gallery, an' says he to Burke, 'Ye're lucky to-night.' 'Not so very,'
says Burke. ''Twud be a shame to lave ye get away with all ye won,'
says Flaherty. ''Twill be a great inconvanience,' says Burke. 'I'll
have to hire two or three dhrays,' he says; 'an' 'tis late.' 'Well,'
says Flaherty, 'I'm appinted be th' parish to cut th' ca-ards with
ye,' he says, 'whether ye're to give back what ye won or take what's
left.' ''Tis fair,' says Burke; 'an', whoiver wins, 'tis f'r a good
cause.' An' he puts th' watches an' th' money on th' table.
"'High man,' says Flaherty. 'High man,' says Burke. Flaherty cut th'
king iv spades. Burke, th' robber, cut th' ace iv hearts. He was
reachin' out f'r th' money, whin Flaherty put his hands over it. 'Wud
ye take it?' says he. 'I wud,' says Burke. 'Wud ye rob th' church?'
says Flaherty. 'I wud,' says Burke. 'Thin,' says Flaherty, scoopin' it
in, 'ye're a heretic; an' they'se nawthin' comin' to ye.'
"Burke looked at him, an' he looked at th' comity; an' he says,
'Gintlemen, if iver ye come over in th' Sixth Ward, dhrop in an' see
me,' he says. 'I'll thry an' make it plisint f'r ye,' he says. An' he
wint away.
"Th' story got out, an' th' good man heerd iv it. He was mighty mad
about it; an' th' nex' sermon he preached was on th' evils iv
gamblin', but he asked Flaherty f'r to take up th' colliction."
THE WANDERERS.
"Poor la-ads, poor la-ads," said Mr. Dooley, putting aside his
newspaper and rubbing his glasses. "'Tis a hard lot theirs, thim that
go down into th' sea in ships, as Shakespeare says. Ye niver see a
storm on th' ocean? Iv coorse ye didn't. How cud ye, ye that was born
away fr'm home? But I have, Jawn. May th' saints save me fr'm another!
I come over in th' bowels iv a big crazy balloon iv a propeller, like
wan iv thim ye see hooked up to Dempsey's dock, loaded with lumber an'
slabs an' Swedes. We watched th' little ol' island fadin' away behind
us, with th' sun sthrikin' th' white house-tops iv Queenstown an'
lightin' up th' chimbleys iv Martin Hogan's liquor store. Not wan iv
us but had left near all we loved behind, an' sare a chance that we'd
iver spoon th' stirabout out iv th' pot above th' ol' peat fire again.
Yes, by dad, there was wan,--a lad fr'm th' County Roscommon. Divvle
th' tear he shed. But, whin we had parted fr'm land, he turns to me,
an' says, 'Well, we're on our way,' he says. 'We are that,' says I.
'No chanst f'r thim to turn around an' go back,' he says. 'Divvle th'
fut,' says I. 'Thin,' he says, raisin' his voice, 'to 'ell with th'
Prince iv Wales,' he says. 'To 'ell with him,' he says.
"An' that was th' last we see of sky or sun f'r six days. That night
come up th' divvle's own storm. Th' waves tore an' walloped th' ol'
boat, an' th' wind howled, an' ye cud hear th' machinery snortin'
beyant. Murther, but I was sick. Wan time th' ship 'd be settin' on
its tail, another it 'd be standin' on its head, thin rollin' over
cow-like on th' side; an' ivry time it lurched me stummick lurched
with it, an' I was tore an' rint an' racked till, if death come, it 'd
found me willin'. An' th' Roscommon man,--glory be, but he was
disthressed. He set on th' flure, with his hands on his belt an' his
face as white as stone, an' rocked to an' fro. 'Ahoo,' he says, 'ahoo,
but me insides has torn loose,' he says, 'an' are tumblin' around,' he
says. 'Say a pather an' avy,' says I, I was that mad f'r th' big
bosthoon f'r his blatherin'. 'Say a pather an' avy,' I says; f'r ye're
near to death's dure, avick.' 'Am I?' says he, raising up. 'Thin,' he
says, 'to 'ell with the whole rile fam'ly,' he says. Oh, he was a
rebel!
