says th' chairman, 'Major,' he says, 'we have a complaint to make
again thim pants iv ye'ers,' he says. 'What's th' matter with th'
pants?' says th' future Prisident. 'I thought they looked all right,'
he says. 'I paid four dollars f'r thim in Bucyrus las' year,' he says.
'They have no union label on thim,' says th' chairman. 'Do you know,
sir,' he says, 'that thim pants riprisints th' oppression iv women an'
childher?' he says. 'D'ye know that ivry thread in thim seams means a
tear an' sigh?' says he. 'D'ye know that ivry time ye put on thim
pants ye take a pair off some down-throdden workman?' he says. 'Glory
be!' says Big Bill: 'is that thrue? Thin what am I to do?' he says in
alarm. 'Do?' says th' chairman. 'Wear pants that riprisints honest
toil fairly compinsated,' he says. 'Wear pants that 'll say to th'
wurruld that Bill McKinley's legs are fair legs;' he says, 'that they
may bow at th' knees, but they niver bow to th' opprissor,' he says;
'that niver did they wrap thimsilves in bags that bore th' curse iv
monno-poly an' greed,' he says. 'An' where can I get thim?' says th'
major, 'Fr'm me,' says th' frind iv labor, pullin' out a tape. 'Will
ye have wan or two hip pockets?' he says.
"An' so it goes. Ivry day a rayporther comes to th' house with a list
iv questions. 'What are ye'er views on th' issue iv eatin' custard pie
with a sponge? Do ye believe in side-combs? If called upon to veto a
bill f'r all mimbers iv th' Supreme Coort to wear hoop-skirts, wud ye
veto it or wudden't ye? If so, why? If not, why not? If a batted ball
goes out iv th' line afther strikin' th' player's hands, is it fair or
who? Have ye that tired feelin'? What is your opinion iv a hereafther?
Where did you get that hat? If a man has eight dollars an' spends
twelve iv it, what will th' poor man do? An' why an' where an' how
much?'
"Thin, if he don't answer, ivry wan says he's a thrimmer, an' ought to
be runnin' a sthreet-car an' not thryin' to poke his ondecided face
into th' White House. I mind wanst, whin me frind O'Brien was a
candydate f'r aldherman, a comity iv tax-payers waited on him f'r to
get his views on th' issues iv th' day. Big Casey, th' housemover, was
th' chairman; an' he says, says he, 'Misther O'Brien,' he says, 'we
are desirous,' he says, 'iv larnin' where ye stand on th' tariff, th'
currency question, pensions, an' th' intherstate commerce act,' he
says, with a wave iv his hand. 'Well,' says O'Brien, he says, 'th'
issue on which I'm appealin' to th' free an' intilligent suffrages of
Ar-rchey Road an' th' assistance iv Deerin' Sthreet Station,' he says,
'is whether little Mike Kelly will have th' bridge or not,' he says.
'On that I stand,' he says. 'As f'r th' minor issues,' he says, 'I may
have me opinions on thim an' I may not. Anny information I possess
I'll keep tucked away in this large an' commodjous mind cage, an' not
be dealin' it out to th' likes iv ye, as though I was a comity iv th'
Civic Featheration,' he says. 'Moreover,' he says, 'I'd like to know,
you, Casey, what business have you got comin' roun' to my house and
pryin' into my domestic affairs,' he says. ''Tis th' intherstate
commerce act now, but th' nex' thing 'll be where I got th' pianny,'
he says; 'an', f'r fear ye may not stop where ye are, here goes to
mount ye.' An' he climbed th' big man, an' rolled him. Well, sir will
ye believe me, ivry man on th' comity but wan voted f'r him. Casey was
still in bed iliction day.
"I met Tom Dorsey afther th' comity called. 'Well,' says I, 'I heerd
ye was up to O'Brien's questionin' him on th' issues iv th' day,' I
says. 'We was,' says he. 'Was his answers satisfacthry?' says I.
'Perfectly so,' he says. 'Whin th' comity left, we were all convinced
that he was th' strongest man that cud be nommynated,' he says."
