a big question,” said Mr. Dooley, “and one that seems to be worrying the people more than it used to when every boy was destined for the priesthood, with full understanding from his parents that the chances were in favor of a brick yard. Nowadays they talk about the education of the child before they choose the name. It’s: ‘The kid talks in his sleep. He’ll be a great lawyer.’ Or, ‘Did you notice him admiring that photograph? He'll be a fantastic journalist.’ Or, ‘Look at him fishing in Uncle Tim's watch pocket. We must train him to be a banker.’ Or, ‘I’m afraid he’ll never be strong enough to work. He must go into the church.’ Before he's baptized too, mind you. It won't be long before the time comes when the priest will christen the infant: ‘Judge Patrick Aloysius Hinnissy, of the Northern District of Illinois,’ or ‘Professor P. Aloysius Hinnissy, LL.D., S.T.D., P.G.N., of the faculty of Notre Dame.’ The innocent child in his cradle, wondering what’s wrong with him and where he got such funny-looking parents from, has them to blame for bringing him into the world if he develops into a second-story man before he's twenty-one and gets picked up by the police. Why don’t you take Packy to the optometrist and have him fitted with a pair of eyeglasses? Why don’t you put galoshes on him, give him a blue umbrella, and call him a doctor right away and be done with it?”
“To my mind, Hinnissy, we're wastin' too much time thinkin' iv th' future iv our young, an' thryin' to larn thim early what they oughtn't to know till they've growed up. We sind th' childher to school as if 'twas a summer garden where they go to be amused instead iv a pinitinchry where they're sint f'r th' original sin. Whin I was a la-ad I was put at me ah-bee abs, th' first day I set fut in th' school behind th' hedge an' me head was sore inside an' out befure I wint home. Now th' first thing we larn th' future Mark Hannas an' Jawn D. Gateses iv our naytion is waltzin', singin', an' cuttin' pitchers out iv a book. We'd be much betther teachin' thim th' sthrangle hold, f'r that's what they need in life.”
“To me, Hinnissy, we're wasting too much time thinking about the future of our kids and trying to teach them things they shouldn't know until they're grown up. We send the children to school as if it’s a summer garden where they go to have fun instead of a place where they're sent for their original sins. When I was a kid, I was slapped with the basics the first day I set foot in school behind the hedge, and my head was sore inside and out by the time I went home. Now the first things we teach the future Mark Hannas and John D. Gateses of our nation are dancing, singing, and cutting pictures out of a book. We’d be much better off teaching them the chokehold, because that’s what they really need in life.”
“I know what'll happen. Ye'll sind Packy to what th' Germans call a Kindygartin, an' 'tis a good thing f'r Germany, because all a German knows is what some wan tells him, an' his grajation papers is a certy-ficate that he don't need to think anny more. But we've inthrajooced it into this counthry, an' whin I was down seein' if I cud injooce Rafferry, th' Janitor iv th' Isaac Muggs Grammar School, f'r to vote f'r Riordan—an' he's goin' to—I dhropped in on Cassidy's daughter, Mary Ellen, an' see her kindygartnin'. Th' childher was settin' ar-round on th' flure an' some was moldin' dachshunds out iv mud an' wipin' their hands on their hair, an' some was carvin' figures iv a goat out iv paste-board an' some was singin' an' some was sleepin' an' a few was dancin' an' wan la-ad was pullin' another la-ad's hair. 'Why don't ye take th' coal shovel to that little barbaryan, Mary Ellen?' says I. 'We don't believe in corporeal punishment,' says she. 'School shud be made pleasant f'r th' childher,' she says. 'Th' child who's hair is bein' pulled is larnin' patience,' she says, 'an' th' child that's pullin' th' hair is discovrin' th' footility iv human indeavor,' says she. 'Well, oh, well,' says I, 'times has changed since I was a boy,' I says. 'Put thim through their exercises,' says I. 'Tommy,' says I, 'spell cat,' I says. 'Go to th' divvle,' says th' cheerub. 'Very smartly answered,' says Mary Ellen. 'Ye shud not ask thim to spell,' she says. 'They don't larn that till they get to colledge,' she says, 'an'' she says, 'sometimes not even thin,' she says. 'An' what do they larn?' says I. 'Rompin',' she says, 'an' dancin',' she says, 'an' indepindance iv speech, an' beauty songs, an' sweet thoughts, an' how to make home home-like,' she says. 'Well,' says I, 'I didn't take anny iv thim things at colledge, so ye needn't unblanket thim,' I says. 'I won't put thim through anny exercise today,' I says. 'But whisper, Mary Ellen,' says I, 'Don't ye niver feel like bastin' th' seeraphims?' 'Th' teachin's iv Freebull and Pitzotly is conthrary to that,' she says. 'But I'm goin' to be marrid an' lave th' school on Choosdah, th' twinty-sicond iv Janooary,' she says, 'an' on Mondah, th' twinty-first, I'm goin' to ask a few iv th' little darlin's to th' house an',' she says, 'stew thim over a slow fire,' she says. Mary Ellen is not a German, Hinnissy.”
