MR. DOOLEY
IN THE HEARTS OF HIS COUNTRYMEN
By
FINLEY PETER DUNNE
[Illustration: Decoration: SCIRE QVOD SCIENDVM]
Boston
Small, Maynard & Company
1899
_Copyright, 1898, 1899, by the Chicago Journal
Copyright, 1899, by Robert Howard Russell
Copyright, 1899, by Small, Maynard & Company_
_Entered at Stationers' Hall_
_First Edition (10,000 copies) October, 1899
Second Edition (10,000 copies) October, 1899
Third Edition (10,000 copies) October, 1899
Before Publication_
_Press of George H. Ellis, Boston, U.S.A._
TO
SIR GEORGE NEWNES, BART.
MESSRS. GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS LIMITED
AND OTHER PUBLISHERS WHO, UNINVITED, PRESENTED
MR. DOOLEY TO A PART OF THE BRITISH PUBLIC
PREFACE.
The author may excuse the presentation of these sketches to the
public on the ground that, if he did not publish some of them,
somebody would, and, if he did not publish the others, nobody would.
He has taken the liberty to dedicate the book to certain enterprising
gentlemen in London who have displayed their devotion to a sentiment
now widely prevailing in the Music Halls by republishing an American
book without solicitation on the author's part. At the same time he
begs to reserve _in petto_ a second dedication to the people of
Archey Road, whose secluded gayety he has attempted to discover to
the world.
With the sketches that come properly under the title "Mr. Dooley: In
the Hearts of His Countrymen" are printed a number that do not. It
has seemed impossible to a man who is not a Frenchman, and who is,
therefore, tremendously excited over the case, to avoid discussion
of the Jabberwocky of the Rennes court-martial as it is reported in
America and England. Mr. Dooley cannot lag behind his fellow
Anglo-Saxons in this matter. It is sincerely to be hoped that his
small contribution to the literature of the subject will at last
open the eyes of France to the necessity of conducting her trials,
parliamentary sessions, revolutions, and other debates in a language
more generally understood in New York and London.
F.P.D.
DUBLIN, August 30, 1899.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
EXPANSION 3
A HERO WHO WORKED OVERTIME 8
RUDYARD KIPLING 13
LORD CHARLES BERESFORD 18
HANGING ALDERMEN 23
THE GRIP 30
LEXOW 35
THEIR EXCELLENCIES, THE POLICE 41
SHAUGHNESSY 45
TIMES PAST 50
THE SKIRTS OF CHANCE 56
WHEN THE TRUST IS AT WORK 61
A BRAND FROM THE BURNING 66
A WINTER NIGHT 72
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 76
THE TRAGEDY OF THE AGITATOR 82
BOYNE WATER AND BAD BLOOD 85
THE FREEDOM PICNIC 92
THE IDLE APPRENTICE 96
THE O'BRIENS FOREVER 101
A CANDIDATE'S PILLORY 107
THE DAY AFTER THE VICTORY 113
A VISIT TO JEKYL ISLAND 119
SLAVIN CONTRA WAGNER 125
GRAND OPERA 130
THE CHURCH FAIR 135
THE WANDERERS 139
MAKING A CABINET 143
OLD AGE 149
THE DIVIDED SKIRT 154
A BIT OF HISTORY 158
THE RULING CLASS 165
THE OPTIMIST 170
PROSPERITY 175
THE GREAT HOT SPELL 180
KEEPING LENT 185
THE QUICK AND THE DEAD 190
THE SOFT SPOT 196
THE IRISHMAN ABROAD 202
THE SERENADE 206
THE HAY FLEET 210
THE PERFORMANCES OF LIEUTENANT HOBSON 216
THE DECLINE OF NATIONAL FEELING 222
"CYRANO DE BERGERAC" 228
THE UNION OF TWO GREAT FORTUNES 234
THE DREYFUS CASE:
I. 240
II. 249
III. 259
IV. 268
V. 276
Mr. DOOLEY:
In the Hearts of His Countrymen
EXPANSION.
"Whin we plant what Hogan calls th' starry banner iv Freedom in th'
Ph'lippeens," said Mr. Dooley, "an' give th' sacred blessin' iv
liberty to the poor, down-trodden people iv thim unfortunate
isles,--dam thim!--we'll larn thim a lesson."
"Sure," said Mr. Hennessy, sadly, "we have a thing or two to larn
oursilves."
"But it isn't f'r thim to larn us," said Mr. Dooley. "'Tis not f'r
thim wretched an' degraded crathers, without a mind or a shirt iv
their own, f'r to give lessons in politeness an' liberty to a nation
that mannyfacthers more dhressed beef than anny other imperyal nation
in th' wurruld. We say to thim: 'Naygurs,' we say, 'poor, dissolute,
uncovered wretches,' says we, 'whin th' crool hand iv Spain forged
man'cles f'r ye'er limbs, as Hogan says, who was it crossed th' say
an' sthruck off th' comealongs? We did,--by dad, we did. An' now, ye
mis'rable, childish-minded apes, we propose f'r to larn ye th' uses iv
liberty. In ivry city in this unfair land we will erect school-houses
an' packin' houses an' houses iv correction; an' we'll larn ye our
language, because 'tis aisier to larn ye ours than to larn oursilves
yours. An' we'll give ye clothes, if ye pay f'r thim; an', if ye
don't, ye can go without. An', whin ye're hungry, ye can go to th'
morgue--we mane th' resth'rant--an' ate a good square meal iv ar-rmy
beef. An' we'll sind th' gr-reat Gin'ral Eagan over f'r to larn ye
etiquette, an' Andhrew Carnegie to larn ye pathriteism with blow-holes
into it, an' Gin'ral Alger to larn ye to hould onto a job; an', whin
ye've become edycated an' have all th' blessin's iv civilization that
we don't want, that 'll count ye one. We can't give ye anny votes,
because we haven't more thin enough to go round now; but we'll threat
ye th' way a father shud threat his childher if we have to break ivry
bone in ye'er bodies. So come to our ar-rms,' says we.
