heerd ye'er father tell about it. It was famous f'r th' quality an'
quantity iv th' warfare put up in it. Ivry man in th' tenth precint cud
fight his weight in scrap-iron. Most iv thim come fr'm th' ancient
Hellenic province iv May-o; but they was a fair sprinklin' iv Greek
heroes fr'm Roscommon an' Tipperary, an' a few from th' historic spot
where th' Head iv Kinsale looks out on th' sea, an' th' sea looks up at
th' Head iv Kinsale. Th' little boys cud box befure they was out iv
skirts. Far an' wide, th' tenth precint was th' turror iv its inimies.
Ye talk about Leonidas an' th' pass iv Thermometer. Ye ought to've seen
Mike Riordan an' his fam'ly defindin' th' pollin'-place whin Eddie
Burke's brigade charged it wan fine day. That hero sthud f'r four hours
in th' dureway, ar-rmed on'y with a monkey-wrinch, an' built a wall iv
invaders in frint iv him till th' judges cud dig their way out through
th' cellar, an' escape to th' polis station.
"'F'r manny years th' tenth precint was th' banner precint iv th' Sixth
Wa-ard, an' its gallant heroes repelled all attacks by land or Healey's
slough. But, as time wint by, changes come over it. Th' Hannigans an'
Leonidases an' Caseys moved out, havin' made their pile. Some iv th'
grandest iv th' heroes died, an' their fam'lies were broke up. Polish
Jews an' Swedes an' Germans an' Hollanders swarmed in, settlin' down on
th' sacred sites,' I says. 'Wan night three years ago, a band iv rovin'
Bohemians fr'm th' Eighth Ward come acrost th' river, kickin' over
bar'ls an' ash-boxes, an' swooped down on th' tenth precint. Mike
Riordan, him that kept th' pollin'-place in th' good days iv old, was
th' on'y wan iv th' race iv ancient heroes on earth. He thried to rally
th' ingloryous descindants iv a proud people. F'r a while they made a
stand in Halsted Sthreet, an' shouted bad but difficult names at th'
infidel hordes, an' threw bricks that laid out their own people. But it
was on'y f'r a moment. In another they tur-rned an' r-run, lavin' Mike
Riordan standin' alone in th' mist iv th' fray. If it wasn't f'r th'
intervintion iv th' powers in th' shape iv th' loot an' a wagon-load iv
polismin, th' Bohemians'd have devastated as far as th' ruins iv th'
gas-house, which is th' same as that there Acropulist ye talk about,'
says I.
"'No, my son,' says I. 'On account iv th' fluctuations in rint an'
throuble with th' landlord it's not safe to presoom that th' same fam'ly
always lives in th' wan house. Th' very thing happened to Greece that
has happened to th' tenth precint iv th' Sixth Ward. Th' Greeks have
moved out, an' th' Swedes come in. Ye yet may live to see th' day,' says
I, 'whin what is thrue iv Athens an' th' tenth precint will be thrue iv
th' whole Sixth Wa-ard.'"
"Ye don't mean that," said Mr. Hennessy, gasping.
"I do," said Mr. Dooley, with solemnity. "'Tis histhry."
ON THE INDIAN WAR.
"Gin'ral Sherman was wan iv th' smartest men we iver had," said Mr.
Dooley. "He said so manny bright things. 'Twas him said, 'War is hell';
an' that's wan iv th' finest sayin's I know annything about. 'War is
hell': 'tis a thrue wurrud an' a fine sintiment. An' Gin'ral Sherman
says, 'Th' on'y good Indyun is a dead Indyun.' An' that's a good sayin',
too. So, be th' powers, we've started in again to improve th' race; an',
if we can get in Gatlin' guns enough befure th' winter's snows, we'll
tur-rn thim Chippeways into a cimitry branch iv th' Young Men's
Christyan Association. We will so.