THE DAY AFTER THE VICTORY.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "didn't we give it to thim?"
"Give it to who?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"To th' Dimmycrats," said Mr. Dooley.
"Go on," said Mr. McKenna. "You're a Democrat yourself."
"Me?" said Mr. Dooley, "not on your life. Not in wan hundherd thousand
years. Me a Dimmycrat? I shud say not, Jawn, me buck. I'm the hottest
kind iv a Raypublican, me an' Maloney. I suppose they ain't two such
Raypublicans annywhere. How can anny wan be annything else? Who was it
that saved the Union, Jawn? Who was it? Who are th' frinds iv th'
Irish? Who protecks th' poor wurrukin'man so that he'll have to go on
wurrukin'? We do, Jawn. We Raypublicans, by dad.
"They ain't a Dimmycrat fr'm wan end iv th' road to th' other. I just
was over makin' a visit on Docherty, an' he'd took down th' picture
iv Jackson an' Cleveland an' put up wan iv Grant an' Lincoln. Willum
Joyce have come out f'r McKinley f'r Prisident, an' th' polisman on
th' beat told me las' night that th' left'nant told him that 'twas
time f'r a change. Th' Dimmycrats had rooned th' counthry with their
free trade an' their foreign policy an' their I dinnaw what, an' 'twas
high time an honest man got a crack at a down-town precinct with a
faro bank or two in it. Th' polisman agreed with him that Cleveland
have raised th' divvle with th' Constitootion; an', by gar, he's
right, too. He's right, Jawn. He have a boy in th' wather office.
"Ye mind Maloney, th' la-ad with th' game eye? He tends a bridge over
be Goose Island way, but he was down here iliction day. Two weeks
before iliction day he was again Winter. 'He's no good,' he says.
'He's a Boohemian,' he says. 'An' whin they come to ilictin'
Boohemians f'r mayor,' he says, 'I'll go back to me ol' thrade iv
shovellin' mud,' he says. 'Besides,' says he, 'if this here Winter
wint in,' he says, 'ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Street an' hand
him a peach on a window pole, he'd be that stuck up,' he says.
"Some wan must 've spoke to him; f'r, whin he come in th' next time,
he says, 'They'se no use talkin',' he says, 'that there Dutchman is
sthrong,' he says. 'I thought he was a Boolgahrian,' says I. 'No,'
says he, 'he's a German man,' says he. 'An' th' Germans is with him to
th' bitther end,' he says. 'D'ye know,' he says, 'I believe he'll give
th' little bald-headed duck a run f'r his money,' he says. 'Thim
Germans stand together,' he says. 'They're th' most clannish people on
earth,' he says. 'I'm goin' over to th' Wolfe Tones to see what th'
la-ads think about it.' Sundah night he come an' give a ca-ard f'r
Winter to ivry man in th' place. 'He'll sweep th' town like a
whirlwind,' he says. 'They can't beat him.' 'Who?' says I. 'Winter, iv
coorse.' 'Is he a nice man?' says I. 'Wan iv th' finest men on earth,'
he says. 'A spoort, too,' he says. 'An' liberal.'
"He was in here iliction day, an' I had Hinnissy's kid runnin' fr'm
th' station with rayturns. Maloney was talkin' to th' crowd an' buyin'
dhrinks. 'Ye'd be surprised,' says he, 'to know what a nice fellow
this here Winter is,' he says. 'Ye'd niver take him f'r a German,' he
says. 'He have no more accint thin mesilf.' The kid come in, an' says
he, 'Th' loot says tin precincts show Swift have a majority as big as
what th' Raypublicans got las' fall.' 'That's bad,' says I. 'Not at
all,' says Maloney. 'Thim's th' down-town wa-ards,' he says. 'Wait
till ye hear fr'm th' Germans,' he says. Th' nex' booletin said Swift
was gainin', an' had tin thousand majority. 'Niver mind,' says
Maloney. 'Th' Germans 'll wipe that out,' he says. Thin we heerd it
was twinty thousand f'r Swift. 'Glory be,' says Maloney, 'th' Germans
is slow comin' in,' he says. 'Maybe,' says I, 'they forgot to vote,'
says I. 'Maybe they're havin' a schootzenfist,' I says, 'an' are out
killin' clay pigeons instid iv attendin' to business,' I says. Just
thin th' loot come in. 'Well,' says he, ''tis quite a Waterloo,' says
he. 'F'r who?' says I. 'Oh,' he says, 'Swift got it be forty
thousand.'