"But, glory be, 'tis more like a rasslin' match than a father's
embrace. Up gets this little monkey iv an' Aggynaldoo, an' says he,
'Not for us,' he says. 'We thank ye kindly; but we believe,' he says,
'in pathronizin' home industhries,' he says. 'An,' he says, 'I have on
hand,' he says, 'an' f'r sale,' he says, 'a very superyor brand iv
home-made liberty, like ye'er mother used to make,' he says. ''Tis a
long way fr'm ye'er plant to here,' he says, 'an' be th' time a cargo
iv liberty,' he says, 'got out here an' was handled be th' middlemen,'
he says, 'it might spoil,' he says. 'We don't want anny col' storage
or embalmed liberty,' he says. 'What we want an' what th' ol' reliable
house iv Aggynaldoo,' he says, 'supplies to th' thrade,' he says, 'is
fr-esh liberty r-right off th' far-rm,' he says. 'I can't do annything
with ye'er proposition,' he says. 'I can't give up,' he says, 'th'
rights f'r which f'r five years I've fought an' bled ivry wan I cud
reach,' he says. 'Onless,' he says, 'ye'd feel like buyin' out th'
whole business,' he says. 'I'm a pathrite,' he says; 'but I'm no
bigot,' he says.
"An' there it stands, Hinnissy, with th' indulgent parent kneelin' on
th' stomach iv his adopted child, while a dillygation fr'm Boston
bastes him with an umbrella. There it stands, an' how will it come out
I dinnaw. I'm not much iv an expansionist mesilf. F'r th' las' tin
years I've been thryin' to decide whether 'twud be good policy an'
thrue to me thraditions to make this here bar two or three feet
longer, an' manny's th' night I've laid awake tryin' to puzzle it out.
But I don't know what to do with th' Ph'lippeens anny more thin I did
las' summer, befure I heerd tell iv thim. We can't give thim to anny
wan without makin' th' wan that gets thim feel th' way Doherty felt to
Clancy whin Clancy med a frindly call an' give Doherty's childher th'
measles. We can't sell thim, we can't ate thim, an' we can't throw
thim into th' alley whin no wan is lookin'. An' 'twud be a disgrace
f'r to lave befure we've pounded these frindless an' ongrateful people
into insinsibility. So I suppose, Hinnissy, we'll have to stay an' do
th' best we can, an' lave Andhrew Carnegie secede fr'm th' Union.
They'se wan consolation; an' that is, if th' American people can
govern thimsilves, they can govern annything that walks."
"An' what 'd ye do with Aggy--what-d'ye-call-him?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Well," Mr. Dooley replied, with brightening eyes, "I know what they'd
do with him in this ward. They'd give that pathrite what he asks, an'
thin they'd throw him down an' take it away fr'm him."
A HERO WHO WORKED OVERTIME.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "it looks now as if they was nawthin'
left f'r me young frind Aggynaldoo to do but time. Like as not a year
fr'm now he'll be in jail, like Napoleon, th' impror iv th' Fr-rinch,
was in his day, an' Mike, th' Burglar, an' other pathrites. That's
what comes iv bein' a pathrite too long. 'Tis a good job, whin they'se
nawthin' else to do; but 'tis not th' thing to wurruk overtime at.
'Tis a sort iv out-iv-dure spoort that ye shud engage in durin' th'
summer vacation; but, whin a man carries it on durin' business hours,
people begin to get down on him, an' afther a while they're ready to
hang him to get him out iv th' way. As Hogan says, 'Th' las' thing
that happens to a pathrite he's a scoundhrel.'
"Las' summer there wasn't a warmer pathrite annywhere in our imperyal
dominions thin this same Aggynaldoo. I was with him mesilf. Says I:
'They'se a good coon,' I says. 'He'll help us f'r to make th'
Ph'lippeens indepindint on us f'r support,' I says; 'an', whin th'
blessin's iv civilization has been extinded to his beloved counthry,
an',' I says, 'they put up intarnal rivinue offices an' post-offices,'
I says, 'we'll give him a good job as a letter-carrier,' I says,
'where he won't have annything to do,' I says, 'but walk,' I says.
"An' so th' consul at Ding Dong, th' man that r-runs that end iv th'
war, he says to Aggynaldoo: 'Go,' he says, 'where glory waits ye,' he
says. 'Go an' sthrike a blow,' he says, 'f'r ye'er counthry,' he says.
'Go,' he says. 'I'll stay, but you go,' he says. 'They's nawthin' in
stayin', an' ye might get hold iv a tyrannical watch or a pocket book
down beyant,' he says. An' off wint th' brave pathrite to do his
jooty. He done it, too. Whin Cousin George was pastin' th' former
hated Castiles, who was it stood on th' shore shootin' his
bow-an-arrow into th' sky but Aggynaldoo? Whin me frind Gin'ral
Merritt was ladin' a gallant charge again blank catredges, who was it
ranged his noble ar-rmy iv pathrites behind him f'r to see that no wan
attackted him fr'm th' sea but Aggynaldoo? He was a good man thin,--a
good noisy man.
"Th' throuble was he didn't know whin to knock off. He didn't hear th'
wurruk bell callin' him to come in fr'm playin' ball an' get down to
business. Says me Cousin George: "Aggynaldoo, me buck,' he says, 'th'
war is over,' he says, 'an' we've settled down to th' ol' game,' he
says. 'They're no more heroes. All iv thim has gone to wurruk f'r th'
magazines. They're no more pathrites,' he says. 'They've got jobs as
gov'nors or ar-re lookin' f'r thim or annything else,' he says. 'All
th' prom'nint saviors iv their counthry,' he says, 'but mesilf,' he
says, 'is busy preparin' their definse,' he says. 'I have no definse,'
he says; 'but I'm where they can't reach me,' he says. 'Th' spoort is
all out iv th' job; an', if ye don't come in an' jine th' tilin masses
iv wage-wurrukers,' he says, 'ye won't even have th' credit iv bein'
licked in a gloryous victhry,' he says. 'So to th' woodpile with ye!'
he says; 'f'r ye can't go on cillybratin' th' Foorth iv July without
bein' took up f'r disordherly conduct,' he says.
"An' Aggynaldoo doesn't undherstand it. An' he gathers his Archery
Club ar-round him, an' says he: 'Fellow-pathrites,' he says, 'we've
been betrayed,' he says. 'We've been sold out without,' he says,
'gettin' th' usual commission,' he says. 'We're still heroes,' he
says; 'an' our pitchers is in th' pa-apers,' he says. 'Go in,' he
says, 'an' sthrike a blow at th' gay deceivers,' he says. 'I'll sell
ye'er lives dearly,' he says. An' th' Archery Club wint in. Th'
pathrites wint up again a band iv Kansas sojers, that was wanst heroes
befure they larned th' hay-foot-sthraw-foot, an' is now arnin' th'
wages iv a good harvest hand all th' year ar-round, an' 'd rather
fight than ate th' ar-rmy beef, an' ye know what happened. Some iv th'
poor divvles iv heroes is liberated fr'm th' cares iv life; an' th'
r-rest iv thim is up in threes, an' wishin' they was home, smokin' a
good see-gar with mother.