"Through th' storm there was a babby cryin'. 'Twas a little wan, no
more thin a year ol'; an' 'twas owned be a Tipp'rary man who come fr'm
near Clonmel, a poor, weak, scarey-lookin' little divvle that lost his
wife, an' see th' bailiff walk off with th' cow, an' thin see him come
back again with th' process servers. An' so he was comin' over with
th' babby, an' bein' mother an' father to it. He'd rock it be th' hour
on his knees, an' talk nonsense to it, an' sing it songs, 'Aha, 'twas
there I met a maiden,' an' 'Th' Wicklow Mountaineer,' an' 'Th' Rambler
fr'm Clare,' an' 'O'Donnel Aboo,' croonin' thim in th' little babby's
ears, an' payin' no attintion to th' poorin' thunder above his head,
day an' night, day an' night, poor soul. An' th' babby cryin' out his
heart, an' him settin' there with his eyes as red as his hair, an'
makin' no kick, poor soul.
"But wan day th' ship settled down steady, an' ragin' stummicks with
it; an' th' Roscommon man shakes himself, an' says, 'To 'ell with th'
Prince iv Wales an' th' Dook iv Edinboroo,' an' goes out. An' near all
th' steerage followed; f'r th' storm had done its worst, an' gone on
to throuble those that come afther, an' may th' divvle go with it.
'Twill be rest f'r that little Tipp'rary man; f'r th' waves was
r-runnin' low an' peaceful, an' th' babby have sthopped cryin'.
"He had been settin' on a stool, but he come over to me. 'Th' storm,'
says I, 'is over. 'Twas wild while it lasted,' says I. 'Ye may say
so,' says he. 'Well, please Gawd,' says I, 'that it left none worse
off thin us.' 'It blew ill f'r some an' aise f'r others,' says he.
'Th' babby is gone.'
"An' so it was, Jawn, f'r all his rockin' an' singin'. An' in th'
avnin' they burried it over th' side into th' sea. An' th' little man
see thim do it."
MAKING A CABINET.
"I suppose, Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "ye do be afther a governmint job.
Is it council to Athlone or what, I dinnaw?"
"I haven't picked out the place yet," said Mr. McKenna. "Bill wrote me
the day after election about it. He says: 'John,' he says, 'take
anything you want that's not nailed to the wall,' he says. He heard of
my good work in the Twenty-ninth. We rolled up eight votes in Carey's
precinct, and had five of them counted; and that's more of a miracle
than carrying New York by three hundred thousand."
"It is so," said Mr. Dooley. "It is f'r a fact. Ye must 've give the
clerks an' judges morphine, an' ye desarve great credit. Ye ought to
have a place; an' I think ye'll get wan, if there's enough to go round
among th' Irish Raypublicans. 'Tis curious what an effect an iliction
has on th' Irish Raypublican vote. In October an Irish Raypublican's
so rare people point him out on th' sthreet, an' women carry their
babies to see him. But th' day afther iliction, glory be, ye run into
thim ivrywhere,--on th' sthreet-car, in the sthreet, in saloons
principally, an' at th' meetin's iv th' Raypublican Comity. I've seen
as manny iv them as twinty in here to-day, an' ivry wan iv thim fit to
run anny job in th' governmint, fr'm directin' th' Departmint iv State
to carryin' ashes out an' dumpin thim in th' white lot.
"They can't all have jobs, but they've got to be attinded to first;
an', whin Mack's got through with thim, he can turn in an' make up
that cabinet iv his. Thin he'll have throuble iv his own, th' poor
man, on'y comin' into fifty thousand a year and rint free. If 'twas
wan iv th' customs iv th' great raypublic iv ours, Jawn, f'r to
appoint th' most competent men f'r th' places, he'd have a mighty
small lot f'r to pick fr'm. But, seein' that on'y thim is iligible
that are unfit, he has th' divvle's own time selectin'. F'r Sicrety iv
State, if he follows all iv what Casey calls recent precidints, he's
limited to ayether a jack-leg counthry lawyer, that has set around
Washington f'r twinty years, pickin' up a dollar or two be runnin'
errands f'r a foreign imbassy, or a judge that doesn't know whether
th' city of Booloogne-sure-Mere, where Tynan was pinched, is in
Boolgahria or th' County Cavan. F'r Sicrety iv th' Threasury he has a
choice iv three kinds iv proud and incompetent fi-nanceers. He can
ayether take a bank prisident, that 'll see that his little bank an'
its frinds doesn't get th' worst iv it, or a man that cudden't
maintain th' par'ty iv a counthry dhry-good store long enough to stand
off th' sheriff, or a broken-down Congressman, that is full iv red
liquor half the year, an' has remorse settin' on his chest th' other
half.