"Maloney wiped his face, and took off his hat an' swabbed it inside.
Thin says he: 'D'ye raymimber me meetin' ye down-town a week ago on
Dorney's place, loot?' he says. 'Yes,' says th' loot. 'D'ye mind what
I said thin?' he says, 'I don't call it just now,' says the loot.
'Well, I just come fr'm a meetin' iv th' Swift Marchin' Club, an' I
niver seen so much enthusyasm; an' I says to ye, I says: 'Loot,' I
says, 'Swift 'll bate him aisy,' I says. 'I knew he would fr'm th'
beginnin'. Ye take an' put up a good broad liberal man like George B.,
a man that has frinds an' knows how to be a good fellow, an' run him
again a Boohemian gazabo who gives ivry man th' marble heart an' 'd
turn down his own brother, an' anny fool cud tell who 'd win. They'll
be some chance f'r a man with Swift over there; but, if this here
Winter wint in, ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Sthreet an' hand him
a peach on th' end iv a window pole,' he says.
"Will he lose his job? Not much, Jawn. That la-ad 'll be swingin'
bridges an' throwin' away th' crust iv his pie whin you an' me are
atin' ha-ard coal. He will that. But what do I care? Machs nix aus,
Jawn; an' that being translated manes, 'What th' 'ell.'"
A VISIT TO JEKYL ISLAND.
"I'd like to been there," said Mr. Dooley.
"Where's that?" Mr. Hennessy asked.
"At Shekel Island," said Mr. Dooley, "seein' me frind Mack an' me
frind Tom Reed meetin' be th' sad sea waves.
"Ye see, Mack was down there with Mark Hanna. He was tired out with
expandin', an' anxiety f'r fear me frind Alger 'd raysign; an' says
Hanna, he says, 'Come down,' he says, 'with me,' he says, 'to Shekel
Island,' he says. ''Tis th' home iv rayfinemint an' riches,' he says,
'where us millyionaires rest fr'm takin' care iv th' counthry,' he
says. 'There in th' shade iv th' coupon threes,' he says, 'we watch
th' sea waves, an' wondher,' he says, 'whin th' goold that's in thim
can be exthracted,' he says. 'They'se nawthin' to break th' silence,'
he says, 'but th' roarin' iv th' ocean,' he says; 'an' that sounds
nat'ral,' he says, 'because 'tis almost like th' sound iv th' stock
exchange,' he says. 'A man,' he says, 'that has th' ticker eye,' he
says, 'or th' coupon thumb,' he says, 'is cured in no time,' he says.
'Come,' he says, 'fly with me,' he says. 'They'se nawthin' to keep ye
here,' he says. 'Ivry wan iv th' cab'net, includin' th' Sicrety iv
War, 'll stick to his place,' he says, 'like a man,' he says.
"An' Mack wint with him. He was settin' on th' beach in a goold chair,
surrounded be millyionaires, with th' prisident iv a bank fannin' him
an' th' threeasurer iv a dimon' mine poorin' his dhrink; an', though
he was feelin' well, they was something on his mind. 'What ails ye?'
ast Hanna. 'I was thinkin',' says Mack, 'how pleasant 'twud be if me
ol' frind Tom Reed was here,' he says. ''Twud be Paradise if he was
here,' he says, whin, lo an' behold, who shud come acrost th'
dimon'-studded beach, wadin' through th' bank-notes that 'd been
dropped be th' good farmers iv Shekel Island, but Tom Reed.
"Well, sir, to see th' affection that those two great men showed at
th' encounther 'd dhraw tears fr'm th' eyes iv a hear-rt iv sthone.