"An' all this because Aggynaldoo didn't hear th' whistle blow. He
thought th' boom was still on in th' hero business. If he'd come in,
ye'd be hearin' that James Haitch Aggynaldoo 'd been appointed
foorth-class postmasther at Hootchey-Kootchey; but now th' nex' ye
know iv him 'll be on th' blotther at th' polis station: 'James Haitch
Aggynaldoo, alias Pompydoor Jim, charged with carryin' concealed
weepins an' ray-sistin' an officer.' Pathriteism always dies when ye
establish a polis foorce."
"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'm kind iv sorry f'r th' la-ads with th'
bows an' arrows. Maybe they think they're pathrites."
"Divvle th' bit iv difference it makes what they think, so long as we
don't think so," said Mr. Dooley. "It's what Father Kelly calls a case
iv mayhem et chew 'em. That's Latin, Hinnissy; an' it manes what's wan
man's food is another man's pizen."
RUDYARD KIPLING.
"I think," said Mr. Dooley, "th' finest pothry in th' wurruld is wrote
be that frind iv young Hogan's, a man be th' name iv Roodyard Kipling.
I see his pomes in th' pa-aper, Hinnissy; an' they're all right.
They're all right, thim pomes. They was wan about scraggin' Danny
Deever that done me a wurruld iv good. They was a la-ad I wanst knew
be th' name iv Deever, an' like as not he was th' same man. He owed me
money. Thin there was wan that I see mintioned in th' war news wanst
in a while,--th' less we f'rget, th' more we raymimber. That was a
hot pome an' a good wan. What I like about Kipling is that his pomes
is right off th' bat, like me con-versations with you, me boy. He's a
minyit-man, a r-ready pote that sleeps like th' dhriver iv thruck 9,
with his poetic pants in his boots beside his bed, an' him r-ready to
jump out an' slide down th' pole th' minyit th' alarm sounds.
"He's not such a pote as Tim Scanlan, that hasn't done annything since
th' siege iv Lim'rick; an' that was two hundherd year befure he was
bor-rn. He's prisident iv th' Pome Supply Company,--fr-resh pothry
delivered ivry day at ye'er dure. Is there an accident in a grain
illyvator? Ye pick up ye'er mornin' pa-aper, an' they'se a pome about
it be Roodyard Kipling. Do ye hear iv a manhole cover bein' blown up?
Roodyard is there with his r-ready pen. ''Tis written iv Cashum-Cadi
an' th' book iv th' gr-reat Gazelle that a manhole cover in anger is
tin degrees worse thin hell.' He writes in all dialects an' anny
language, plain an' fancy pothry, pothry f'r young an' old, pothry be
weight or linyar measuremint, pothry f'r small parties iv eight or tin
a specialty. What's the raysult, Hinnissy? Most potes I despise. But
Roodyard Kipling's pothry is aisy. Ye can skip through it while ye're
atin' breakfuss an' get a c'rrect idee iv th' current news iv th'
day,--who won th' futball game, how Sharkey is thrainin' f'r th'
fight, an' how manny votes th' pro-hybitionist got f'r gov'nor iv th'
State iv Texas. No col' storage pothry f'r Kipling. Ivrything fr-resh
an' up to date. All lays laid this mornin'.
"Hogan was in to-day readin' Kipling's Fridah afthernoon pome, an'
'tis a good pome. He calls it 'Th' Thruce iv th' Bear.' This is th'
way it happened: Roodyard Kipling had just finished his mornin' batch
iv pothry f'r th' home-thrade, an' had et his dinner, an' was thinkin'
iv r-runnin' out in th' counthry f'r a breath iv fr-resh air, whin in
come a tillygram sayin' that th' Czar iv Rooshia had sint out a
circular letther sayin' ivrybody in th' wurruld ought to get together
an' stop makin' war an' live a quite an' dull life. Now Kipling don't
like the czar. Him an' th' czar fell out about something, an' they
don't speak. So says Roodyard Kipling to himsilf, he says: 'I'll take
a crack at that fellow,' he says. 'I'll do him up,' he says. An' so he
writes a pome to show that th' czar's letter's not on th' square.
Kipling's like me, Hinnissy. When I want to say annything lib-lous, I
stick it on to me Uncle Mike. So be Roodyard Kipling. He doesn't come
r-right out, an' say, 'Nick, ye're a liar!' but he tells about what
th' czar done to a man he knowed be th' name iv Muttons. Muttons, it
seems, Hinnissy, was wanst a hunter; an' he wint out to take a shot at
th' czar, who was dhressed up as a bear. Well, Muttons r-run him down,
an' was about to plug him, whin th' czar says, 'Hol' on,' he
says,--'hol' on there,' he says. 'Don't shoot,' he says. 'Let's talk
this over,' he says. An' Muttons, bein' a foolish man, waited till th'
czar come near him; an' thin th' czar feinted with his left, an' put
in a right hook an' pulled off Muttons's face. I tell ye 'tis so. He
jus' hauled it off th' way ye'd haul off a porous plasther,--raked off
th' whole iv Muttons's fr-ront ilivation. 'I like ye'er face,' he
says, an' took it. An' all this time, an' 'twas fifty year ago,
Muttons hasn't had a face to shave. Ne'er a one. So he goes ar-round
exhibitin' th' recent site, an' warnin' people that, whin they ar-re
shootin' bears, they must see that their gun is kept loaded an' their
face is nailed on securely. If ye iver see a bear that looks like a
man, shoot him on th' spot, or, betther still, r-run up an alley. Ye
must niver lose that face, Hinnissy.
"I showed th' pome to Father Kelly," continued Mr. Dooley.
"What did he say?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"He said," Mr. Dooley replied, "that I cud write as good a wan mesilf;
an' he took th' stub iv a pencil, an' wrote this. Lemme see--Ah! here
it is:--
'Whin he shows as seekin' frindship with paws that're thrust in thine,
That is th' time iv pearl, that is th' thruce iv th' line.
'Collarless, coatless, hatless, askin' a dhrink at th' bar,
Me Uncle Mike, the Fenyan, he tells it near and far,
'Over an' over th' story: 'Beware iv th' gran' flimflam,
There is no thruce with Gazabo, th' line that looks like a lamb.'
"That's a good pome, too," said Mr. Dooley; "an' I'm goin' to sind it
to th' nex' meetin' iv th' Anglo-Saxon 'liance."
LORD CHARLES BERESFORD.
"I see be th' pa-apers," said Mr. Dooley, "that Lord Char-les
Beresford is in our mist, as Hogan says."