"On'y wan class is iligible f'r Attorney-gin'ral. To fill that job, a
man's got to be a first-class thrust lawyer. If he ain't, th' Lord
knows what 'll happen. Be mistake he might prosecute a thrust some day,
an' th' whole counthry 'll be rooned. He must be a man competint f'r to
avoid such pitfalls an' snares, so 'tis th' rule f'r to have him hang
on to his job with th' thrust afther he gets to Washington. This keeps
him in touch with th' business intherests.
"F'r Sicrety iv War, th' most like wan is some good prisident iv a
sthreet-car company. 'Tis exthraordinney how a man learns to manage
military affairs be auditin' thrip sheets an' rentin' signs in a
sthreet-car to chewin' gum imporyums. If Gin'ral Washington iv sacred
mimory 'd been under a good sthreet-car Sicrety iv War, he'd 've wore
a bell punch to ring up ivry time he killed a Hessian. He wud so, an'
they'd 've kep' tab on him, an', if he thried to wurruk a brother-in-law
on thim, they'd give him his time.
"F'r th' Navy Departmint ye want a Southern Congressman fr'm th'
cotton belt. A man that iver see salt wather outside iv a pork bar'l
'd be disqualified f'r th' place. He must live so far fr'm th' sea
that he don't know a capstan bar fr'm a sheet anchor. That puts him in
th' proper position to inspect armor plate f'r th' imminent Carnegie,
an' insthruct admirals that's been cruisin' an' fightin' an' dhrinkin'
mint juleps f'r thirty years. He must know th' difference bechune silo
an' insilage, how to wean a bull calf, an' th' best way to cure a
spavin. If he has that information, he is fixed f'r th' job.
"Whin he wants a good Postmaster-gin-'ral, take ye'er ol' law partner
f'r awhile, an', be th' time he's larned to stick stamps, hist him
out, an' put in a school-teacher fr'm a part iv th' counthry where
people communicate with each other through a conch. Th' Sicrety iv th'
Interior is an important man. If possible, he ought to come fr'm Maine
or Florida. At anny rate, he must be a resident iv an Atlantic
seacoast town, an' niver been west iv Cohoes. If he gets th' idee
there are anny white people in Ann Arbor or Columbus, he loses his
job.
"Th' last place on th' list is Sicrety iv Agriculture. A good, lively
business man that was born in th' First Ward an' moved to th'
Twinty-foorth after th' fire is best suited to this office. Thin he'll
have no prejudices against sindin' a farmer cactus seeds whin he's
on'y lookin' f'r wheat, an' he will have a proper understandin' iv th'
importance iv an' early Agricultural Bureau rayport to th'
bucket-shops.
"No Prisident can go far away that follows Cleveland's cabinet
appintmints, although it may be hard f'r Mack, bein' new at th'
business, to select th' right man f'r th' wrong place. But I'm sure
he'll be advised be his frinds, an' fr'm th' lists iv candydates I've
seen he'll have no throuble in findin' timber."
OLD AGE.
"Skatin'," said Mr. Dooley, "was intinded f'r th' young an' gay. 'Tis
not f'r th' likes iv me, now that age has crept into me bones an'
whitened th' head iv me. Divvle take th' rheumatics! An' to think iv
me twinty years ago cuttin' capers like a bally dancer, whin th'
Desplaines backed up an' th' pee-raires was covered with ice fr'm th'
mills to Riverside. Manny's th' time I done th' thrick, Jawn, me an'
th' others; but now I break me back broachin' a kag iv beer, an' th'
height iv me daily exercise is to wind th' clock befure turnin' in,
an' count up th' cash."
"You haven't been trying to skate?" Mr. McKenna asked in tones of
alarm.