'Tom,' says Mack, in faltherin' accints, 'where have ye been? F'r days
an' days I've skinned yon blue horizon f'r anny sign iv ye,' he says.
'An' ye come not,' he says. 'I didn't think I cud miss ye so,' he
says. 'Embrace me,' he says, 'if ye ar-re not ar-rmed,' he says.
'Mack,' says me frind Tom Reed, with tears in his eyes, 'this,' he
says, 'is th' happiest moment iv me life,' he says. 'I cudden't,' he
says, 'I cudden't stay in Wash'nton,' he says, 'with you so far away,'
he says, 'where I cudden't watch ye,' he says. 'Ye're th' on'y man
in th' wurruld I care f'r,' he says, 'but mesilf.' he says. 'An',' he
says, 'I'd fall weepin' on ye'er shoulder this minyit,' he says; 'but
I don't want to be disrayspectful be turnin' me back on Misther
Hanna,' he says.
"'Well,' says Mack, 'sit down,' he says. 'Rockyfeller,' he says, 'tell
Morgan f'r to fetch up a kag iv sherry wine,' he says. 'Tom,' he
says, 'we've been frinds f'r years,' he says. 'We have,' says Tom.
'We've concealed it fr'm th' vulgar an' pryin' public,' he says; 'but
in our hear-rts we've been frinds, barrin' th' naygur dillygates at
th' convintion,' he says. ''Twas a mere incident,' says Mack. 'We've
been frinds,' he says; 'an' I've always wanted,' he says, 'to do
something f'r ye,' he says. 'Th' time has come,' he says, 'whin I can
realize me wish,' he says. 'I offer ye,' he says, 'th' Prisidincy, to
succeed me,' he says. 'No, no,' he says, 'I'll not be rayfused,' he
says. 'I'm tired iv it,' he says. ''Twas foorced on me be foolish
frinds,' he says; 'but I'm not th' man f'r th' place,' he says. 'I
haven't dhrawn a comfortable breath, not to speak iv salary, since I
wint in,' he says.
"Th' speaker iv th' house burrid his face in his hands, an' sobs shook
him partly f'r manny minyits. Thin he raised his head, an' says he,
'Mack,' he says, 'I can't take it,' he says. ''Tis most gin'rous iv
ye,' he says, 'but me hear-rt fails me,' he says. 'What is it to be
Prisident?' says he. 'Th' White House,' he says, 'is a prison,' he
says, 'to which a man is condimned,' he says, 'f'r fine wurruk at th'
polls,' he says. 'Th' life iv a Prisident is slavery,' he says. 'If I
was to take th' job,' he says, 'I'd be tortured day an' night,' he
says, 'be th' fear iv assassination,' he says. 'Think,' he says, 'iv
some arnychist shootin' thirteen-inch shells at me,' he says, 'an'
maybe,' he says, 'dentin' me,' he says. 'No,' he says, 'I have a good
job where I am,' he says. 'All I've got to do,' he says, 'is to set up
at th' desk,' he says, 'an' not recall th' names iv th' gintlemen on
th' flure, an' me jooty's done,' he says. 'I thank ye kindly, Willum;
but I cannot accept ye'er gin'rous offer,' he says. 'Go back to th'
cell,' he says, 'an' slave like a convict,' he says. 'I will not rob
me frind,' he says, 'iv such an honor. But,' he says, 'tell me whin ye
thought iv throwin' up th' job, an' lavin' me br-reak into this
hateful prison,' he says. 'About th' year two thousan' an' eight, dear
frind,' says Mack. 'No, no,' says Tom Reed. 'I cannot accept it,' he
says, pressin' Mack's hand. ''Tis too much,' he says, 'an' too long,'
he says.
"'I lave ye,' he says, 'but I'll call on ye,' he says. 'Take,' he
says, 'this little silver-mounted bottle iv broomo-caffeen,' he says,
'an' think iv me,' he says. 'I will,' says Mack. 'Ar-ren't ye tired iv
ye'er long journey?' he says. 'Wudden't ye like to take a bath in th'
shark pond before ye go?' he says. An' so they backed away fr'm each
other, th' tears rollin' down their cheeks. Frindship, Hinnissy, is a
sacred thing."
