intherest me no more. They ain't no liveliness in thim. Whin Andy
Duggan r-run f'r aldherman against Schwartzmeister, th' big
Dutchman,--I was precinct captain then, Jawn,--there was an iliction
f'r ye. 'Twas on our precinct they relied to ilict Duggan; f'r the
Dutch was sthrong down be th' thrack, an' Schwartzmeister had a band
out playin' 'Th' Watch on th' Rhine.' Well, sir, we opened th' polls
at six o'clock, an' there was tin Schwartzmeister men there to protect
his intherests. At sivin o'clock there was only three, an' wan iv thim
was goin' up th' sthreet with Hinnissy kickin' at him. At eight
o'clock, be dad,' there was on'y wan; an' he was sittin' on th' roof
iv Gavin's blacksmith shop, an' th' la-ads was thryin' to borrow a
laddher fr'm th' injine-house f'r to get at him. 'Twas thruck
eighteen; an' Hogan, that was captain, wudden't let thim have it. Not
ye'er Hogan, Jawn, but th' meanest fireman in Bridgeport. He got kilt
aftherwards. He wudden't let th' la-ads have a laddher, an' th'
Dutchman stayed up there; an', whin there was nawthin' to do, we wint
over an' thrun bricks at him. 'Twas gr-reat sport.
"About four in th' afthernoon Schwartzmeister's band come up Ar-rchey
Road, playin' 'Th' Watch on th' Rhine.' Whin it got near Gavin's, big
Peter Nolan tuk a runnin' jump, an' landed feet first in th' big bass
dhrum. Th' man with th' dhrum walloped him over th' head with th'
dhrum-stick, an' Dorsey Quinn wint over an' tuk a slide trombone away
fr'm the musician an' clubbed th' bass dhrum man with it. Thin we all
wint over, an' ye niver see th' like in ye'er born days. Th' las' I
see iv th' band it was goin' down th' road towards th' slough with a
mob behind it, an' all th' polis foorce fr'm Deerin' Sthreet afther
th' mob. Th' la-ads collected th' horns an' th' dhrums, an' that
started th' Ar-rchey Road brass band. Little Mike Doyle larned to play
'Th' Rambler fr'm Clare' beautifully on what they call a pickle-e-o
befure they sarved a rayplivin writ on him.
"We cast twinty-wan hundherd votes f'r Duggan, an' they was on'y five
hundherd votes in th' precinct. We'd cast more, but th' tickets give
out. They was tin votes in th' box f'r Schwartzmeister whin we counted
up; an' I felt that mortified I near died, me bein' precinct captain,
an' res-sponsible. 'What 'll we do with thim? Out th' window,' says I.
Just thin Dorsey's nanny-goat that died next year put her head through
th' dure. 'Monica,' says Dorsey (he had pretty names for all his
goats), 'Monica, are ye hungry,' he says, 'ye poor dear?' Th' goat
give him a pleadin' look out iv her big brown eyes. 'Can't I make ye
up a nice supper?' says Dorsey. 'Do ye like paper?' he says. 'Would ye
like to help desthroy a Dutchman,' he says, 'an' perform a sarvice f'r
ye'er counthry?' he says. Thin he wint out in th' next room, an' come
back with a bottle iv catsup; an' he poured it on th' Schwartzmeister
ballots, an' Monica et thim without winkin'.
"Well, sir, we ilicted Duggan; an' what come iv it? Th' week before
iliction he was in me house ivry night, an' 'twas 'Misther Dooley,
this,' an' 'Mr. Dooley, that,' an' 'What 'll ye have, boys?' an'
'Niver mind about th' change.' I niver see hide nor hair iv him f'r a
week afther iliction. Thin he come with a plug hat on, an' says he:
'Dooley,' he says, 'give me a shell iv beer,' he says: 'give me a
shell iv beer,' he says, layin' down a nickel. 'I suppose ye're on th'
sub-scription,' he says. 'What for?' says I. 'F'r to buy me a goold
star,' says he. With that I eyes him, an' says I: 'Duggan,' I says,
'I knowed ye whin ye didn't have a coat to ye'er back,' I says, 'an' I
'll buy no star f'r ye,' I says. 'But I'll tell ye what I'll buy f'r
ye,' I says. 'I'll buy rayqueem masses f'r th' raypose iv ye'er sowl,
if ye don't duck out iv this in a minyit,' Whin I seen him last, he
was back dhrivin' a dhray an' atin' his dinner out iv a tin can."