"I know what's going to happen. You'll send Packy to what the Germans call kindergarten, and it's a good thing for Germany because all a German knows is what someone tells them, and their graduation papers are a certificate that they don't need to think anymore. But we've introduced it into this country, and when I was down trying to persuade Rafferty, the janitor of the Isaac Muggs Grammar School, to vote for Riordan—and he’s going to—I dropped in on Cassidy's daughter, Mary Ellen, and saw her kindergarten class. The kids were sitting around on the floor; some were molding dachshunds out of mud and wiping their hands on their hair, some were carving figures of a goat out of pasteboard, some were singing, some were sleeping, a few were dancing, and one boy was pulling another boy's hair. 'Why don’t you take the coal shovel to that little barbarian, Mary Ellen?' I said. 'We don’t believe in corporal punishment,' she said. 'School should be made pleasant for the children,' she said. 'The child whose hair is being pulled is learning patience,' she said, 'and the child that's pulling the hair is discovering the futility of human endeavor,' she said. 'Well, oh well,' I said, 'times have changed since I was a boy,' I said. 'Put them through their exercises,' I said. 'Tommy,' I said, 'spell cat,' I said. 'Go to the devil,' said the cherub. 'Very smartly answered,' said Mary Ellen. 'You should not ask them to spell,' she said. 'They don’t learn that until they get to college,' she said, 'and sometimes not even then,' she said. 'And what do they learn?' I said. 'Rompimg,' she said, 'and dancing,' she said, 'and independence of speech, and beautiful songs, and sweet thoughts, and how to make home home-like,' she said. 'Well,' I said, 'I didn’t take any of those things in college, so you needn’t uncover them,' I said. 'I won’t put them through any exercises today,' I said. 'But tell me, Mary Ellen,' I said, 'Don’t you ever feel like bashing the cherubs?' 'The teachings of Freebull and Pitzotly are contrary to that,' she said. 'But I’m going to be married and leave the school on Tuesday, the twenty-second of January,' she said, 'and on Monday, the twenty-first, I’m going to invite a few of the little darlings to the house and,' she said, 'stew them over a slow fire,' she said. Mary Ellen is not German, Hinnissy."
“Well, afther they have larned in school what they ar-re licked f'r larnin' in th' back yard—that is squashin' mud with their hands—they're conducted up through a channel iv free an' beautiful thought till they're r-ready f'r colledge. Mamma packs a few doylies an' tidies into son's bag, an' some silver to be used in case iv throuble with th' landlord, an' th' la-ad throts off to th' siminary. If he's not sthrong enough to look f'r high honors as a middle weight pugilist he goes into th' thought departmint. Th' prisidint takes him into a Turkish room, gives him a cigareet an' says: 'Me dear boy, what special branch iv larnin' wud ye like to have studied f'r ye be our compitint profissors? We have a chair iv Beauty an' wan iv Puns an' wan iv Pothry on th' Changin' Hues iv the Settin' Sun, an' wan on Platonic Love, an' wan on Nonsense Rhymes, an' wan on Sweet Thoughts, an' wan on How Green Grows th' Grass, an' wan on' th' Relation iv Ice to th' Greek Idee iv God,' he says. 'This is all ye'll need to equip ye f'r th' perfect life, onless,' he says, 'ye intind bein' a dintist, in which case,' he says, 'we won't think much iv ye, but we have a good school where ye can larn that disgraceful thrade,' he says. An' th' la-ad makes his choice, an' ivry mornin' whin he's up in time he takes a whiff iv hasheesh an' goes off to hear Profissor Maryanna tell him that 'if th' dates iv human knowledge must be rejicted as subjictive, how much more must they be subjicted as rejictive if, as I think, we keep our thoughts fixed upon th' inanity iv th' finite in comparison with th' onthinkable truth with th' ondivided an' onimaginable reality. Boys ar-re ye with me?'”