"It is," said Mr. Hennessy, "if they are; but I don't b'lieve wan
wurrud ye tol' me."
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "if they ain't both frinds, wan iv thim is.
An', annyhow, I'm glad to know Tom Reed ain't thryin' to break into
jail."
SLAVIN CONTRA WAGNER.
"Ol' man Donahue bought Molly a pianny las' week," Mr. Dooley said in
the course of his conversation with Mr. McKenna. "She'd been takin'
lessons fr'm a Dutchman down th' sthreet, an' they say she can play as
aisy with her hands crossed as she can with wan finger. She's been
whalin' away iver since, an' Donahue is dhrinkin' again.
"Ye see th' other night some iv th' la-ads wint over f'r to see
whether they cud smash his table in a frindly game iv forty-fives. I
don't know what possessed Donahue. He niver asked his frinds into the
parlor befure. They used to set in th' dining-room; an', whin Mrs.
Donahue coughed at iliven o'clock, they'd toddle out th' side dure
with their hats in their hands. But this here night, whether 'twas
that Donahue had taken on a dhrink or two too much or not, he asked
thim all in th' front room, where Mrs. Donahue was settin' with Molly.
'I've brought me frinds,' he says, 'f'r to hear Molly take a fall out
iv th' music-box,' he says. 'Let me have ye'er hat, Mike,' he says.
'Ye'll not feel it whin ye get out,' he says.
"At anny other time Mrs. Donahue 'd give him th' marble heart. But they
wasn't a man in th' party that had a pianny to his name, an' she knew
they'd be throuble whin they wint home an' tould about it. ''Tis a
mel-odjious insthrument,' says she. 'I cud sit here be the hour an'
listen to Bootoven and Choochooski,' she says.
"'What did thim write?' says Cassidy. 'Chunes,' says Donahue, 'chunes:
Molly,' he says, 'fetch 'er th' wallop to make th' gintlemen feel
good,' he says. 'What 'll it be, la-ads?' 'D'ye know "Down be th'
Tan-yard Side"?' says Slavin. 'No,' says Molly. 'It goes like this,'
says Slavin. 'A-ah, din yadden, yooden a-yadden, arrah yadden ay-a.'
'I dinnaw it,' says th' girl. ''Tis a low chune, annyhow,' says Mrs.
Donahue. 'Misther Slavin ividintly thinks he's at a polis picnic,' she
says. 'I'll have no come-all-ye's in this house,' she says. 'Molly,
give us a few ba-ars fr'm Wagner.' 'What Wagner's that?' says
Flannagan. 'No wan ye know,' says Donahue; 'he's a German musician.'
'Thim Germans is hot people f'r music,' says Cassidy. 'I knowed wan
that cud play th' "Wacht am Rhine" on a pair iv cymbals,' he says,
'Whisht!' says Donahue. 'Give th' girl a chanst.'
"Slavin tol' me about it. He says he niver heerd th' like in his born
days. He says she fetched th' pianny two or three wallops that made
Cassidy jump out iv his chair, an' Cassidy has charge iv th' steam
whistle at th' quarry at that. She wint at it as though she had a
gredge at it. First 'twas wan hand an' thin th' other, thin both
hands, knuckles down; an' it looked, says Slavin, as if she was goin'
to leap into th' middle iv it with both feet, whin Donahue jumps up.
'Hol' on!' he says. 'That's not a rented pianny, ye daft girl,' he
says. 'Why, pap-pah,' says Molly, 'what d'ye mean?' she says. 'That's
Wagner,' she says. ''Tis th' music iv th' future,' she says. 'Yes,'
says Donahue, 'but I don't want me hell on earth. I can wait f'r it,'
he says, 'with th' kind permission iv Mrs. Donahue,' he says. 'Play us
th' "Wicklow Mountaineer,"' he says, 'an' threat th' masheen kindly,'
he says, 'She'll play no "Wicklow Mountaineer,"' says Mrs. Donahue.