THE SKIRTS OF CHANCE.
The people of Bridgeport are not solicitous of modern improvements,
and Mr. Dooley views with distaste the new and garish. But he
consented to install a nickel-in-the-slot machine in his tavern last
week, and it was standing on a table when Mr. McKenna came in. It was
a machine that looked like a house; and, when you put a nickel in at
the top of it, either the door opened and released three other nickels
or it did not. Mostly it did not.
Mr. Dooley saluted Mr. McKenna with unusual cordiality, and Mr.
McKenna inspected the nickel-in-the-slot machine with affectation of
much curiosity.
"What's this you have here, at all?" said Mr. McKenna.
"'Tis an aisy way iv gettin' rich," said Mr. Dooley. "All ye have to
do is to dhrop a nickel in th' slot, an' three other nickels come out
at th' dure. Ye can play it all afthernoon, an' take a fortune fr'm it
if ye'er nickels hould out."
"And where do th' nickels come fr'm?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"I put thim in," said Mr. Dooley. "Ivry twinty minutes I feed th'
masheen a hatful iv nickels, so that whin me frinds dhrop in they
won't be dissypinted, d'ye mind. 'Tis a fine invistment for a young
man. Little work an' large profits. It rayminds me iv Hogan's big kid
an' what he done with his coin. He made a lot iv it in dhrivin' a
ca-ar, he did, but he blew it all in again good liquor an' bad women;
an', bedad, he was broke half th' time an' borrowin' th' other half.
So Hogan gets in Father Kelly fr'm up west iv th' bridge, an' they set
in with Dinnis to talk him out iv his spindthrift ways. 'I have plenty
to keep mesilf,' says Hogan, he says. 'But,' he says, 'I want ye to
save ye'er money,' he says, 'f'r a rainy day.' 'He's right, Dinnis,'
says th' soggarth,--'he's right,' he says. 'Ye should save a little in
case ye need it,' he says. 'Why don't ye take two dollars,' says th'
priest, 'an' invist it ivry month,' says he, 'in somethin',' says he,
'that 'll give ye profits,' says he. 'I'll do it,' says Dinnis,--'I
'll do it,' he says. Well, sir, Hogan was that tickled he give th'
good man five bones out iv th' taypot; but, faith, Dinnis was back at
his reg'lar game before th' week was out, an', afther a month or two,
whin Hogan had to get th' tayspoons out iv soak, he says to th' kid,
he says, 'I thought ye was goin' to brace up,' he says, 'an' here
ye're burnin' up ye'er money,' he says. 'Didn't ye promise to invist
two dollars ivry month?' he says. 'I'm doin' it,' says Dinnis. 'I've
kept me wurrud.' 'An' what are ye invistin' it in?' says Hogan. 'In
lotthry tickets,' says th' imp'dent kid."
While delivering these remarks, Mr. Dooley was peeping over his
glasses at Mr. McKenna, who was engaged in a struggle with the
machine. He dropped a nickel and it rattled down the slot, but it did
not open the door.
"Doesn't it open?" said Mr. Dooley.
"It does not."
"Shake it thin," said Mr. Dooley. "Something must be wrong."
Mr. McKenna shook the machine when he inserted the next nickel, but
there was no compensatory flow of coins from the door.
"Perhaps the money is bad," suggested Mr. Dooley. "It won't open f'r
bad money."