"An' who th' divvle's he?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"He's a Watherford man," said Mr. Dooley. "I knowed his father
well,--a markess be thrade, an' a fine man. Char-les wint to sea
early; but he's now in th' plastherin' business,--cemintin' th'
'liance iv th' United States an' England. I'll thank ye to laugh at
me joke, Mr. Hinnissy, an' not be standin' there lookin' like a
Chinny-man in a sthreet-car."
"I don't know what ye mean," said Mr. Hennessy, softly.
"Lord Charles Beresford is a sort iv advance agent iv th' White Man's
Burden Thrajeedy Company,--two little Evas, four hundherd millyon
Topsies, six hundherd millyon Uncle Toms. He's billin' the' counthry
f'r th' threeyumphial tour iv th' Monsther Aggregation. Nawthin' can
stop it. Blood is thicker than wather; an' together, ar-rm in ar-rm,
we'll spread th' light iv civilization fr'm wan end iv th' wurruld to
th' other, no matther what you an' Schwartzmeister say, Hinnissy.
"Be hivins, I like th' way me kinsmen acrost th' sea, as th' pa-apers
say, threat us. 'Ye whelps,' says Lord Char-les Beresford an' Roodyard
Kipling an' Tiddy Rosenfelt an' th' other Anglo-Saxons. 'Foolish an'
frivolous people, cheap but thrue-hearted an' insincere cousins,' they
says. ''Tis little ye know about annything. Ye ar-re a disgrace to
humanity. Ye love th' dollar betther thin ye love annything but two
dollars. Ye ar-re savage, but inthrestin'. Ye misname our titles. Ye
use th' crool Krag-Jorgensen instead iv th' ca'm an' penethratin'
Lee-Metford. Ye kiss ye'er heroes, an' give thim wurruk to do. We
smash in their hats, an' illivate thim to th' peerage. Ye have
desthroyed our language. Ye ar-re rapidly convartin' our ancesthral
palaces into dwellin'-houses. Ye'er morals are loose, ye'er dhrinks
ar-re enervatin' but pleasant, an' ye talk through ye'er noses. Ye
ar-re mussy at th' table, an' ye have no religion. But ye ar-re whelps
iv th' ol' line. Those iv ye that ar-re not our brothers-in-law we
welcome as brothers. Ye annoy us so much ye must be mimbers iv our own
fam'ly. Th' same people that is washed occasionally be th' Mississippi
as it rowls majistic along th' imperyal States iv Oheeho an' Duluth,
wathrin' th' fertyle plains iv Wyoming an' Mattsachusetts, is to be
found airnin' a livin' on th' short but far more dirtier Thames. We
have th' same lithrachoor. Ye r-read our Shakspere so we can't
undherstand it; an' we r-read ye'er aspirin' authors, Poe an' Lowell
an' Ol' Sleuth th' Detective. We ar-re not onfamilyar with ye'er
inthrestin' histhry. We ar-re as pr-roud as ye are iv th' achievements
iv Gin'ral Shafter an' Gin'ral Coxey. Ye'er ambass'dures have always
been kindly received; an', whether they taught us how to dhraw to a
busted flush or wept on our collars or recited original pothry to us,
we had a brotherly feelin' for thim that med us say, "Poor fellows,
they're doin' th' best they can." 'So,' says they, 'come to our
ar-ams, an' together we'll go out an' conquer th' wurruld.'
"An' we're goin' to do it, Hinnissy. Th' rayciption that this here
sintimint has rayceived fr'm ivry wan that has a son in colledge is
almost tumulchuse. We feel like a long-lost brother that's been
settin' outside in th' cold f'r a week, an' is now ast in to
supper--an' sarched at th' dure f'r deadly weepins. We'll have to set
up sthraight an' mind our manners. No tuckin' our napkins down our
throats or dhrinkin' out iv th' saucer or kickin' our boots off undher
the table. No reachin' f'r annything, but 'Mah, will ye kindly pass
th' Ph'lippeens?' or 'No, thank ye, pah, help ye'ersilf first.'
"An' will we stay in? Faith, I dinnaw. We feel kindly to each other;
but it looks to me like, th' first up in th' mornin', th' first away
with th' valu'bles."
"I'll niver come in," protested Mr. Hennessy, stoutly.
"No more ye will, ye rebelyous omadhon," said Mr. Dooley. "An' 'twas
thinkin' iv you an' th' likes iv you an' Schwartzmeister an' th' likes
iv him that med me wondher. If th' 'liance got into a war with
Garmany, an' some wan was to start a rough-an'-tumble in Ireland about
iliction time, I wondher wud th' cimint hold!"
HANGING ALDERMEN.
Chicago is always on the point of hanging some one and quartering him
and boiling him in hot pitch, and assuring him that he has lost the
respect of all honorable men. Rumors of a characteristic agitation had
come faintly up Archey Road, and Mr. Hennessy had heard of it.
"I hear they're goin' to hang th' aldhermen," he said. "If they thry
it on Willum J. O'Brien, they'd betther bombard him first. I'd hate to
be th' man that 'd be called to roll with him to his doom. He cud lick
th' whole Civic Featheration."
"I believe ye," said Mr. Dooley. "He's a powerful man. But I hear
there is, as ye say, what th' pa-apers 'd call a movement on fut f'r
to dec'rate Chris'mas threes with aldhermen, an' 'tis wan that ought
to be encouraged. Nawthin' cud be happyer, as Hogan says, thin th'
thought iv cillybratin' th' season be sthringin' up some iv th'
fathers iv th' city where th' childher cud see thim. But I'm afraid,
Hinnissy, that you an' me won't see it. 'Twill all be over soon, an'
Willum J. O'Brien 'll go by with his head just as near his shoulders
as iver. 'Tis har-rd to hang an aldherman, annyhow. Ye'd have to
suspind most iv thim be th' waist.
"Man an' boy, I've been in this town forty year an' more; an' divvle
th' aldherman have I see hanged yet, though I've sthrained th' eyes
out iv me head watchin' f'r wan iv thim to be histed anny pleasant
mornin'. They've been goin' to hang thim wan week an' presintin' thim
with a dimon' star th' next iver since th' year iv th' big wind, an'
there's jus' as manny iv thim an' jus' as big robbers as iver there
was.
"An' why shud they hang thim, Hinnissy? Why shud they? I'm an honest
man mesilf, as men go. Ye might have ye'er watch, if ye had wan, on
that bar f'r a year, an' I'd niver touch it. It wudden't be worth me
while. I'm an honest man. I pay me taxes, whin Tim Ryan isn't assessor
with Grogan's boy on th' books. I do me jooty; an' I believe in th'
polis foorce, though not in polismen. That's diff'rent. But honest as
I am, between you an' me, if I was an aldherman, I wudden't say, be
hivins, I think I'd stand firm; but--well, if some wan come to me an'
said, 'Dooley, here's fifty thousan' dollars f'r ye'er vote to betray
th' sacred inthrests iv Chicago,' I'd go to Father Kelly an' ask th'
prayers iv th' congregation.