“Well, after they've learned in school what they’re actually punished for learning in the backyard—that is, squashing mud with their hands—they're guided through a channel of free and beautiful thought until they're ready for college. Mom packs a few doilies and snacks into her son’s bag, along with some cash in case of trouble with the landlord, and the boy sets off to the seminary. If he's not strong enough to aim for high honors as a middleweight boxer, he enters the thought department. The president takes him into a Turkish room, hands him a cigarette, and says, 'My dear boy, what special area of study would you like to pursue to be one of our competent professors? We have a chair for Beauty, one for Puns, one for Poetry on the Changing Hues of the Setting Sun, one for Platonic Love, one for Nonsense Rhymes, one for Sweet Thoughts, one for How Green Grows the Grass, and one for the Relation of Ice to the Greek Idea of God,' he says. 'This is all you'll need to prepare you for the perfect life, unless,' he says, 'you intend to be a dentist, in which case,' he says, 'we won't think much of you, but we have a good school where you can learn that disgraceful trade,' he says. And the boy makes his choice, and every morning when he's up in time, he takes a whiff of hashish and goes off to hear Professor Maryanna tell him that 'if the dates of human knowledge must be rejected as subjective, how much more must they be subjective as restrictive if, as I believe, we keep our thoughts fixed upon the inanity of the finite in comparison with the unthinkable truth of the undivided and unimaginable reality. Boys, are you with me?'"
“That's at wan colledge-Th' Colledge iv Speechless Thought. Thin there's th' Colledge iv Thoughtless Speech, where th' la-ad is larned that th' best thing that can happen to annywan is to be prisident iv a railroad consolidation. Th' head iv this colledge believes in thrainin' young men f'r th' civic ideel, Father Kelly tells me. Th' on'y thrainin' I know f'r th' civic ideel is to have an alarm clock in ye'er room on iliction day. He believes 'young men shud be equipped with Courage, Discipline, an' Loftiness iv Purpose;' so I suppose Packy, if he wint there, wud listen to lectures fr'm th' Profissor iv Courage an' Erasmus H. Noddle, Doctor iv Loftiness iv Purpose. I loft, ye loft, he lofts. I've always felt we needed some wan to teach our young th' Courage they can't get walkin' home in th' dark, an' th' loftiness iv purpose that doesn't start with bein' hungry an' lookin' f'r wurruk. An' in th' colledge where these studies are taught, its undhershtud that even betther thin gettin' th' civic ideel is bein' head iv a thrust. Th' on'y trouble with th' coorse is that whin Packy comes out loaded with loftiness iv purpose, all th' lofts is full iv men that had to figure it out on th' farm.”
“That's at one college—the College of Speechless Thought. Then there's the College of Thoughtless Speech, where the student learns that the best thing that can happen to anyone is to be president of a railroad consolidation. The head of this college believes in training young men for the civic ideal, Father Kelly tells me. The only training I know for the civic ideal is to have an alarm clock in your room on election day. He believes 'young men should be equipped with Courage, Discipline, and Loftiness of Purpose;' so I suppose Packy, if he went there, would listen to lectures from the Professor of Courage and Erasmus H. Noddle, Doctor of Loftiness of Purpose. I loft, you loft, he lofts. I've always felt we needed someone to teach our youth the Courage they can't gain walking home in the dark, and the loftiness of purpose that doesn't start with being hungry and looking for work. And in the college where these studies are taught, it's understood that even better than attaining the civic ideal is being head of a trust. The only problem with the course is that when Packy comes out loaded with loftiness of purpose, all the lofts are full of men who had to figure it out on the farm.”
“I don't undherstand a wurrud iv what ye're sayin',” said Mr. Hennesy.
“I don't understand a word of what you're saying,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“No more do I,” said Mr. Dooley. “But I believe 'tis as Father Kelly says: 'Childher shudden't be sint to school to larn, but to larn how to larn. I don't care what ye larn thim so long as 'tis onpleasant to thim.' 'Tis thrainin' they need, Hinnissy. That's all. I niver cud make use iv what I larned in colledge about thrigojoomethry an'—an'—grammar an' th' welts I got on th' skull fr'm the schoolmasther's cane I have nivver been able to turn to anny account in th' business, but 'twas th' bein' there and havin' to get things to heart without askin' th' meanin' iv thim an' goin' to school cold an' comin' home hungry, that made th' man iv me ye see befure ye.”