Thereupon he returned to his newspaper, observing which Mr. McKenna
drew from his pocket a nickel attached to a piece of string and
dropped it into the slot repeatedly. After a while the door popped
open, and Mr. McKenna thrust in his hand expectantly. There was no
response, and he turned in great anger to Mr. Dooley.
"There ain't any money there," he said.
"Ye're right, Jawn," responded Mr. Dooley. "If ye expect to dhraw anny
coin fr'm that there masheen, ye may call on some iv ye'er rough
frinds down town f'r a brace an' bit an' a jimmy. Jawn, me la-ad, I
see th' nickel with th' string before; an', to provide again it, I
improved th' masheen. Thim nickels ye dhropped in are all in th'
dhrawer iv that there table, an' to-morrow mornin' ye may see me
havin' me hair cut be means iv thim. An' I'll tell ye wan thing, Jawn
McKenna, an' that's not two things, that if ye think ye can come up
here to Ar-rchey Road an' rob an honest man, by gar, ye've made th'
mistake iv ye'er life. Goowan, now, before I call a polisman."
Mr. McKenna stopped at the door only long enough to shake his fist at
the proprietor, who responded with a grin of pure contentment.
WHEN THE TRUST IS AT WORK.
"Which d'ye think makes th' best fun'ral turnout, th' A-ho-aitches or
th' Saint Vincent de Pauls, Jawn?" asked Mr. Dooley.
"I don't know," said Mr. McKenna. "Are you thinking of leaving us?"
"Faith, I am not," said Mr. Dooley. "Since th' warm weather's come an'
th' wind's in th' south, so that I can tell at night that A-armoor an'
me ol' frind, Jawn Brinnock, are attindin' to business, I have a grip
on life like th' wan ye have on th' shank iv that shell iv malt.
Whether 'tis these soft days, with th' childher beginnin' to play
barefutted in th' sthreet an' th' good women out to palaver over th'
fence without their shawls, or whether 'tis th' wan wurrud Easter
Sundah that comes on me, an' jolts me up with th' thoughts iv th'
la-ads goin' to mass an' th' blackthorn turnin' green beyant, I
dinnaw. But annyhow I'm as gay as a babby an' as fresh as a lark. I am
so.
"I was on'y thinkin'. Ol' Gran'pah Grogan died las' Mondah,--as good a
man as e'er counted his beads or passed th' plate. A thrue man.
Choosdah a Connock man up back iv th' dumps laid down th' shovel.
Misther Grogan had a grand notice in th' pa-apers: 'Grogan, at his
late risidence, 279 A-archoor Avnoo, Timothy Alexander, beloved
husband iv th' late Mary Grogan, father iv Maurice, Michael, Timothy,
Edward, James, Peter, Paul, an' Officer Andrew Grogan, iv Cologne
Sthreet station, an' iv Mrs. Willum Sarsfield Cassidy, nee Grogan'
(which manes that was her name befure she marrid Cassidy, who wurruks
down be Haley's packin'-house). 'Fun'ral be carriages fr'm his late
risidence to Calv'ry cimithry. Virginia City, Nivada; St. Joseph,
Mitchigan; an' Clonmel Tipp'rary pa-apers please copy.'
"I didn't see e'er a nee about th' fam'ly iv th' little man back iv
th' dumps, though maybe he had wan to set aroun' th' fire in th' dark
an' start at th' tap iv a heel on th' dure-step. Mebbe he had a
fam'ly, poor things. A fun'ral is great la-arks f'r th' neighbors, an'
'tis not so bad f'r th' corpse. But in these times, Jawn dear, a-ho
th' gray hearts left behind an' th' hungry mouths to feed. They done
th' best they cud f'r th' Connock man back iv th' dumps,--give him all
th' honors, th' A-ho-aitches ma-archin' behind th' hearse an' th' band
playin' th' Dead March, 'Twas almost as good a turnout as Grogan had,
though th' Saint Vincents had betther hats an' looked more like their
fam'lies kept a cow.