"'Tis not, Hinnissy, that this man Yerkuss goes up to an aldherman an'
says out sthraight, 'Here, Bill, take this bundle, an' be an infamious
scoundhrel.' That's th' way th' man in Mitchigan Avnoo sees it, but
'tis not sthraight. D'ye mind Dochney that was wanst aldherman here?
Ye don't. Well, I do. He ran a little conthractin' business down be
Halsted Sthreet 'Twas him built th' big shed f'r th' ice comp'ny. He
was a fine man an' a sthrong wan. He begun his political career be
lickin' a plasthrer be th' name iv Egan, a man that had th' County
Clare thrip an' was thought to be th' akel iv anny man in town. Fr'm
that he growed till he bate near ivry man he knew, an' become very
pop'lar, so that he was sint to th' council. Now Dochney was an honest
an' sober man whin he wint in; but wan day a man come up to him, an'
says he, 'Ye know that ordhnance Schwartz inthrajooced?' 'I do,' says
Dochney, 'an I'm again it. 'Tis a swindle,' he says. "Well,' says th'
la-ad, 'they'se five thousan' in it f'r ye,' he says. They had to pry
Dochney off iv him. Th' nex' day a man he knowed well come to Dochney,
an' says he, 'That's a fine ordhnance iv Schwartz.' 'It is, like
hell,' says Dochney. ''Tis a plain swindle,' he says. ''Tis a good
thing f'r th' comp'nies,' says this man; 'but look what they've done
f'r th' city,' he says, 'an think,' he says, 'iv th' widdies an'
orphans,' he says, 'that has their har-rd-earned coin invisted,' he
says. An' a tear rolled down his cheek. 'I'm an orphan mesilf,' says
Dochney; 'an' as f'r th' widdies, anny healthy widdy with sthreet-car
stock ought to be ashamed iv hersilf if she's a widdy long,' he says.
An' th' man wint away.
"Now Dochney thought he'd put th' five thousan' out iv his mind, but
he hadn't. He'd on'y laid it by, an' ivry time he closed his eyes he
thought iv it. 'Twas a shame to give th' comp'nies what they wanted,
but th' five thousan' was a lot iv money. 'Twud lift th' morgedge.
'Twud clane up th' notes on th' new conthract. 'Twud buy a new dhress
f'r Mrs. Dochney. He begun to feel sorrowful f'r th' widdies an'
orphans. 'Poor things!' says he to himsilf, says he. 'Poor things, how
they must suffer!' he says; 'an' I need th' money. Th' sthreet-car
comp'nies is robbers,' he says; 'but 'tis thrue they've built up th'
city,' he says, 'an th' money 'd come in handy,' he says. 'No wan 'd be
hurted, annyhow,' he says; 'an', sure, it ain't a bribe f'r to take
money f'r doin' something ye want to do, annyhow,' he says. 'Five
thousan' widdies an' orphans,' he says; an' he wint to sleep.
"That was th' way he felt whin he wint down to see ol' Simpson to
renew his notes, an' Simpson settled it. 'Dochney,' he says, 'I wisht
ye'd pay up,' he says. 'I need th' money,' he says. 'I'm afraid th'
council won't pass th' Schwartz ordhnance,' he says; 'an' it manes
much to me,' he says. 'Be th' way,' he says, 'how're ye goin' to vote
on that ordhnance?' he says. 'I dinnaw,' says Dochney. 'Well,' says
Simpson (Dochney tol' me this himsilf), 'whin ye find out, come an'
see me about th' notes,' he says. An' Dochney wint to th' meetin';
an', whin his name was called, he hollered 'Aye,' so loud a chunk iv
plaster fell out iv th' ceilin' an' stove in th' head iv a rayform
aldherman."
"Did they hang him?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Faith, they did not," said Mr. Dooley. "He begun missin' his jooty at
wanst. Aldhermen always do that after th' first few weeks. 'Ye got
ye'er money,' says Father Kelly; 'an' much good may it do ye,' he
says. 'Well,' says Dochney, 'I'd be a long time prayin' mesilf into
five thousan',' he says. An' he become leader in th' council. Th' las'
ordhnance he inthrojooced was wan establishin' a license f'r churches,
an' compellin' thim to keep their fr-ront dure closed an' th' blinds
drawn on Sundah. He was expelled fr'm th' St. Vincent de Pauls, an'
ilicted a director iv a bank th' same day.
"Now, Hinnissy, that there man niver knowed he was bribed--th' first
time. Th' second time he knew. He ast f'r it. An' I wudden't hang
Dochney. I wudden't if I was sthrong enough. But some day I'm goin' to
let me temper r-run away with me, an' get a comity together, an' go
out an' hang ivry dam widdy an' orphan between th' rollin' mills an'
th' foundlin's' home. If it wasn't f'r thim raypechious crathers,
they'd be no boodle annywhere."
"Well, don't forget Simpson," said Mr. Hennessy.
"I won't," said Mr. Dooley, "I won't."
THE GRIP.
Mr. Dooley was discovered making a seasonable beverage, consisting of
one part syrup, two parts quinine, and fifteen parts strong waters.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"I have th' lah gr-rip," said Mr. Dooley, blowing his nose and wiping
his eyes. "Bad cess to it! Oh, me poor back! I feels as if a dhray had
run over it. Did ye iver have it? Ye did not? Well, ye're lucky. Ye're
a lucky man.
"I wint to McGuire's wake las' week. They gave him a dacint sind-off.
No porther. An' himsilf looked natural, as fine a corpse as iver Gavin
layed out. Gavin tould me so himsilf. He was as proud iv McGuire as if
he owned him. Fetched half th' town in to look at him, an' give ivry
wan iv thim cards. He near frightened ol' man Dugan into a faint.
'Misther Dugan, how old a-are ye?' 'Sivinty-five, thanks be,' says
Dugan. 'Thin,' says Gavin, 'take wan iv me cards,' he says. 'I hope
ye'll not forget me,' he says.
"'Twas there I got th' lah grip. Lastewise, it is me opinion iv it,
though th' docthor said I swallowed a bug. It don't seem right, Jawn,
f'r th' McGuires is a clane fam'ly; but th' docthor said a bug got
into me system. 'What sort iv bug?' says I. 'A lah grip bug,' he says.
'Ye have Mickrobes in ye'er lungs,' he says. 'What's thim?' says I.