'If ye want to hear that kind iv chune, ye can go down to Finucane's
Hall,' she says, 'an' call in Crowley, th' blind piper,' she says.
'Molly,' she says, 'give us wan iv thim Choochooski things,' she said.
'They're so ginteel.'
"With that Donahue rose up. 'Come on,' says he. 'This is no place f'r
us,' he says. Slavin, with th' politeness iv a man who's gettin' even,
turns at th' dure. I'm sorry I can't remain,' he says. 'I think th'
wurruld an' all iv Choochooski,' he says. 'Me brother used to play his
chunes,' he says,--'me brother Mike, that run th' grip ca-ar,' he
says. 'But there's wan thing missin' fr'm Molly's playing', he says.
'And what may that be?' says Mrs. Donahue. 'An ax,' says Slavin,
backin' out.
"So Donahue has took to dhrink."
GRAND OPERA.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "'tis a gr-reat thing to be a polisman. Me
frind Doheny, what used to be at Deerin' Sthreet, have got on th'
crossin' an' they've planted him down be th' Audjitooroom. He was up
here las' week, an' says he, 'Run in, an' look at th' op'ra,' says he.
'Run in, an' take a flash iv it,' he says. ''Tis gr-reat,' he says. So
I takes Duggan, an' we goes down together.
"Well, Doheny does be gr-reat paper with thim. He was standin' be th'
dure, with white gloves over his hands; an', whin we come, he give th'
office to th' la-ad on th' gate, an' says th' la-ad, 'Sure thing,' he
says. 'Sure thing,' an' in we goes. They was a lot iv Gazoorios there,
some iv thim settin' in seats an' some iv thim in bur-rd cages up
above, an' more standin'. Thim standin' was th' la-ads that Doheny
rushed in. Ye niver see such a lot iv thim,--Cassidy, O'Regan, Hogan,
Mulcahey, Shay, Mullaney, Mullvihill, an' th' eight O'Neills,--all
sint through be Doheny without cridintials. Sure, it looked like a
meetin' iv th' Wolf Tones. It did that.
"Th' op'ra was on whin we wint in, an' they was whalin' away in
Eyetallian. Duggan listened; an' says he, 'What's the man sayin'?' he
says. 'I dinnaw,' I says. 'He's talkin' Chinese, an',' says I, 'they're
goin' to sind him to th' laundhry,' says I. 'Look,' I says. 'They're
puttin' him in th' clothes-basket,' I says. 'If they do,' says he,
'he'll niver come back,' he says, 'or else he'll have another name,'
he says. 'Let's buy a scoor ca-ard,' says he. So he bought wan, an'
was r-readin' it an' lookin' over th' top iv it at th' women in th'
boxes, an' wondhrin' why some wan didn't tell thim their dhresses was
slippin' down, whin over comes Cassidy, and says he, 'What's th' news
in th' Sixth?' 'Nawthin,' says Duggan. 'Will O'Brien win?' says
Cassidy. 'They can't beat him,' says Duggan. 'I dinnaw,' says Cassidy.
'Come over here, an' I'll tell ye,' says Duggan. Dinny Shay an' Hogan
an' Mullaney jined us, an' we wint an' set on the steps.
"'Can Winter beat Swift?' says Shay. 'I'd like to know,' says Hogan.
'I don't know who to vote f'r,' he says; 'an' Mike is in th' wather
office,' he says. ''Tis a cinch Hinky 'll win out in th' First,' says
Mullaney. 'He have a sthrong man again him,' says Hogan. 'Gleason have
wan or two lodgin'-houses.' 'Three,' says Shay; 'but Hinkey knows all
th' lodgers,' he says. ''Twas a mane thing th' main guy done with
Callaghan,' says Hogan. 'What's that?' says Shay. 'Thrun him off th'
bridge,' says Hogan, 'because he come fr'm Kerry,' he says. 'I don't
believe wan wurrud iv it,' says Mullaney. 'They're more Kerry men on
bridges thin anny other counties,' he says. 'What has bet Hopkins,' he
says, 'is his frindship fr'm th' Mayo men,' he says. 'Th' Mayo men is
great f'r carryin' prim'ries, afther they're over,' he says. 'But did
anny wan iver hear iv thim doin' anny good whin th' votes was bein'
cast?' 'I knowed wan that did,' says Cassidy, as black as ye'er boot.