"But they was two hacks back iv th' pall-bearers. I wondhered what was
passin' behind th' faces I seen again their windys. 'Twas well f'r
himself, too. Little odds to him, afther th' last screw was twisted be
Gavin's ol' yellow hands, whether beef was wan cint or a hundherd
dollars th' pound. But there's comin' home as well as goin' out.
There's more to a fun'ral thin th' lucks parpitua, an' th' clod iv
sullen earth on th' top iv th' crate. Sare a pax vobiscum is there f'r
thim that's huddled in th' ol' hack, sthragglin' home in th' dust to
th' empty panthry an' th' fireless grate.
"Mind ye, Jawn, I've no wurrud to say again thim that sets back in
their own house an' lot an' makes th' food iv th' people dear. They're
good men, good men. Whin they tilt th' price iv beef to where wan
pound iv it costs as much as manny th' man in this Ar-rchey Road 'd
wurruk fr'm th' risin' to th' settin' iv th' sun to get, they have no
thought iv th' likes iv you an' me. 'Tis aisy come, aisy go with thim;
an' ivry cint a pound manes a new art musoom or a new church, to take
th' edge off hunger. They're all right, thim la-ads, with their own
pork-chops delivered free at th' door. 'Tis, 'Will ye have a new
spring dhress, me dear? Willum, ring thim up, an' tell thim to hist
th' price iv beef. If we had a few more pitchers an' statoos in th'
musoom, 'twud ilivate th' people a sthory or two. Willum, afther this
steak 'll be twinty cints a pound.' Oh, they're all right, on'y I was
thinkin' iv th' Connock man's fam'ly back iv th' dumps."
"For a man that was gay a little while ago, it looks to me as if you'd
grown mighty solemn-like," said Mr. McKenna.
"Mebbe so," said Mr. Dooley. "Mebbe so. What th' 'ell, annyhow. Mebbe
'tis as bad to take champagne out iv wan man's mouth as round steak
out iv another's. Lent is near over. I seen Doherty out shinin' up his
pipe that's been behind th' clock since Ash Winsdah. Th' girls 'll be
layin' lilies on th' altar in a day or two. Th' spring's come on. Th'
grass is growin' good; an', if th' Connock man's children back iv th'
dumps can't get meat, they can eat hay."
A BRAND FROM THE BURNING.
"I see be th' pa-apers," said Mr. Dooley, "that Boss have flew th'
coop. 'Tis too bad, too bad. He wa-as a gr-reat man."
"Is he dead?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"No, faith, worse thin that; he's resigned. He calls th' la-ads about
him, an' says he: 'Boys,' he says, 'I'm tired iv politics,' he says.
'I'm goin' to quit it f'r me health,' he says. 'Do ye stay in, an' get
ar-rested f'r th' good iv th' party.' Ye see thim mugwumps is afther
th' Boss, an' he's gettin' out th' way Hogan got out iv Connock. Wan
day he comes over to me fa-ather's house, an' says he, 'Dooley,' he
says, 'I'm goin' to lave this hole iv a place,' he says. 'F'r why?'
says th' ol' man; 'I thought ye liked it.' 'Faith,' says Hogan, 'I
niver liked a blade iv grass in it,' he says. 'I'm sick iv it,' he
says. 'I don't want niver to see it no more.' And he wint away. Th'
next mornin' th' polis was lookin' f'r him to lock him up f'r stealin'
joo'lry in the fair town. Yes, by dad.
"'Tis th' way iv th' boss, Jawn. I seen it manny's th' time. There
was wanst a boss in th' Sixth Wa-ard, an' his name was Flannagan; an'
he came fr'm th' County Clare, but so near th' bordher line that no
wan challenged his vote, an' he was let walk down Ar-rchey Road just's
though he come fr'm Connock. Well, sir, whin I see him first, he'd th'
smell iv Castle Garden on him, an' th' same is no mignonette, d'ye
mind; an' he was goin' out with pick an' shovel f'r to dig in th'
canal,--a big, shtrappin', black-haired lad, with a neck like a bull's
an' covered with a hide as thick as wan's, fr'm thryin' to get a crop
iv oats out iv a Clare farm that growed divvle th' thing but nice, big
boldhers.