'Thim's th' lah grip bugs,' says he. 'Ye took wan in, an' warmed it,'
he says; 'an' it has growed an' multiplied till ye'er system does be
full iv' thim,' he says, 'millions iv thim,' he says, 'marchin' an'
counthermarchin' through ye.' 'Glory be to the saints!' says I. 'Had I
better swallow some insect powdher?' I says. 'Some iv thim in me head
has a fallin' out, an' is throwin' bricks.' 'Foolish man,' says he.
'Go to bed,' he says, 'an' lave thim alone,' he says, 'Whin they find
who they're in,' he says, 'they'll quit ye.'
"So I wint to bed, an' waited while th' Mickrobes had fun with me.
Mondah all iv thim was quite but thim in me stummick. They stayed up
late dhrinkin' an' carousin' an' dancin' jigs till wurruds come up
between th' Kerry Mickrobes an' thim fr'm Wexford; an' th' whole party
wint over to me left lung, where they cud get th' air, an' had it out.
Th' nex' day th' little Mickrobes made a toboggan slide iv me spine;
an' manetime some Mickrobes that was wurkin' f'r th' tilliphone
comp'ny got it in their heads that me legs was poles, an' put on their
spikes an' climbed all night long.
"They was tired out th' nex' day till about five o'clock, whin thim
that was in me head begin flushin' out th' rooms; an' I knew there was
goin' to be doin's in th' top flat. What did thim Mickrobes do but
invite all th' other Mickrobes in f'r th' ev'nin'. They all come. Oh,
by gar, they was not wan iv them stayed away. At six o'clock they
begin to move fr'm me shins to me throat. They come in platoons an'
squads an' dhroves. Some iv thirn brought along brass bands, an' more
thin wan hundherd thousand iv thim dhruv through me pipes on dhrays. A
throlley line was started up me back, an' ivry car run into a
wagon-load iv scrap iron at th' base iv me skull.
"Th' Mickrobes in me head must 've done thimsilves proud. Ivry few
minyits th' kids 'd be sint out with th' can, an' I'd say to mesilf:
'There they go, carryin' th' thrade to Schwartzmeister's because I'm
sick an' can't wait on thim.' I was daffy, Jawn, d'ye mind. Th' likes
iv me fillin' a pitcher f'r a little boy-bug! Such dhreams! An' they
had a game iv forty-fives; an' there was wan Mickrobe that larned to
play th' game in th' County Tipp'rary, where 'tis played on stone, an'
ivry time he led thrumps he'd like to knock me head off. 'Whose thrick
is that?' says th' Tipp'rary Mickrobe. ''Tis mine,' says th'
red-headed Mickrobe fr'm th' County Roscommon. They tipped over th'
chairs an' tables: an', in less time thin it takes to tell, th' whole
party was at it. They'd been a hurlin' game in th' back iv me skull,
an' th' young folks was dancin' breakdowns an' havin' leppin' matches
in me forehead; but they all stopped to mix in. Oh, 'twas a grand
shindig--tin millions iv men, women, an' childher rowlin' on th'
flure, hands an' feet goin', ice-picks an' hurlin' sticks, clubs,
brickbats, an' beer kags flyin' in th' air! How manny iv thim was kilt
I niver knew; f'r I wint as daft as a hen, an' dhreamt iv organizin' a
Mickrobe Campaign Club that 'd sweep th' prim'ries, an' maybe go acrost
an' free Ireland. Whin I woke up, me legs was as weak as a day old
baby's, an' me poor head impty as a cobbler's purse. I want no more iv
thim. Give me anny bug fr'm a cockroach to an aygle save an' excipt
thim West iv Ireland Fenians, th' Mickrobes."
LEXOW.
"This here wave iv rayform," said Mr. Dooley, "this here wave iv
rayform, Jawn, mind ye, that's sweepin' over th' counthry, mind ye,
now, Jawn, is raisin' th' divvle, I see be th' pa-apers. I've seen
waves iv rayform before, Jawn. Whin th' people iv this counthry gets
wurruked up, there's no stoppin' thim. They'll not dhraw breath until
ivry man that took a dollar iv a bribe is sent down th' r-road. Thim
that takes two goes on th' comity iv th' wave iv rayform.
"It sthruck th' r-road las' week. Darcey, th' new polisman on th' bate,
comes in here ivry night f'r to study spellin' an' figgers. I think
they'll throw him down, whin he goes to be examined. Wan iv th' wild
la-ads down be th' slough hit him with a brick wanst, an' he ain't been
able to do fractions since. Thin he's got inflammathry rheumatism
enough to burn a barn, an' he can't turn a page without makin' ye think
he's goin' to lose a thumb. He's got wife an' childher, an' he's on in
years; but he's a polisman, an' he's got to be rayformed. I tell him
all I can. He didn't know where St. Pethersburg was till I tould him it
was th' capital iv Sweden. They'll not give him th' boots on that
there question. Ye bet ye'er life they won't, Jawn.
"I seen th' aldherman go by yisterdah; an' he'd shook his dimon 'stud,
an' he looked as poor as a dhrayman. He's rayformed. Th' little
Dutchman that was ilicted to th' legislachure says he will stay home.
Says I, 'Why?' Says he, 'There's nawthin' in it.' He's rayformed. Th'
wather inspictor, that used to take a dhrink an' a seegar an' report
me two pipes less thin I have, turned me in las' week f'r a garden
hose an' a ploonge bath. He's rayformed. Th' wave iv rayform has
sthruck, an' we're all goin' around now with rubbers on.
"They've organized th' Ar-rchey Road Lexow Sodality, an' 'tis th' wan
institootion that Father Kelly up west iv th' bridge 'll duck his head
to. All th' best citizens is in it. Th' best citizens is thim that th'
statue iv limitations was made f'r. Barrister Hogan tol' me--an' a
dacint man, but give to dhrink--that, whin a man cud hide behind th'
statue iv limitations, he was all r-right. I niver seen it. Is that
th' wan on th' lake front? No, tubby sure, tubby sure. No wan 'd hide
behind that.
"Th' Ar-rchey Road Lexow Sodality is composed iv none but square men.
They all have th' coin, Jawn. A man that's broke can't be square. He's
got too much to do payin' taxes. If I had a million, divvle th' step
would I step to confession. I'd make th' soggarth come an' confess to
me. They say that th' sthreets iv Hivin was paved with goold. I'll bet
ye tin to wan that with all th' square men that goes there ivry year
they have ilecloth down now."
"Oh, go on," said Mr. McKenna.