“No more do I,” said Mr. Dooley. “But I believe it’s like Father Kelly says: 'Kids shouldn’t be sent to school just to learn, but to learn how to learn. I don’t care what you teach them as long as it’s unpleasant for them.' It’s training they need, Hinnissy. That’s all. I could never make use of what I learned in college about trigonometry and— and—grammar and the welts I got on my head from the schoolmaster's cane I have never been able to put to any use in business, but it was the experience of being there and having to memorize things without asking their meaning and going to school cold and coming home hungry that shaped the man you see before you.”
“That's why th' good woman's throubled about Packy,” said Hennessy.
“That's why the good woman is worried about Packy,” said Hennessy.
“Go home,” said Mr. Dooley.
"Go home," Mr. Dooley said.
“L'AIGLON”
“Hogan's been tellin' me iv a new play he r-read th' other day,” said Mr. Dooley. “'Tis be th' same la-ad that wrote th' piece they played down in th' Christyan Brothers' school last year about the man with th' big nose, that wud dhraw a soord or a pome on e'er a man alive. This wan is called 'The Little Eagle,' an' 'tis about th' son iv Napolyon th' Impror iv th' Fr-rinch, th' first wan, not th' wan I had th' fight about in Schwartzmeister's in eighteen hundhred an' siventy. Bad cess to that man, he was no good. I often wondher why I shtud up f'r him whin he had hardly wan frind in th' counthry. But I did, an' ye might say I'm a vethran iv th' Napolyonic Wars. I am so.
“Hogan's been telling me about a new play he read the other day,” said Mr. Dooley. “It's by the same guy who wrote the piece they performed at the Christian Brothers' school last year about the man with the big nose, who could draw a sword or a poem on any man alive. This one is called 'The Little Eagle,' and it's about the son of Napoleon, the Emperor of the French, the first one, not the one I had that fight about in Schwartzmeister's back in eighteen hundred and seventy. Bad luck to that guy, he was no good. I often wonder why I stood up for him when he hardly had one friend in the country. But I did, and you might say I'm a veteran of the Napoleonic Wars. I really am.
“But th' first Napolyon was a diff'rent man, an' whin he died he left a son that th' coorts tur-rned over to th' custody iv his mother, th' ol' man bein' on th' island—th' same place where Gin'ral Crownjoy is now. Tis about this la-ad th' play's written. He don't look to be much account havin' a hackin' cough all through the piece, but down undherneath he wants to be impror iv th' Fr-rinch like his father befure him, d'ye mind, on'y he don't dare to go out f'r it f'r fear iv catchin' a bad cold on his chist. Th' Austhreeches that has charge iv him don't like th' idee iv havin' him know what kind iv man his father was. Whin he asks: 'Where's pah?' They say: 'He died in jail.' 'What happened in 1805?' says th' boy. 'In 1805,' says th' Austhreeches, 'th' bar-rn blew down.' 'In 1806?' says th' boy. 'In 1806 th' chimney smoked.' 'Not so,' says th' prince. 'In 1806 me father crossed th' Rhine an' up,' he says, 'th' ar-rmed camps he marched to Augaspiel, to Lieberneck, to Donnervet. He changed his boots at Mikelstraus an' down th' eagle swooped on Marcobrun,' he says. 'Me gran'dad fled as flees th' hen befure th' hawk, but dad stayed not till gran'pa, treed, besought f'r peace. That's what me father done unto me gran'dad in eighteen six.' At this p'int he coughs but ye sees he knew what was goin' on, bein' taught in secret be a lady iv th' stage fr'm whom manny a la-ad cud larn th' truth about his father.
“But the first Napoleon was a different man, and when he died, he left a son that the courts handed over to his mother’s care, the old man being on the island—the same place where General Crownjoy is now. This play is about that kid. He doesn’t seem like much, having a terrible cough throughout the story, but deep down he wants to be the Emperor of the French like his father before him, you see; only he doesn’t dare to go for it for fear of catching a bad cold on his chest. The Austrians in charge of him don’t like the idea of him knowing what kind of man his father was. When he asks, ‘Where’s Dad?’ they say, ‘He died in jail.’ ‘What happened in 1805?’ the boy asks. ‘In 1805,’ the Austrians say, ‘the barn blew down.’ ‘And in 1806?’ the boy presses. ‘In 1806, the chimney smoked.’ ‘Not so,’ says the prince. ‘In 1806 my father crossed the Rhine and up,’ he says, ‘the armed camps he marched to Augaspiel, to Lieberneck, to Donnervet. He changed his boots at Mikelstraus and down the eagle swooped on Marcobrun,’ he says. ‘My granddad fled like a hen before the hawk, but Dad didn’t stop until Grandpa, cornered, begged for peace. That’s what my father did to my granddad in eighteen six.’ At this point, he coughs, but you see he knew what was going on, having been taught in secret by a lady of the stage from whom many a lad could learn the truth about his father.”