"Ye see, Hinnissy, th' Indyun is bound f'r to give way to th' onward
march iv white civilization. You an' me, Hinnissy, is th' white
civilization. I come along, an' I find ol' Snakes-in-his-Gaiters livin'
quite an' dacint in a new frame house. Thinks I, ''Tis a shame f'r to
lave this savage man in possession iv this fine abode, an' him not able
f'r to vote an' without a frind on th' polis foorce.' So says I:
'Snakes,' I says, 'get along,' says I. 'I want ye'er house, an' ye best
move out west iv th' thracks, an' dig a hole f'r ye'ersilf,' I says.
'Divvle th' fut I will step out iv this house,' says Snakes. 'I built
it, an' I have th' law on me side,' he says. 'F'r why should I take Mary
Ann, an' Terence, an' Honoria, an' Robert Immitt Snakes, an' all me
little Snakeses, an' rustle out west iv th' thracks,' he says, 'far fr'm
th' bones iv me ancestors,' he says, 'an beyond th' water-pipe
extinsion,' he says. 'Because,' says I, 'I am th' walkin' dilygate iv
white civilization,' I says. 'I'm jus' as civilized as you,' says
Snakes. 'I wear pants,' he says, 'an' a plug hat,' he says. 'Ye might
wear tin pair,' says I, 'an' all at wanst,' I says, 'an' ye'd still be a
savage,' says I; 'an' I'd be civilized,' I says, 'if I hadn't on so much
as a bangle bracelet,' I says. 'So get out,' says I. 'So get out,' says
I, 'f'r th' pianny movers is outside, r-ready to go to wurruk,' I says.
"Well, Snakes he fires a stove lid at me; an' I go down to th' polis
station, an' says I, 'Loot,' I says, 'they'se a dhrunken Indyun not
votin' up near th' mills, an he's carryin' on outrageous, an' he won't
let me hang me pitchers on his wall,' says I. 'Vile savage,' says th'
loot, 'I'll tache him to rayspict th' rules iv civilization,' he says.
An' he takes out a wagon load, an' goes afther Snakes. Well, me frind
Snakes gives him battle, an', knowin' th' premises well, he's able to
put up a gr-reat fight; but afther a while they rip him away, an' have
him in th' pathrol wagon, with a man settin' on his head. An' thin he's
put undher bonds to keep the peace, an' they sind him out west iv th'
thracks; an' I move into th' house, an' tear out th' front an' start a
faro bank. Some day, whin I get tired or th' Swedes dhrive me out or
Schwartzmeister makes his lunch too sthrong f'r competition, I'll go
afther Snakes again.
"Th' on'y hope f'r th Indyun is to put his house on rollers, an' keep a
team hitched to it, an', whin he sees a white man, to start f'r th'
settin' sun. He's rooned whin he has a cellar. He ought to put all th'
plugged dollars that he gets from th' agent an' be pickin' blueberries
into rowlin' stock. If he knew annything about balloons, he'd have a
chanst; but we white men, Hinnissy, has all th' balloons. But, annyhow,
he's doomed, as Hogan says. Th' onward march iv th' white civilization,
with morgedges an' other modhern improvements, is slowly but surely, as
Hogan says, chasin' him out; an' th' last iv him'll be livin' in a
divin'-bell somewhere out in th' Pacific Ocean."
"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, the stout philanthropist, "I think so, an'
thin again I dinnaw. I don't think we threat thim r-right. If I was th'
gover'mint, I'd take what they got, but I'd say, 'Here, take this
tin-dollar bill an' go out an' dhrink ye'ersilf to death,' I'd say. They
ought to have some show."
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "if ye feel that way, ye ought to go an' inlist
as an Indyun."
ON GOLF.
"An' what's this game iv goluf like, I dinnaw?" said Mr. Hennessy,
lighting his pipe with much unnecessary noise. "Ye're a good deal iv a
spoort, Jawnny: did ye iver thry it?"
"No," said Mr. McKenna. "I used to roll a hoop onct upon a time, but I'm
out of condition now."
"It ain't like base-ball," said Mr. Hennessy, "an' it ain't like shinny,
an' it ain't like lawn-teenis, an' it ain't like forty-fives, an' it
ain't"--
"Like canvas-back duck or anny other game ye know," said Mr. Dooley.