"Not me," said Mr. Dooley. "Not me, but Hinnissy have. Hinnissy,
th' gay young man; Hinnissy, th' high-hearted, divvle-may-care
sphread-th'-light,--Hinnissy's been skatin' again. May th' Lord give
that man sinse befure he dies! An' he needs it right away. He ain't
got long to live, if me cousin, Misther Justice Dooley, don't appoint
a garjeen f'r him.
"I had no more thought whin I wint over with him that th' silly goat
'd thry his pranks thin I have iv flyin' over this here bar mesilf.
Hinnissy is--let me see how ol' Hinnissy is. He was a good foot taller
thin me th' St. John's night whin th' comet was in th' sky. Let me
see, let me see! Jawn Dorgan was marrid to th' widdy Casey (her that
was Dora O'Brien) in th' spring iv fifty-two, an' Mike Callahan wint
to Austhreelia in th' winter iv sixty. Hinnissy's oldest brother was
too old to inlist in th' army. Six an' thirty is thirty-six. Twict
thirty-six is sivinty-two, less eight is sixty-four, an' nine, carry
wan,--let me see. Well, Hinnissy is ol' enough to know betther.
"We wint to th' pond together, an' passed th' time iv day with our
frinds an' watched th' boys an' girls playin' shinny an' sky-larkin'
hand in hand. They come separate, Jawn; but they go home together,
thim young wans. I see be his face Spoort Hinnissy was growin'
excited. 'Sure,' says he, 'there's nawthin' like it,' he says.
'Martin,' he says, 'I'll challenge ye to race,' he says. 'So ye will,'
says I. 'So ye will,' I says. 'Will ye do it?' says he. 'Hinnissy,'
says I, 'come home,' I says, 'an' don't disgrace ye'er gray hairs
befure th' whole parish,' says I. 'I'll have ye to know,' says he,
'that 'tis not long since I cud cut a double eight with anny wan in
Bridgeport,' he says.
"At that Tom Gallagher's young fly-be-night joined in; an' says he,
'Misther Hinnissy,' he says, 'if ye'll go on,' he says, 'I'll fetch ye
a pair iv skates.' 'Bring thim along,' says Hinnissy. An' he put thim
on. Well, Jawn, he sthud up an' made wan step, an' wan iv his feet
wint that way an' wan this; an' he thrun his hands in th' air, an'
come down on his back. I give him th' merry laugh. He wint clear daft,
an' thried to sthruggle to his feet; an', th' more he thried, th' more
th' skates wint fr'm undher him, till he looked f'r all th' wurruld
like wan iv thim little squirrels that goes roun' on th' wheel in
Schneider's burrud store.
"Gallagher's lad picked him up an' sthud him on his feet; an' says he,
politely, 'Come on,' he says, 'go roun' with me.' Mind ye, he took him
out to th' middle iv th' pond, Hinnissy movin' like a bridge horse on
a slippery thrack; an' th' lad shook him off, an' skated away. 'Come
back!' says Hinnissy. 'Come back!' he says. 'Tom, I'll flay ye alive
whin I catch ye on th' sthreet! Come here, like a good boy, an' help
me off. Dooley,' he roars to me, 'ain't ye goin' to do annything?' he
says. 'Ne'er a thing,' says I, 'but go home.' 'But how 'm I goin' to
cross?' he says. 'Go down on ye'er knees an' crawl,' says I. 'Foolish
man!' I says. An' he done it, Jawn. It took him tin minyits to get
down in sections, but he done it. An' I sthud there, an' waited f'r
him while he crawled wan block over th' ice, mutterin' prayers at ivry
fut.
"I wint home with him aftherwards; an' what d'ye think he said?
'Martin,' says he, 'I've been a sinful man in me time; but I niver had
th' like iv that f'r a pinance,' he says. 'Think iv doin' th' stations
iv th' cross on th' ice,' he says. 'Hinnissy,' I says, 'they'se no
crime in th' catalogue akel to bein' old,' I says. 'Th' nearest thing
to it,' I says, 'is bein' a fool,' I says; 'an' ye're both,' I says."
THE DIVIDED SKIRT.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "did ye iver hear th' puzzle whin a woman's
not a woman?"
"Faith, I have," said Mr. McKenna. "When I was a kid, I knew the
answer."
"Ye didn't know this answer," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin is a woman not a
woman? 'Twas give to me las' Satthurdah night be young Callaghan, th'
sthreet-car man that have all th' latest jokes that does be out. Whin
is a woman not a woman? mind ye. Whin's she's on a bicycle, by dad.