“Still he can't be persuaded f'r to apply f'r th' vacant improrship on account iv his lungs, till wan day a tailor shows up to measure him f'r some clothes. Th' tailor d'ye mind is a rivolutionist in disguise, an' has come down fr'm Paris f'r to injooce th' young man to take th' vacancy. 'Fourteen, six, thirty-three. How'll ye have th' pants made, Impror?' says th' tailor. 'Wan or two hip pockets?' says he.
“Still, he can't be convinced to apply for the vacant job because of his lungs, until one day a tailor comes by to measure him for some clothes. The tailor, mind you, is a revolutionary in disguise and has come down from Paris to persuade the young man to take the position. 'Fourteen, six, thirty-three. How do you want the pants made, Your Majesty?' asks the tailor. 'One or two hip pockets?' he replies."
“'Two hips,' says young Napolyon. 'What do ye mean be that?'” he says.
“'Two hips,' says young Napoleon. 'What do you mean by that?'” he says.
“'Thirty-eight, siventeen, two sides, wan watch, buckle behind. All Paris awaits ye, sire.'”
“‘Thirty-eight, seventeen, two sides, one watch, buckle behind. All of Paris is waiting for you, sir.’”
“'Make th' sleeves a little longer thin this,' says th' boy. 'An' fill out th' shouldhers. What proof have I?'”
“'Make the sleeves a little longer than this,' says the boy. 'And fill out the shoulders. What proof do I have?'”
“'Wan or two inside pockets?' says th' tailor. 'Two insides. Hankerchief pocket? Wan hankerchief. Th' pants is warn much fuller this year. Make that twinty-eight instid iv twinty-siven,' he says. 'Paris shrieks f'r ye,' he says.
“‘One or two inside pockets?’ says the tailor. ‘Two inside pockets. Handkerchief pocket? One handkerchief. The pants are a lot fuller this year. Make that twenty-eight instead of twenty-seven,’ he says. ‘Paris is calling for you,’ he says.
“'Proof,' says th' la-ad.
"'Proof,' says the lad."
“'They've named a perfume afther ye, a shirt waist, a paper collar, a five cint seegar, a lot iv childer. Nay more, a breakfast dish christened f'r ye is on ivry lip. Will I forward th' soot collect?' he says.
"They've named a perfume after you, a shirt waist, a paper collar, a five-cent cigar, a lot of kids. Not to mention, a breakfast dish named after you is on everyone's lips. Should I send the soot collection?" he says.
“'No, sind th' bill to me mother,' says th' boy. 'An' meet me in th' park at tin,' he says.
“'No, send the bill to my mother,' says the boy. 'And meet me in the park at ten,' he says.
“So 'tis planned to seize th' throne, but it comes to nawthin'.”
“So it’s planned to take the throne, but it amounts to nothing.”
“Why's that?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“Why's that?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“F'r th' same reason that the Irish rivolution failed, th' polis stopped it. Th' con-spirators met in th' park an' were nailed be a park polisman. They didn't run in th' boy, but left him alone in th' place which was where his father wanst fought a battle. As he shtands there coughin' he begins to hear voices iv soops that followed th' ol' Impror. 'Comrade' says wan. 'Give me ye'er hand.' 'I can't,' says another. 'I haven't wan left.' 'Where's me leg?' 'Sarch me.' 'I've lost me voice.' 'Me mind is shot away.' 'Reach me some wather.' 'Pass th' can.' 'A horse is settin' on me chest.' 'What's that? They'se a batthry iv artillery on me.' 'I've broke something. What is it?' 'I cannot move me leg.' 'Curses on the Cavalry.' 'Have ye got th' time?' 'Oh me knee, how it aches me.' 'Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha.' 'Veev, th' Impror.' 'Right about face, shouldher ar-rms, right shouldher shift arms. March.' A harsh, metallic voice in the distance: 'Gin-rals, leftnant Gin'rals, officers, sooz-officers, an' men—.' 'Tis th' boy's father. Th' boy pulls out his soord an' says he: 'Come on, let's fight. Play away there band. Blow fife and banners wave. Lave me at thim. Come on, come on!' an' he rushes out an' makes a stab at an Austhreech regimint that's come up to be dhrilled. Thin he undherstands 'twas all a dhream with him an' he raysumes his ol' job. In th' next act he dies.”