"He was de-termined, though, an' th' first man that made a face at him
he walloped in th' jaw; an' he'd been on th' canal no more thin a month
before he licked ivry man in th' gang but th' section boss, who'd been
a Dublin jackeen, an' weighed sixteen stone an' was great with a thrip
an' a punch. Wan day they had some wurruds, whin me bold Dublin man
sails into Flannagan. Well, sir, they fought fr'm wan o'clock till tin
in th' night, an' nayther give up; though Flannagan had th' best iv
it, bein' young. 'Why don't ye put him out?' says wan iv th' la-ads.
'Whisht,' says Flannagan. 'I'm waitin' f'r th' moon to come up,' he
says, 'so's I can hit him right,' he says, 'an' scientific.' Well,
sir, his tone was that fierce th' section boss he dhropped right there
iv sheer fright; an' Flannagan was cock iv th' walk.
"Afther a while he begun f'r to go out among th' other gangs, lookin'
f'r fight; an', whin th' year was over, he was knowed fr'm wan end iv
th' canal to th' other as th' man that no wan cud stand befure. He got
so pop'lar fr'm lickin' all his frinds that he opened up a liquor
store beyant th' bridge, an' wan night he shot some la-ads fr'm th'
ya-ards that come over f'r to r-run him. That made him sthronger still.
When they got up a prize f'r th' most pop'lar man in th' parish, he
loaded th' ballot box an' got th' goold-headed stick, though he was
r-runnin' against th' aldherman, an' th' little soggarth thried his
best to down him. Thin he give a cock fight in th' liquor shop, an'
that atthracted a gang iv bad men; an' he licked thim wan afther
another, an' made thim his frinds. An' wan day lo an' behold, whin th'
aldherman thried f'r to carry th' prim'ries that 'd niver failed him
befure, Flannagan wint down with his gang an' illicted his own
dilligate ticket, an' thrun th' aldherman up in th' air!
"Thin he was a boss, an' f'r five years he r-run th' ward. He niver
wint to th' council, d'ye mind; but, whin he was gin'rous, he give th'
aldhermen tin per cint iv what they made. In a convintion, whin anny
iv th' candydates passed roun' th' money, 'twas wan thousand dollars
f'r Flannagan an' have a nice see-gar with me f'r th' rest iv thim.
Wan year fr'm th' day he done th' aldherman he sold th' liquor shop.
Thin he built a brick house in th' place iv th' little frame wan he
had befure, an' moved in a pianny f'r his daughter. 'Twas about this
time he got a dimon as big as ye'er fist, an' begun to dhrive down
town behind a fast horse. No wan knowed what he done, but his wife
said he was in th' r-rale estate business. D'ye mind, Jawn, that th'
r-rale estate business includes near ivrything fr'm vagrancy to
manslaughter?
"Whativer it was he done, he had money to bur-rn; an' th' little
soggarth that wanst despised him, but had a hard time payin' th' debt
iv th' church, was glad enough to sit at his table. Wan day without
th' wink iv th' eye he moved up in th' avnoo, an' no wan seen him in
Bridgeport afther that. 'Twas a month or two later whin a lot iv th'
la-ads was thrun into jail f'r a little diviltry they'd done f'r him.
A comity iv th' fathers iv th' la-ads wint to see him. He raceived
thim in a room as big as wan iv their whole houses, with pitchers on
th' walls an' a carpet as deep an' soft as a bog. Th' comity asked him
to get th' la-ads out on bail.