"Thin what is it like?" said Mr. Hennessy. "I see be th' pa-aper that
Hobart What-d'ye-call-him is wan iv th' best at it. Th' other day he
made a scoor iv wan hundherd an' sixty-eight, but whether 'twas miles or
stitches I cudden't make out fr'm th' raypoorts."
"'Tis little ye know," said Mr. Dooley. "Th' game iv goluf is as old as
th' hills. Me father had goluf links all over his place, an', whin I was
a kid, 'twas wan iv th' principal spoorts iv me life, afther I'd dug the
turf f'r th' avenin', to go out and putt"--
"Poot, ye mean," said Mr. Hennessy. "They'se no such wurrud in th'
English language as putt. Belinda called me down ha-ard on it no more
thin las' night."
"There ye go!" said Mr. Dooley, angrily. "There ye go! D'ye think this
here game iv goluf is a spellin' match? 'Tis like ye, Hinnissy, to be
refereein' a twinty-round glove contest be th' rule iv three. I tell ye
I used to go out in th' avenin' an' putt me mashie like hell-an'-all,
till I was knowed fr'm wan end iv th' county to th' other as th'
champeen putter. I putted two men fr'm Roscommon in wan day, an' they
had to be took home on a dure.
"In America th' ga-ame is played more ginteel, an' is more like
cigareet-smokin', though less unhealthy f'r th' lungs. 'Tis a good game
to play in a hammick whin ye're all tired out fr'm social duties or
shovellin' coke. Out-iv-dure golf is played be th' followin' rules. If
ye bring ye'er wife f'r to see th' game, an' she has her name in th'
paper, that counts ye wan. So th' first thing ye do is to find th'
raypoorter, an' tell him ye're there. Thin ye ordher a bottle iv brown
pop, an' have ye'er second fan ye with a towel. Afther this ye'd dhress,
an' here ye've got to be dam particklar or ye'll be stuck f'r th'
dhrinks. If ye'er necktie is not on sthraight, that counts ye'er
opponent wan. If both ye an' ye'er opponent have ye'er neckties on
crooked, th' first man that sees it gets th' stakes. Thin ye ordher a
carredge"--
"Order what?" demanded Mr. McKenna.
"A carredge."
"What for?"
"F'r to take ye 'round th' links. Ye have a little boy followin' ye,
carryin' ye'er clubs. Th' man that has th' smallest little boy it counts
him two. If th' little boy has th' rickets, it counts th' man in th'
carredge three. The little boys is called caddies; but Clarence Heaney
that tol' me all this--he belongs to th' Foorth Wa-ard Goluf an'
McKinley Club--said what th' little boys calls th' players'd not be fit
f'r to repeat.
"Well, whin ye dhrive up to th' tea grounds"--
"Th' what?" demanded Mr. Hennessy.
"Th' tea grounds, that's like th' homeplate in base-ball or ordherin' a
piece iv chalk in a game iv spoil five. Its th' beginnin' iv ivrything.
Whin ye get to th' tea grounds, ye step out, an' have ye're hat irned be
th' caddie. Thin ye'er man that ye're goin' aginst comes up, an' he asks
ye, 'Do you know Potther Pammer?' Well, if ye don't know Potther Pammer,
it's all up with ye: ye lose two points. But ye come right back at him
with an' upper cut: 'Do ye live on th' Lake Shore dhrive?' If he
doesn't, ye have him in th' nine hole. Ye needn't play with him anny
more. But, if ye do play with him, he has to spot three balls. If he's a
good man an' shifty on his feet, he'll counter be askin' ye where ye
spend th' summer. Now ye can't tell him that ye spent th' summer with
wan hook on th' free lunch an' another on th' ticker tape, an' so ye go
back three. That needn't discourage ye at all, at all. Here's yer chance
to mix up, an' ye ask him if he was iver in Scotland. If he wasn't, it
counts ye five. Thin ye tell him that ye had an aunt wanst that heerd
th' Jook iv Argyle talk in a phonograph; an' onless he comes back an'
shoots it into ye that he was wanst run over be th' Prince iv Wales, ye
have him groggy. I don't know whether th' Jook iv Argyle or th' Prince
iv Wales counts f'r most. They're like th' right an' left bower iv
thrumps. Th' best players is called scratch-men."