“_for the same reason that the Irish revolution failed, the police stopped it. The conspirators met in the park and were caught by a park policeman. They didn't take the boy in, but left him alone in the place where his father once fought a battle. As he stands there coughing, he begins to hear voices of soldiers that followed the old Emperor. 'Comrade,' says one. 'Give me your hand.' 'I can't,' says another. 'I haven't one left.' 'Where's my leg?' 'Search me.' 'I've lost my voice.' 'My mind is shot away.' 'Reach me some water.' 'Pass the can.' 'A horse is sitting on my chest.' 'What's that? There’s a battery of artillery on me.' 'I've broken something. What is it?' 'I cannot move my leg.' 'Curses on the Cavalry.' 'Have you got the time?' 'Oh my knee, how it aches.' 'Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha.' 'Vive, the Emperor.' 'Right about face, shoulder arms, right shoulder shift arms. March.' A harsh, metallic voice in the distance: 'Generals, Lieutenant Generals, officers, sub-officers, and men—.' 'It's the boy's father. The boy pulls out his sword and says: 'Come on, let's fight. Play away there band. Blow the fife and wave the banners. Leave me at them. Come on, come on!' and he rushes out and makes a stab at an Austro-Hungarian regiment that's come up to be drilled. Then he understands it was all a dream for him and he resumes his old job. In the next act he dies.”
“That's a good act,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“That's a great thing to do,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“'Tis fine. In Austhree where this happened whin a man dies ivrybody comes in to see him. Ye meet a frind on th' sthreet an' he says: 'Come on over an see Harrigan jump off.' So whin th' la-ad is r-ready f'r to go out ivry body gathers in his room. 'Tis a fash'nable ivint, like th' Horse Show. Among those prisint is his mother. She's a frivolous ol' loon, this Marie Louisa, that was Napolyon's sicond wife, though between you an' me, Father Kelly has niver reconized her as such, th' Impror havin' a wife livin' that was as tough as they make thim. But annyhow she was there. She hadn't done much f'r her son, but she come to see him off with siv'ral ladies that loved him an' others. Bein' a busy an' fashn'able woman she cudden't raymimber his name. At times she called him 'Frank' an' thin 'Fronzwah' an' 'Fritz' an' 'Ferdynand'—'twas a name beginnin' with 'f' she knew that—but he f'rgive her an' ast somewan to r-read to him. 'What shall it be?' says a gin'ral. 'R-read about th' time I was christened,' says th' boy. An' th' gin'ral r-reads: 'At iliven o'clock at th' church iv Nothre Dame in th' prisince iv th' followin' princes—,' 'Cut out th' princes,' says th' la-ad. 'An' kings—' 'F'rget th' kings,' says th' lad. 'Th' son iv th' Impror—' 'He's dead,' says th' doctor. 'Put on his white soot,' says th' Main Thing among th' Austhreeches that was again him fr'm th' beginnin'. An' there ye ar-re.”
“It's fine. In Austhree, when a man dies, everyone comes to see him. You meet a friend on the street, and he says, 'Come on over and watch Harrigan jump off.' So when the guy is ready to go, everyone gathers in his room. It's a fashionable event, like the Horse Show. Among those present is his mother. She's a silly old woman, this Marie Louisa, who was Napoleon's second wife, although between you and me, Father Kelly has never recognized her as such, since the Emperor had a wife living who was as tough as they come. But anyway, she was there. She hadn't done much for her son, but she came to see him off with several ladies who loved him and others. Being a busy and fashionable woman, she couldn't remember his name. At times she called him 'Frank,' then 'Fronzwah,' then 'Fritz,' and 'Ferdynand' — it was a name starting with 'f' that she knew — but he forgave her and asked someone to read to him. 'What shall it be?' says a general. 'Read about the time I was christened,' says the boy. And the general reads: 'At eleven o'clock at the church of Notre Dame in the presence of the following princes—,' 'Cut out the princes,' says the guy. 'And kings—' 'Forget the kings,' says the lad. 'The son of the Emperor—' 'He's dead,' says the doctor. 'Put on his white suit,' says the Main Thing among the Austhreeches who was against him from the beginning. And there you are.”
“Is that all?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“Is that it?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“That's all,” said Mr. Dooley.
“That's everything,” said Mr. Dooley.
“He died?”
“He passed away?”
“He did.”
"He did."
“But he was sthrong r-right up to th' end.”
“But he was strong right up to the end.”
“He was that. None sthronger.”
“He was that. None stronger.”
“An' what?” asked Mr. Hennessy, “did they do with th' soot iv clothes he ordhered fr'm th' tailor?”