"'Gintlemen,' he says, 'ye must excuse me,' he says, 'in such
matthers.' 'D'ye mane to say,' says Cassidy, th' plumber, 'that ye
won't do annything f'r my son?' 'Do annything,' says Flannagan. (I'll
say this f'r him: a more darin' man niver drew breath; an', whin his
time come to go sthandin' off th' mob an' defindin' his sthone quarry
in th' rites iv sivinty-sivin, he faced death without a wink.) 'Do?'
he says, risin' an' sthandin' within a fut iv Cassidy's big cane.
'Do?' he says. 'Why,' he says, 'yes,' he says; 'I've subscribed wan
thousand dollars,' he says, 'to th' citizen's comity,' he says, 'f'r
to prosecute him; an',' he says, 'gintlemen,' he says, 'there's th'
dure.'
"I seen Cassidy that night, an' he was as white as a ghost. 'What ails
ye?' says I. 'Have ye seen th' divvle?' 'Yes,' he says, bendin' his
head over th' bar, an' lookin' sivinty years instead iv forty-five."
A WINTER NIGHT.
Any of the Archey Road cars that got out of the barns at all were
pulled by teams of four horses, and the snow hung over the shoulders
of the drivers' big bearskin coats like the eaves of an old-fashioned
house on the blizzard night. There was hardly a soul in the road from
the red bridge, west, when Mr. McKenna got laboriously off the
platform of his car and made for the sign of somebody's celebrated
Milwaukee beer over Mr. Dooley's tavern. Mr. Dooley, being a man of
sentiment, arranges his drinks to conform with the weather. Now
anybody who knows anything at all knows that a drop of "J.J." and a
whisper (subdued) of hot water and a lump of sugar and lemon peel (if
you care for lemon peel) and nutmeg (if you are a "jood ") is a drink
calculated to tune a man's heart to the song of the wind slapping a
beer-sign upside down and the snow drifting in under the door. Mr.
Dooley was drinking this mixture behind his big stove when Mr. McKenna
came in.
"Bad night, Jawn," said Mr. Dooley.
"It is that," said Mr. McKenna.
"Blowin' an' storming', yes," said Mr. Dooley. "There hasn' been a can
in tonight but wan, an' that was a pop bottle. Is the snow-ploughs
out, I dinnaw?"
"They are," said Mr. McKenna.
"I suppose Doherty is dhrivin'," said Mr. Dooley. "He's a good
dhriver. They do say he do be wan iv the best dhrivers on th' road.
I've heerd that th' prisident is dead gawn on him. He's me cousin. Ye
can't tell much about what a man 'll be fr'm what th' kid is. That
there Doherty was th' worst omadhon iv a boy that iver I knowed. He
niver cud larn his a-ah-bee, abs. But see what he made iv himsilf! Th'
best dhriver on th' road; an', by dad, 'tis not twinty to wan he won't
be stharter befure he dies. 'Tis in th' fam'ly to make their names.
There niver was anny fam'ly in th' ol' counthry that turned out more
priests than th' Dooleys. By gar, I believe we hol' th' champeenship
iv th' wurruld. At M'nooth th' profissor that called th' roll got so
fr'm namin' th' Dooley la-ads that he came near bein' tur-rned down on
th' cha-arge that he was whistlin' at vespers. His mouth, d'ye mind,
took that there shape fr'm sayin' 'Dooley,' 'Dooley,' that he'd looked
as if he was whistlin'. D'ye mind? Dear, oh dear, 'tis th' divvle's
own fam'ly f'r religion."
Mr. McKenna was about to make a jeering remark to the effect that the
alleged piety of the Dooley family had not penetrated to the Archey
Road representative, when a person, evidently of wayfaring habits,
entered and asked for alms. Mr. Dooley arose, and, picking a
half-dollar from the till, handed it to the visitor with great
unconcern. The departure of the wayfarer with profuse thanks was
followed by a space of silence.
"Well, Jawn," said Mr. Dooley.
"What did you give the hobo?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Half a dollar," said Mr. Dooley.
"And what for?"