"What's that f'r?" Mr. Hennessy asked.
"It's a Scotch game," said Mr. Dooley, with a wave of his hand. "I
wonder how it come out to-day. Here's th' pa-aper. Let me see. McKinley
at Canton. Still there. He niver cared to wandher fr'm his own fireside.
Collar-button men f'r th' goold standard. Statues iv Heidelback,
Ickleheimer an' Company to be erected in Washington. Another Vanderbilt
weddin'. That sounds like goluf, but it ain't. Newport society livin' in
Mrs. Potther Pammer's cellar. Green-goods men declare f'r honest money.
Anson in foorth place some more. Pianny tuners f'r McKinley. Li Hung
Chang smells a rat. Abner McKinley supports th' goold standard. Wait a
minyit. Here it is: 'Goluf in gay attire.' Let me see. H'm. 'Foozled his
aproach,'--nasty thing. 'Topped th' ball.' 'Three up an' two to play.'
Ah, here's the scoor. 'Among those prisint were Messrs. an' Mesdames"--
"Hol' on!" cried Mr. Hennessy, grabbing the paper out of his friend's
hands. "That's thim that was there."
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, decisively, "that's th' goluf scoor."
ON THE FRENCH CHARACTER.
"Th' Fr-rinch," said Mr. Dooley, "ar-re a tumulchuse people."
"Like as not," said Mr. Hennessy, "there's some of our blood in thim. A
good manny iv our people wint over wanst. They cudden't all've been kilt
at Fontenoy."
"No," said Mr. Dooley, "'tis another kind iv tumulchuse. Whin an
Irishman rages, 'tis with wan idee in his mind. He's goin' for'ard again
a single inimy, an' not stone walls or irne chains'll stop him. He may
pause f'r a dhrink or to take a shy at a polisman,--f'r a polisman's
always in th' way,--but he's as thrue as th' needle in th' camel's eye,
as Hogan says, to th' objec' iv his hathred. So he's been f'r four
hundherd years, an' so he'll always be while they'se an England on th'
map. Whin England purrishes, th' Irish'll die iv what Hogan calls
ongwee, which is havin' no wan in the weary wurruld ye don't love.
"But with th' Fr-rinch 'tis diff'rent. I say 'tis diffrent with th'
Fr-rinch. They're an onaisy an' a thrubbled people. They start out down
th' street, loaded up with obscenthe an' cigareets, pavin' blocks an'
walkin' sthicks an' shtove lids in their hands, cryin', 'A base Cap
Dhry-fuss!' th' cap bein' far off in a cage, by dad. So far, so good. 'A
base Cap Dhry-fuss!' says I; 'an' the same to all thraitors, an' manny
iv thim, whether they ar-re or not.' But along comes a man with a poor
hat. 'Where did he get th' hat?' demands th' mob. Down with th' bad
tile!' they say. 'A base th' lid!' An' they desthroy th' hat, an' th'
man undher it succumbs to th' rule iv th' majority an' jines th' mob. On
they go till they come to a restaurant. 'Ha,' says they, 'th' re-sort iv
th' infamious Duclose.' 'His char-rges ar-re high,' says wan. 'I found a
fish-bone in his soup,' says another. 'He's a thraitor,' says a third.
'A base th' soup kitchen! A base th' caafe!' says they; an' they seize
th' unfortunate Duclose, an' bate him an' upset his kettles iv broth.
Manetime where's Cap Dhry-fuss? Off in his comfortable cage, swingin' on
th' perch an' atin' seed out iv a small bottle stuck in th' wire. Be th'
time th' mob has desthroyed what they see on th' way, they've f'rgot th'
Cap intirely; an' he's safe f'r another day.