“An' what?” asked Mr. Hennessy, “did they do with the soot on the clothes he ordered from the tailor?”
CASUAL OBSERVATIONS
To most people a savage nation is wan that doesn't wear oncomf'rtable clothes.
To most people, a savage nation is one that doesn't wear uncomfortable clothes.
Manny people'd rather be kilt at Newport thin at Bunker Hill.
Many people would rather be killed at Newport than at Bunker Hill.
If ye live enough befure thirty ye won't care to live at all afther fifty.
If you live long enough before thirty, you won't want to live at all after fifty.
As Shakespere says, be thrue to ye'ersilf an' ye will not thin be false to ivry man.
As Shakespeare says, be true to yourself and you will not then be false to any man.
Play actors, orators an' women ar-re a class be thimsilves.
Play actors, speakers, and women are a class by themselves.
Among men, Hinnissy, wet eye manes dhry heart.
Among men, Hinnissy, a man with wet eyes but a dry heart.
Th' nearest anny man comes to a con-ciption iv his own death is lyin' back in a comfortable coffin with his ears cocked f'r th' flatthrin' remarks iv th' mourners.
The closest anyone gets to thinking about their own death is lying back in a comfy coffin, ears perked up for the flattering comments of the mourners.
A fanatic is a man that does what he thinks th' Lord wud do if He knew th' facts iv th' case.
A fanatic is someone who acts as he believes the Lord would if He understood all the details of the situation.
A millionyaire—or man out iv debt—wanst tol' me his dhreams always took place in th' farm-house where he was bor-rn. He said th' dhreamin' iv his life was th' on'y part that seemed real.
A millionaire—or a man free of debt—once told me his dreams always happened in the farmhouse where he was born. He said that dreaming about his life was the only part that felt real.
'Tis no job to find out who wrote an anonymous letter. Jus' look out iv th' window whin ye get it. 'Tis harder to do evil thin good be stealth.
'Tis no job to figure out who wrote an anonymous letter. Just look out the window when you receive it. It's harder to do evil than to do good secretly.
A German's idee iv Hivin is painted blue an' has cast-iron dogs on th' lawn.
A German's idea of Heaven is painted blue and has cast-iron dogs on the lawn.
No man was iver so low as to have rayspict f'r his brother-in-law.
No man was ever so low as to have respect for his brother-in-law.
Th' modhren idee iv governmint is 'Snub th' people, buy th' people, jaw th' people.'
The modern idea of government is 'Ignore the people, buy the people, talk to the people.'
I wisht I was a German an' believed in machinery.
I wish I were German and believed in machines.
A vote on th' tallysheet is worth two in the box.
A vote on the tally sheet is worth two in the box.
I care not who makes th' laws iv a nation if I can get out an injunction.
I don't care who makes the laws of a nation as long as I can get an injunction.
An Englishman appears resarved because he can't talk.
An Englishman seems reserved because he doesn't speak.
What China needs is a Chinese exclusion act.
What China needs is a Chinese exclusion act.
All th' wurruld loves a lover—excipt sometimes th' wan that's all th' wurruld to him.
All the world loves a lover—except sometimes the one who means everything to him.
A nation with colonies is kept busy. Look at England! She's like wan iv th' Swiss bell-ringers.
A nation with colonies is always occupied. Just look at England! She's like one of the Swiss bell-ringers.
Th' paramount issue f'r our side is th' wan th' other side doesn't like to have mintioned.
The main issue for our side is the one that the other side doesn't want to mention.
If ye put a beggar on horseback ye'll walk ye'ersilf.
If you put a beggar on a horse, you’ll end up walking yourself.
It takes a sthrong man to be mean. A mean man is wan that has th' courage not to be gin'rous. Whin I give a tip 'tis not because I want to but because I'm afraid iv what th' waiter'll think. Russell Sage is wan iv Nature's noblemen.
It takes a strong man to be mean. A mean man is one that has the courage not to be generous. When I give a tip, it's not because I want to, but because I'm afraid of what the waiter will think. Russell Sage is one of Nature's noblemen.
An autocrat's a ruler that does what th' people wants an' takes th' blame f'r it. A constitootional ixicutive, Hinnissy, is a ruler that does as he dam pleases an' blames th' people.
An autocrat is a ruler who does what the people want and takes the blame for it. A constitutional executive, Hinnissy, is a ruler who does whatever he wants and blames the people.
'Tis as hard f'r a rich man to enther th' kingdom iv Hiven as it is f'r a poor man to get out iv Purgatory.