"Binivolence," said Mr. Dooley, with a seraphic smile.
"Well," said Mr. McKenna, "I should say that was benevolence."
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "'tis a bad night out, an' th' poor divvle
looked that miserable it brought th' tears to me eyes, an'"--
"But," said Mr. McKenna, "that ain't any reason why you should give
half a dollar to every tramp who comes in."
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "I know th' ma-an. He spinds all his money at
Schneider's, down th' block."
"What of that?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Oh, nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "on'y I hope Herman won't thry to
bite that there coin. If he does"--
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.
"A-ho," said Mr. Dooley, "th' blue an' th' gray, th' blue an' th'
gray. Well, sir, Jawn, d'ye know that I see Mulligan marchin' ahead
with his soord on his side, an' his horse dancin' an' backin' into th'
crowd; an' th' la-ads chowlder arms an' march, march away. Ye shud 've
been there. Th' women come down fr'm th' pee-raries with th' childher
in their arms, an' 'twas like a sind-off to a picnic. 'Good-by, Mike.'
'Timothy, darlin', don't forget your prayers.' 'Cornalius, if ye do
but look out f'r th' little wans, th' big wans 'll not harm ye.'
'Teddy, lad, always wear ye'er Agnus Day.' An', whin th' time come f'r
th' thrain to lave, th' girls was up to th' lines; an' 'twas, 'Mike,
love, ye'll come back alive, won't ye?' an' 'Pat, there does be a pair
iv yarn socks in th' hoomp on ye'er back. Wear thim, lad. They'll be
good f'r ye'er poor, dear feet.' An' off they wint.
"Well, some come back, an' some did not come back. An' some come back
with no rale feet f'r to put yarn socks on thim. Mulligan quit down
somewhere in Kentucky; an' th' las' wurruds he was heard to utter was,
'Lay me down, boys, an' save th' flag.' An there was manny th' other
that had nawthin' to say but to call f'r a docthor; f'r 'tis on'y,
d'ye mind, th' heroes that has somethin' writ down on typewriter f'r
to sind to th' newspapers whin they move up. Th' other lads that dies
because they cudden't r-run away,--not because they wudden't,--they
dies on their backs, an' calls f'r th' docthor or th' priest. It
depinds where they're shot.
"But, annyhow, no wan iv thim lads come back to holler because he was
in th' war or to war again th' men that shot him. They wint to wurruk,
carryin' th' hod 'r shovellin' cindhers at th' rollin' mills. Some iv
thim took pinsions because they needed thim; but divvle th' wan iv
thim ye'll see paradin' up an' down Ar-rchey Road with a blue coat on,
wantin' to fight th' war over with Schwartzmeister's bar-tinder that
niver heerd iv but wan war, an' that th' rites iv sivinty-sivin. Sare
a wan. No, faith. They'd as lave decorate a confeatherate's grave as a
thrue pathrite's. All they want is a chanst to go out to th' cimitry;
an', faith, who doesn't enjoy that? No wan that's annything iv a
spoort.
"I know hundherds iv thim. Ye know Pat Doherty, th' little man that
lives over be Grove Sthreet. He inlisted three times, by dad, an' had
to stand on his toes three times to pass. He was that ager. Well, he
looks to weigh about wan hundherd an' twinty pounds; an' he weighs wan
fifty be raison iv him havin' enough lead to stock a plumber in his
stomach an' his legs. He showed himsilf wanst whin he was feelin' gay.
He looks like a sponge. But he ain't. He come in here Thursdah night
to take his dhrink in quite; an' says I, 'Did ye march to-day?'
'Faith, no,' he says, 'I can get hot enough runnin' a wheelbarrow
without makin' a monkey iv mesilf dancin' around th' sthreets behind a
band.' 'But didn't ye go out to decorate th' graves?' says I. 'I
hadn't th' price,' says he, 'Th' women wint out with a gyranium to put
over Sarsfield, the first born,' he says.