"'Tis unforch'nit, but 'tis thrue. Th' Fr-rinch ar-re not steady ayether
in their politics or their morals. That's where they get done be th'
hated British. Th' diff'rence in furrin' policies is the diff'rence
between a second-rate safe blower an' a first-class boonco steerer. Th'
Fr-rinch buy a ton iv dinnymite, spind five years in dhrillin' a hole
through a steel dure, blow open th' safe, lose a leg or an ar-rm, an'
get away with th' li'bilities iv th' firm. Th' English dhress up f'r a
Methodist preacher, stick a piece iv lead pipe in th' tails iv their
coat in case iv emargency, an' get all th' money there is in th' line.
"In th' fr-ront dure comes th' Englishman with a coon king on ayether
ar-rm that's jus' loaned him their kingdoms on a prom'ssory note, and
discovers th' Fr-rinchman emargin' frim th' roons iv th' safe. 'What
ar-re ye doin' here?' says th' Englishman. 'Robbin' th' naygurs,' says
th' Fr-rinchman, bein' thruthful as well as polite. 'Wicked man,' says
th' Englishman. 'What ar-re ye doin' here?' says the Fr-rinchman.
'Improvin' the morals iv th' inhabitants,' says th' Englishman. 'Is it
not so, Rastus?' he says. 'It is,' says wan iv th' kings. 'I'm a poorer
but a betther man since ye came,' he says. 'Yes,' says th' Englishman,
'I pro-pose f'r to thruly rayform this onhappy counthry,' he says. 'This
benighted haythen on me exthreme left has been injooced to cut out a
good dale iv his wife's business,' he says, 'an' go through life
torminted be on'y wan spouse,' he says. 'Th' r-rest will go to wurruk
f'r me,' he says. 'All crap games bein' particular ongodly'll be undher
th' con-throl iv th' gover'mint, which,' he says, 'is me. Policy
shops'll be r-run carefully, an' I've appinted Rastus here
Writer-in-Waitin' to her Majesty,' he says.
"'Th' r-rum they dhrink in these par-rts,' he says, 'is fearful,' he
says. 'What shall we do to stop th' ac-cursed thraffic? Sell thim gin,'
says I. ''Tis shameful they shud go out with nawthin' to hide their
nakedness,' he says. 'I'll fetch thim clothes; but,' he says, cas th'
weather's too war-rum f'r clothes, I'll not sell thim annything that'll
last long,' he says. 'If it wasn't f'r relligion,' he says, 'I don't
know what th' 'ell th' wurruld wud come to,' he says. 'Who's relligion?'
says th' Fr-rinchman. 'My relligion,' says th' Englishman. 'These pore,
benighted savidges,' he says, ''ll not be left to yer odjious morals an'
yer hootchy-kootchy school iv thought,' he says, 'but,' he says, 'undher
th' binif'cint r-rule iv a wise an' thrue gover'mint,' he says, ''ll be
thurly prepared f'r hivin,' he says, 'whin their time comes to go,' he
says, 'which I thrust will not be long,' he says. 'So I'll thank ye to
be off,' he says, 'or I'll take th' thick end iv the slung-shot to ye,'
he says.
"Th' Fr-rinchman is a br-rave man, an' he'd stay an' have it out on th'
flure; but some wan calls, 'A base th' Chinnyman!' an' off he goes on
another thrack. An', whin he gets to th' Chinnymen, he finds th'
English've abased thim already. An' so he dances fr'm wan par-rt th'
wurruld to another like a riochous an' happy flea, an' divvle th' bit iv
progress he makes, on'y thrubble f'r others an' a merry life f'r
himsilf."
"If England wint to war with France," said Mr. Hennessy, suddenly, "I'd
be f'r France."
"So ye wud, Hinnissy. So ye wud," said Mr. Dooley. "An' I'm not sayin'
that I wudden't f'aget that I'm an Anglo-Saxon long enough to take wan
crack at th' Prince iv Wales with a coupli' pin mesilf."