"I was goin' to tell ye about th' Lexow Sodality. Well, th' chairman
iv it is Doherty, th' retired plumber. He sold me a house an' lot
wanst, an' skinned me out iv wan hundherd dollars. He got th' house
an' lot back an' a morgedge. But did ye iver notice th' scar on his
nose? I was r-rough in thim days. Ol' Mike Hogan is another mimber. Ye
know him. They say he hires constables be th' day f'r to serve five
days' notices. Manny's th' time I see th' little furniture out on th'
sthreet, an' th' good woman rockin' her baby under th' open sky.
Hogan's tinants. Ol' Dinnis Higgins is another wan. An' Brannigan, th'
real estate dealer. He was in th' assissors' office. May Gawd forgive
him! An' Clancy, that was bail-bondman at Twelfth Sthreet.
"They appointed comities, an' they held a meetin'. I wint there. So
did some iv th' others. 'Twas at Finucane's, an' th' hall was crowded.
All th' sodality made speeches. Doherty made a great wan. Th' air was
reekin' with corruption, says he. Th' polis foorce was rotten to th'
core. Th' rights iv property was threatened. What, says he, was we
goin' to do about it?
"Danny Gallagher got up, as good a lad as iver put that in his face to
desthroy his intelligence, as Shakspere says. 'Gintlemen,' says he,
'wan wurrud befure we lave,' he says. 'I've listened to th' speeches
here to-night with satisfaction,' he says. 'I'm proud to see th'
rayform wave have sthruck th' road,' he says. 'Th' rascals must be
dhriven fr'm th' high places,' he says. 'I see befure me in a chair a
gintleman who wud steal a red-hot stove an' freeze th' lid befure he
got home. On me right is th' gintleman who advanced th' wave iv
rayform tin years ago be puttin' Mrs. Geohegan out on th' sthreet in a
snowstorm whin she was roarin' with a cough. Mrs. Geohegan have
rayformed, peace be with her undher th' dhrifts iv Calv'ry! I am
greeted be th' smile iv me ol' frind Higgins. We are ol' frinds,
Dinnis, now, ain't we? D'ye mind th' calls I made on ye, with th'
stamps undher me arms, whin I wurruked in th' post-office? I've
thought iv thim whin th' lockstep was goin' in to dinner, an' prayed
f'r th' day whin I might see ye again. An' you, Misther Brannigan, who
knows about vacant lots, an' you Misther Clancy, th' frind iv th'
dhrunk an' disordherly, we're proud to have ye here. 'Tis be such as
ye that th' polisman who dhrinks on th' sly, an' th' saloon-keeper
that keeps open f'r th' la-ads an' th' newsboys that shoots craps, 'll
be brought to justice. Down with crime! says I. Fellow-citizens, I
thank ye kindly. Th' meetin' is adjourned siney dee; an' I app'int
Missers Dooley, O'Brien, Casey, Pug Slattery, an' mesilf to lade out
th' Lexow Sodality be th' nose.'"
Mr. McKenna arose sleepily, and walked toward the door.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley.
"Yes," responded Mr. McKenna.
"Niver steal a dure-mat," said Mr. Dooley. "If ye do, ye'll be
invistigated, hanged, an' maybe rayformed. Steal a bank, me boy, steal
a bank."
THEIR EXCELLENCIES, THE POLICE.
"Ye'll be goin' home early to-night, Jawn dear," said Mr. Dooley to
Mr. McKenna.
"And for why?" said that gentleman, tilting lazily back in the chair.
"Because gin'ral ordher number wan is out," said Mr. Dooley,
"directin' th' polis to stop ivry man catched out afther midnight an'
make thim give a satisfacthry account iv thimsilves or run thim off to
jail. Iv coorse, ye'll be pinched, f'r ye won't dare say where ye come
fr'm; an' 'tis twinty-eight to wan, the odds again an Orangeman at a
wake, that ye'll not know where ye're goin'."
"Tut, tut," said Mr. McKenna, indifferently.
"Ye may tut-tut till ye lay an egg," said Mr. Dooley, severely, "ye
ol' hen; but 'tis so. I read it in th' pa-papers yesterdah afthernoon
that Brinnan--'tis queer how thim Germans all get to be polismen,
they're bright men, th' Germans, I don't think--Brinnan says, says he,
that th' city do be overrun with burglars an' highwaymen, so he
ordhers th' polis to stick up ivry pedesthreen they meet afther
closin' time. 'Tis good for him he named th' hour, f'r 'tis few
pedesthreens save an' except th' little kids with panneckers that most
iv th' polis meet befure midnight. Look at there table, will ye? 'An
ax done it,' says ye? No, faith, but th' fist iv a Kerry polisman they
put on this here bate last week. He done it ladin' thrumps. 'Thank
Gawd," says I, 'ye didn't have a good hand,' I says, 'or I might have to
call in th' wreckin' wagon.' Thim Kerry men shud be made to play
forty-fives with boxin'-gloves on.
"I read about th' ordher, but it slipped me min' las' night. I was
down at a meetin' iv th' Hugh O'Neills, an' a most intherestin'
meetin' it was, Jawn. I'd been niglictful iv me jooty to th' cause iv
late, an' I was surprised an' shocked to hear how poor ol' Ireland was
sufferin'. Th' rayport fr'm th' Twinty-third Wa-ard, which is in th'
County Mayo, showed that th' sthreet clanin' conthract had been give
to a Swede be th' name iv Oleson; an' over in th' Nineteenth Wa-ard
th' County Watherford is all stirred up because Johnny Powers is
filled th' pipe-ya-ard with his own rilitives. I felt dam lonely, an'
with raison, too; f'r I was th' on'y man in th' camp that didn't have
a job. An' says I, 'Gintlemen,' says I, 'can't I do something f'r
Ireland, too?' I says. 'I'd make a gr-reat city threasurer,' says I,
'if ye've th' job handy,' I says; and at that they give me th' laugh,
and we tuk up a subscription an' adjourned.
"Well, sir, I started up Ar-rchey Road afther th' meetin', forgettin'
about Brennan's ordhers, whin a man jumps out fr'm behind a tree near
th' gas-house. 'Melia murther!' says I to mesilf. ''Tis a highwayman!'
Thin, puttin' on a darin' front an' reachin' f'r me handkerchief, I
says, 'Stand back, robber!' I says. 'Stand back, robber!' I says.
'Stand back!' I says.
"'Excuse _me_,' says th' la-ad. 'I beg ye'er pardon,' he says.
"'Beg th' pardon iv Hiven,' says I, 'f'r stoppin' a desperate man in
th' sthreet,' says I; 'f'r in a holy minyit I'll blow off th' head iv
ye,' says I, with me hand on th' handkerchief that niver blew nawthin'
but this nose iv mine."