'His name was Cassidy,' he says; 'an' he done some good,' he says, 'be
privintin' a man be th' name iv Mullaney,' he says, 'fr'm bein' a
dilligate.' 'Ye had th' polis with ye,' says Mullaney. 'Ye was
supported be th' fire departmint,' says Cassidy.
"'Let's change th' subject,' says Duggan, 'What show has Dorsey got in
th' Twinty-ninth? 'None at all,' says wan iv th' O'Neills who 'd come
over. 'He have th' Civic Featheration again him.' 'Who cares f'r th'
Civic Featheration?' says Mulcahey. 'They don't vote,' he says.
'What 'll kill Dorsey,' he says, 'is his bein' an Apee-a.' 'He's no
Apee-a,' says Mike O'Neill. 'I wint to th' Brothers' school with him,'
he says. 'Whiniver a man comes up that can't be downed anny way, he's
called an Apee-a,' he says. 'He's no more an Apee-a thin ye are,' he
says. 'D'ye mean to call me that?' says Mulcahey. 'Come out, an' have
a dhrink,' I says; an' we wint down.
"Well, Jawn, we had wan iv th' liveliest political argumints ye iver
see without so much as a blow bein' sthruck. Evenly matched, d'ye
mind, with a chair f'r ivry man. An' th' bar-tinder was a frind iv
mine. I knowed him whin he was with Schwartzmeister. A good la-ad,--a
good lad."
"But what about th' opera?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Th' op'ra wus gr-reat," said Mr. Dooley; "but I think Mulcahey was
right. Dorsey can't win."
THE CHURCH FAIR.
"Wanst I knew a man," said Mr. Dooley, laying down his newspaper, "be
th' name iv Burke, that come fr'm somewhere around Derry, though he
was no Presbyteryan. He was iv th' right sort. Well, he was feelin'
how-come-ye-so, an' he dhrifted over to where we was holdin' a fair.
They was a band outside, an' he thought it was a grand openin'. So he
come in with a cigar in th' side iv his mouth an' his hat hangin' onto
his ear. It was th' last night iv th' fair, an' ivrything was wide
open; f'r th' priest had gone home, an' we wanted f'r to break th'
record. This Burke was f'r lavin' whin he see where he was; but we run
him again th' shootin' gallery, where ye got twinty-five cints, a
quarther iv a dollar, f'r ivry time ye rang th' bell. Th' ol' gun we
had was crooked as a ram's horn, but it must 've fitted into Burke's
squint; f'r he made that there bell ring as if he was a conducthor iv
a grip-car roundin' a curve. He had th' shootin' gallery on its last
legs whin we run him again th' wheel iv fortune. He broke it. Thin we
thried him on th' grab-bag. They was four goold watches an' anny
quantity iv brickbats an' chunks iv coal in th' bag. He had four
dives, an' got a watch each time. He took a chanst on ivrything; an'
he won a foldin'-bed, a doll that cud talk like an old gate, a pianny,
a lamp-shade, a Life iv St. Aloysius, a pair iv shoes, a baseball bat,
an ice-cream freezer, an' th' pomes iv Mike Scanlan.
"Th' comity was disthracted. Here was a man that 'd break th' fair,
an' do it with th' best iv humor; f'r he come fr'm another parish. So
we held a private session. 'What 'll we do?' says Dorgan, th' chairman.
They was a man be th' name iv Flaherty, a good man thin an' a betther
now; f'r he's dead, may he rest in peace! An' Flaherty says: 'We've
got to take th' bull be th' horns,' he says. 'If ye lave him to me,'
he says, 'I'll fix him,' he says.