Yes, yes. Whin she's on a bicycle, Jawn. D'ye know Molly Donahue?"
"I know her father," said Mr. McKenna.
"Well, well, the dacint man sint his daughter Molly to have a convint
schoolin'; an' she larned to pass th' butther in Frinch an' to paint
all th' chiny dishes in th' cubb'rd, so that, whin Donahue come home
wan night an' et his supper, he ate a green paint ha-arp along with
his cabbage, an' they had to sind f'r Docthor Hinnissy f'r to pump th'
a-art work out iv him. So they did. But Donahue, bein' a quite man,
niver minded that, but let her go on with her do-se-does an' bought
her a bicycle. All th' bicycles th' poor man had himsilf whin he was
her age was th' dhray he used to dhrive f'r Comiskey; but he says,
'Tis all th' thing,' he says. 'Let th' poor child go her way,' he says
to his wife, he says. 'Honoria,' he says, 'she'll get over it.'
"No wan knowed she had th' bicycle, because she wint out afther dark
an' practised on it down be th' dump. But las' Friday ev'nin', lo an'
behold, whin th' r-road was crowded with people fr'm th' brick-yards
an' th' gas-house an' th' mills, who shud come ridin' along be th'
thracks, bumpin' an' holdin' on, but Molly Donahue? An' dhressed! How
d'ye suppose she was dhressed? In pa-ants, Jawn avick. In pa-ants. Oh,
th' shame iv it! Ivry wan on th' sthreet stopped f'r to yell. Little
Julia Dorgan called out, 'Who stole Molly's dhress?' Ol' man Murphy
was settin' asleep on his stoop. He heerd th' noise, an' woke up an'
set his bull tarrier Lydia Pinkham on her. Malachi Dorsey,
vice-prisident iv th' St. Aloysius Society, was comin' out iv th'
German's, an' see her. He put his hands to his face, an' wint back to
th' house.
"But she wint bumpin' on, Jawn, till she come up be th' house. Father
Kelly was standin' out in front, an' ol' man Donahue was layin' down
th' law to him about th' tariff, whin along come th' poor foolish girl
with all th' kids in Bridgeport afther her. Donahue turned white. 'Say
a pather an' avy quick,' he says to the priest. Thin he called out to
his wife. 'Honoria,' he says, 'bring a bar'l,' he says. 'Molly has
come away without annything on,' he says, 'but Sarsfield's pa-ants.'
Thin he turned on his daughter. 'May th' Lord forgive ye, Molly
Donahue,' he says, 'this night!' he says. 'Child, where is ye'er
dhress?' 'Tut, tut!' says th' good man. 'Molly,' he says, 'ye look
well on that there bicycle,' he says. 'But 'tis th' first time I ever
knowed ye was bow-legged,' he says, says th' soggarth aroon.
"Well, sir, she wint into th' house as if she'd been shot fr'm a gun,
an' th' nex' mornin' I see Doheny's express wagon haulin' th' bicycle
away."
"Didn't Father Kelly do anything about it?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"No," replied Mr. Dooley. "There was some expicted she'd be read fr'm
th' altar at high mass, but she wasn't."
A BIT OF HISTORY.
Mr. McKenna found Mr. Dooley standing at the end of his bargain
counter with the glasses on the tip of his nose. He was in deep
contemplation of a pile of green paper which he was thumbing over.
"Jawn," said he, as Mr. McKenna walked over and looked on curiously,
"d'ye know a good man that I cud thrust to remodel th' shop?"
"And what's got into you?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Im goin' to have two large mirrors put on th' side an' wan below.
Thin I'm goin' to have th' ceilin' painted green, an' a bull-yard
table put in th' back room. 'Twill be a place to par'lyze ye whin it
is through with."
"And what 'll pay for it?" asked Mr. McKenna, in blank amazement.