"'I humbly ask your pardon,' he says, showin' a star; 'but I'm a
polisman.'
"'Polisman or robber,' says I, 'stand aside!' I says.
"'I'm a polisman,' he says, 'an' I'm undher ordhers to be polite with
citizens I stop,' he says; 'but, if ye don't duck up that road in half
a minyit, ye poy-faced, red-eyed, lop-eared, thick-headed ol'
bosthoon,' he says, 'I'll take ye be th' scruff iv th' neck an' thrun
ye into th' ga-as-house tank,' he says, 'if I'm coort-martialed f'r it
to-morrow.'
"Thin I knew he _was_ a polisman; an' I wint away, Jawn."
SHAUGHNESSY.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley in the course of the conversation, "whin ye
come to think iv it, th' heroes iv th' wurruld,--an' be thim I mean
th' lads that've buckled on th' gloves, an' gone out to do th' best
they cud,--they ain't in it with th' quite people nayether you nor me
hears tell iv fr'm wan end iv th' year to another."
"I believe it," said Mr. McKenna; "for my mother told me so."
"Sure," said Mr. Dooley, "I know it is an old story. Th' wurruld's
been full iv it fr'm th' beginnin'; an' 'll be full iv it till, as
Father Kelly says, th' pay-roll's closed. But I was thinkin' more iv
it th' other night thin iver before, whin I wint to see Shaughnessy
marry off his on'y daughter. You know Shaughnessy,--a quite man that
come into th' road before th' fire. He wurruked f'r Larkin, th'
conthractor, f'r near twinty years without skip or break, an' seen th'
fam'ly grow up be candle-light. Th' oldest boy was intinded f'r a
priest. 'Tis a poor fam'ly that hasn't some wan that's bein' iddycated
f'r the priesthood while all th' rest wear thimsilves to skeletons f'r
him, an' call him Father Jawn 'r Father Mike whin he comes home wanst
a year, light-hearted an' free, to eat with thim.
"Shaughnessy's lad wint wrong in his lungs, an' they fought death f'r
him f'r five years, sindin' him out to th' Wist an' havin' masses said
f'r him; an', poor divvle, he kept comin' back cross an' crool, with
th' fire in his cheeks, till wan day he laid down, an' says he: 'Pah,'
he says, 'I'm goin' to give up,' he says. 'An' I on'y ask that ye'll
have th' mass sung over me be some man besides Father Kelly,' he says.
An' he wint, an' Shaughnessy come clumpin' down th' aisle like a man
in a thrance.
"Well, th' nex' wan was a girl, an' she didn't die; but, th' less
said, th' sooner mended. Thin they was Terrence, a big, bould,
curly-headed lad that cocked his hat at anny man,--or woman f'r th'
matter iv that,--an' that bruk th' back iv a polisman an' swum to th'
crib, an' was champeen iv th' South Side at hand ball. An' he wint.
Thin th' good woman passed away. An' th' twins they growed to be th'
prettiest pair that wint to first communion; an' wan night they was a
light in th' window of Shaughnessy's house till three in th' mornin'.
I rayminiber it; f'r I had quite a crowd iv Willum Joyce's men in, an'
we wondhered at it, an' wint home whin th' lamp in Shaughnessy's
window was blown out.
"They was th' wan girl left,--Theresa, a big, clean-lookin' child that
I see grow up fr'm hello to good avnin'. She thought on'y iv th' ol'
man, an' he leaned on her as if she was a crutch. She was out to meet
him in th' ev'nin'; an' in th' mornin' he, th' simple ol' man, 'd stop
to blow a kiss at her an' wave his dinner-pail, lookin' up an' down
th' r-road to see that no wan was watchin' him.
"I dinnaw what possessed th' young Donahue, fr'm th' Nineteenth. I
niver thought much iv him, a stuck-up, aisy-come la-ad that niver had
annything but a civil wurrud, an' is prisident iv th' sodality. But he
came in, an' married Theresa Shaughnessy las' Thursdah night. Th' ol'
man took on twinty years, but he was as brave as a gin'ral iv th'
army. He cracked jokes an' he made speeches; an' he took th' pipes
fr'm under th' elbow iv Hogan, th' blindman, an' played 'Th' Wind that
shakes th' Barley' till ye'd have wore ye'er leg to a smoke f'r
wantin' to dance. Thin he wint to th' dure with th' two iv thim; an'
says he, 'Well,' he says, 'Jim, be good to her,' he says, an' shook
hands with her through th' carredge window.
"Him an' me sat a long time smokin' across th' stove. Fin'lly, says I,
'Well,' I says, 'I must be movin'.' 'What's th' hurry?' says he. 'I've
got to go,' says I. 'Wait a moment,' says he. 'Theresa 'll'--He stopped
right there f'r a minyit, holdin' to th' back iv th' chair. 'Well,'
says he, 'if ye've got to go, ye must,' he says. 'I'll show ye out,'
he says. An' he come with me to th' dure, holdin' th' lamp over his
head. I looked back at him as I wint by; an' he was settin' be th'
stove, with his elbows on his knees an' th' empty pipe between his
teeth."
TIMES PAST.
Mr. McKenna, looking very warm and tired, came in to Mr. Dooley's
tavern one night last week, and smote the bar with his fist.
"What's the matter with Hogan?" he said.
"What Hogan?" asked Mr. Dooley. "Malachy or Matt? Dinnis or Mike?
Sarsfield or William Hogan? There's a Hogan f'r ivry block in th'
Ar-rchey Road, an' wan to spare. There's nawthin' th' matter with anny
iv thim; but, if ye mean Hogan, th' liquor dealer, that r-run f'r
aldherman, I'll say to ye he's all right. Mind ye, Jawn, I'm doin'
this because ye're me frind; but, by gar, if anny wan else comes in
an' asks me that question, I'll kill him, if I have to go to th'
bridewell f'r it. I'm no health officer."
Having delivered himself of this tirade, Mr. Dooley scrutinized Mr.
McKenna sharply, and continued: "Ye've been out ilictin' some man,
Jawn, an' ye needn't deny it. I seen it th' minyit ye come in. Ye'er
hat's dinted, an' ye have ye'er necktie over ye'er ear; an' I see be
ye'er hand ye've hit a Dutchman. Jawn, ye know no more about politics
thin a mimber iv this here Civic Featheration. Didn't ye have a beer
bottle or an ice-pick? Ayether iv thim is good, though, whin I was a
young man an' precint captain an' intherested in th' welfare iv th'
counthry, I found a couplin' pin in a stockin' about as handy as
annything.