It's as hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven as it is for a poor man to get out of Purgatory.
Evil communications corrupt good Ph'lippeens.
Bad company corrupts good morals.
Ivry man has his superstitions. If I look at a new moon over me shoulder I get a crick in me neck.
Ivry man has his superstitions. If I look at a new moon over my shoulder, I get a crick in my neck.
Thrust ivrybody—but cut th' ca-ards.
Thrust everybody—but cut the cards.
If Rooshia wud shave we'd not be afraid iv her.
If Rooshia would shave, we wouldn't be afraid of her.
Some day th' Ph'lippeens 'll be known as th' Standard Isles iv th' Passyfic.
Some day the Philippines will be known as the Standard Isles of the Pacific.
A woman's sinse iv humor is in her husband's name.
A woman's sense of humor is linked to her husband's name.
Most women ought niver to look back if they want a following.
Most women should never look back if they want to have a following.
If ye dhrink befure siven ye'll cry befure iliven.
If you drink before seven, you'll cry before eleven.
A man that'd expict to thrain lobsters to fly in a year is called a loonytic; but a man that thinks men can be tur-rned into angels be an iliction is called a rayformer an' remains at large.
A man who expects to train lobsters to fly in a year is called a lunatic; but a man who thinks men can be turned into angels by an election is called a reformer and remains free.
Th' throuble with most iv us, Hinnissy, is we swallow pollytical idees befure they're ripe an' they don't agree with us.
The trouble with most of us, Hinnissy, is we swallow political ideas before they're ready, and they don't sit well with us.
Dhressmakers' bills sinds women into lithrachoor an' men into an early decline.
Dhressmakers' bills send women into a frenzy and men into an early decline.
A bur-rd undher a bonnet is worth two on th' crown.
A bird under a bonnet is worth two in the crown.
People tell me to be frank, but how can I be whin I don't dare to know mesilf?
People tell me to be honest, but how can I be when I don't even dare to know myself?
People that talk loud an' offind ye with their insolence are usu'lly shy men thryin' to get over their shyness. 'Tis th' quite, resarved, ca'm spoken man that's mashed on himsilf.
People who talk loudly and often annoy you with their rudeness are usually shy individuals trying to overcome their shyness. It’s the quiet, reserved, calm-spoken person who is really struggling with themselves.
If men cud on'y enjye th' wealth an' position th' newspapers give thim whin they're undher arrest! Don't anny but prominent clubman iver elope or embezzle?
If men could only enjoy the wealth and status that the newspapers give them when they're under arrest! Don’t only prominent club members ever elope or embezzle?
Miditation is a gift con-fined to unknown philosophers an' cows. Others don't begin to think till they begin to talk or write.
Miditation is a gift reserved for unknown philosophers and cows. Others don't start to think until they start to talk or write.
A good manny people r-read th' ol' sayin' “Larceny is th' sincerest form iv flatthry.”
A lot of people read the old saying "Larceny is the sincerest form of flattery."
Tis a good thing th' fun'ral sermons ar-re not composed in th' confissional.
It's a good thing that funeral sermons are not written in the confessional.
Most vigitaryans I iver see looked enough like their food to be classed as cannybals.
Most vegetarians I ever see look enough like their food to be classified as cannibals.
I don't see why anny man who believes in medicine wud shy at th' faith cure.
I don't see why any man who believes in medicine would hesitate at the faith cure.
Miracles are laughed at be a nation that r-reads thirty millyon newspapers a day an' supports Wall sthreet.
Miracles are mocked by a nation that reads thirty million newspapers a day and supports Wall Street.
All men are br-rave in comp'ny an' cow'rds alone, but some shows it clearer thin others.
All men are brave in company and cowards alone, but some show it more clearly than others.
I'd like to tell me frind Tiddy that they'se a strenuse life an' a sthrenuseless life.
I'd like to tell my friend Tiddy that there's a strenuous life and a strenuously useless life.
I'd like to've been ar-round in th' times th' historical novelists writes about—but I wudden't like to be in th' life insurance business.
I'd like to have been around in the times that historical novelists write about—but I wouldn't want to be in the life insurance business.
I wondher why porthrait painters look down on phrenologists.
I wonder why portrait painters look down on phrenologists.
Di-plomacy is a continyual game iv duck on th' rock—with France th' duck.
Di-plomacy is a continuous game of duck on the rock—with France the duck.
Whin we think we're makin' a gr-reat hit with th' wurruld we don't know what our own wives thinks iv us.
When we think we're making a great impression on the world, we don't realize what our own wives think of us.
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