"This," said Mr. Dooley, whacking the pile before him. "Here's twinty
thousand dollars iv th' bonds iv th' raypublic. They bear inthrest at
twinty-five per cint; an' they're signed be Xavier O'Malley, Pagan
O'Leary (th' wicked man), an' O'Brien, th' threeasurer. Me cousin Mike
put thim up with me f'r a loan iv five. He wurruked in th'
threeasurer's office; an', whin th' polis broke up th' Irish
rivolution, he put on his coat an' stuck a month's bond issue in his
pocket. 'They'll come in handy wan day,' he says; for he was a
philosopher, if he did take a dhrop too much. Whin he give me th'
bonds, he says, says he, 'Hol' to thim,' he says, 'an' some time or
other they'll make a rich man iv ye.' Jawn, I feel th' time has come.
Cleveland's on th' rampage; an', if Ireland ain't a raypublic befure a
month, I'll give ye these here documents f'r what I paid on thim. I
have me information fr'm Hinnissy, an' Hinnissy have it fr'm Willum
Joyce, an' ye know how close Joyce is to Finerty. Hinnissy was in last
night. 'Well,' says I, 'what's th' news?' I says. 'News?' says he.
'They'se on'y wan thing talked about,' he says. 'We're goin' to have a
war with England,' he says. 'An' th' whole Irish army has inlisted,'
he says. 'Has Finerty gone in?' says I. 'He has,' he says. 'Thin,'
says I, ''tis all off with th' Sassenach. We'll run thim fr'm th' face
iv th' earth,' I says. ''Tis th' prisint intintion iv mesilf to hire a
good big tug an' put a hook into Ireland, an' tow it over th' big
dhrink, an' anchor it ayether in th' harbor iv New York or in th'
lake.
"D'ye know, Jawn, 'twas Cleveland that definded th' Fenians whin they
was took up f'r invadin' Canada. 'Twas so. He was not much in thim
days,--a kid iv a lawyer, like Doheny's youngest, with a lot iv hair
an' a long coat an' a hungry look. Whin th' Fenians come back fr'm
Canada in a boat an' landed in th' city iv Buf-falo, New York, they
was all run in; an' sare a lawyer cud they get to defind thim till
this here Cleveland come up, an' says he: 'I'll take th' job,' he
says. 'I'll go in an' do th' best I can f'r ye.' Me uncle Mike was
along with thim, an' he looked Cleveland over; an' says he: 'Ye'll do
th' best ye can f'r us,' he says, 'will ye?' he says. 'Well,' he says,
'I'll take no chances,' he says. 'Sind f'r th' desk sergeant,' he
says. 'I'm goin' to plead guilty an' turn informer,' he says. 'Tis
lucky f'r Cleveland me uncle died befure he r-run f'r President. He'd
've had wan vote less.
"I'll niver forget th' night me uncle Mike come back fr'm Canada. Ye
know he was wan iv th' most des'prit Fenians that iver lived; an',
whin th' movement begun, he had to thread on no wan's shadow befure he
was off f'r th' battle. Ivry wan in town knew he was goin'; an' he
wint away with a thrunk full iv bottles an' all th' good wishes iv th'
neighborhood, more be reason iv th' fact that he was a boistherous man
whin he was th' worse f'r wear, with a bad habit iv throwin' bricks
through his neighbors' windys. We cud see him as th' thrain moved out,
walkin' up an' down th' aisle, askin' iv there was anny Englishman in
th' car that 'd like to go out on th' platform an' rowl off with him.
"Well, he got up in New York an' met a lot iv other des'prite men like
himsilf, an' they wint across th' bordher singin' songs an' carryin'
on, an' all th' militia iv New York was undher ar-rms; f'r it 'd been
just like thim to turn round an' do their fightin' in New York. 'Twas
little me uncle Mike cared where he fought.
"But, be hook or crook, they got to where th' other Fenians was, an'
jined th' army. They come fr'm far an' near; an' they were young an'
old, poor lads, some iv thim bent on sthrikin' th' blow that 'd break
th' back iv British tyranny an' some jus' crazed f'r fightin'. They
had big guns an' little guns an' soord canes an' pitchforks an'
scythes, an' wan or two men had come over armed with baseball bats.
They had more gin'rals thin ye cud find in a Raypublican West Town
convintion, an' ivry private was at laste a colonel. They made me
uncle Mike a brigadier gin'ral. 'That 'll do f'r a time,' says he;
'but, whin th' fun begins, I'll pull Dorney off his horse, an' be a
major gin'ral,' he says. An' he'd 've done it, too, on'y they was no
fightin'.