_Being the substance of a Dooley dialogue dreamed by Greenwich
Place, Esq._
"I must see him," said Dolly, rising suddenly from her chair and walking
to the window. "I really must, you know."
"Who?" I asked, rousing myself from the lethargy into which my morning
paper had thrust me. It was not grammatical of me--I was somewhat under
the influence of newspaper English--but Dolly is quick to understand.
"Must see who?" I continued.
"Who indeed?" cried Dolly, gazing at me in mock surprise. "How stupid of
you! If I went to Rome and said I must see him, you'd know I must mean
the Pope; if I went to Berlin and said I must see it, you'd know I
meant the Emperor. Therefore, when I come to Chicago and say that I must
see him, you ought to be able to guess that I mean--"
"Mr. Dooley?" I ventured, at a guess.
"Good for you!" cried Dolly, clapping her hands together joyously; and
then she hummed bewitchingly, "The Boy Guessed Right the Very First
Time," until I begged her to desist. When Dolly claps her hands and
hums, she becomes a vision of loveliness that would give the most
confirmed misogynist palpitation of the heart, and I had no wish to die.
"Do you suppose I could call upon him without being thought too
unconventional?" she blurted out in a moment.
"You can do anything," said I, admiringly. "That is, with me to help," I
added, for I should be sorry if Dolly were to grow conceited. "Perhaps
it would be better to have Mr. Dooley call upon you. Suppose you send
him your card, and put 'at home' on it? I fancy that would fetch him."
"Happy thought!" said Dolly. "Only I haven't one. In the excitement of
our elopement I forgot to get any. Suppose I write my name on a blank
card and send it?"
"Excellent," said I.
And so it happened; the morning's mail took out an envelope addressed to
Mr. Dooley, and containing a bit of pasteboard upon which was written,
in the charming hand of Dolly:
Mrs. R. Dolly-Rassendyll.
At Home.
The Hippodorium.
Tuesday Afternoon.
The response was gratifyingly immediate.
The next morning Dolly's mail contained Mr. Dooley's card, which read as
follows:
[Illustration: "'I MUST SEE HIM,' SAID DOLLY"]
Mr. Dooley.
At Work.
Every Day. Archie Road.
"Which means?" said Dolly, tossing the card across the table to me.
"That if you want to see Dooley you'll have to call upon him at his
place of business. It's a saloon, I believe," I observed. "Or a
club--most American saloons are clubs, I understand."
"I wonder if there's a ladies' day there?" laughed Dolly. "If there
isn't, perhaps I'd better not."
And I of course agreed, for when Dolly thinks perhaps she'd better not,
I always agree with her, particularly when the thing is a trifle
unconventional.
"I am sorry," she said, as we reached the conclusion. "To visit Chicago
without meeting Mr. Dooley strikes me as like making the Mediterranean
trip without seeing Gibraltar."
But we were not to be disappointed, after all, for that afternoon who
should call but the famous philosopher himself, accompanied by his
friend Mr. Hennessey. They were ushered into our little parlor, and
Dolly received them radiantly.
"Iv coorse," said Dooley, "I hatter come t' see me new-found cousin.
Hennessey here says, he says, 'She ain't yer cousin,' he says; but whin
I read yer car-r-rd over th' second time, an' see yer na-a-ame was R.
Dooley-Rassendyll, wid th' hifalution betwixt th' Dooley an' th'
Rassendyll, I says, 'Hennessey,' I says, 'that shmall bit iv a coupler
in that na-a-ame means only wan thing,' I says. 'Th' la-ady,' I says,
'was born a Dooley, an' 's prood iv it,' I says, 'as she'd ought to be,'
I says. 'Shure enough,' says Hennessey; 'but they's Dooleys an'
Dooleys,' he says. 'Is she Roscommon or Idunnaw?' he says. 'I dinnaw
meself,' I says, 'but whichiver she is,' I says, 'I'm goin' to see her,'
I says. 'Anny wan that can feel at home in a big hotel like the
Hippojorium,' I says, 'is wort' lookin' at, if only for the curawsity
of it,' I says. Are ye here for long?"
"We are just passing through," said Dolly, with a pleased smile.
"It's a gud pla-ace for that," said Dooley. "Thim as pass troo Chicago
ginerally go awaa pleased, an' thim as stays t'ink it's th' only pla-ace
in th' worruld, gud luk to 'em! for, barrin' Roscommon an' New York,
it's th' only pla-ace I have anny use for. Is yer hoosband anny relation
t' th' dood in the _Prizner iv Cinders_?"
I laughed quietly, but did not resent the implication. I left Dolly to
her fate.
"He is the very same person," said Dolly.
"I t'ought as much," said Dooley, eying me closely. "Th' strorberry mark
on his hair sort of identified him," he added. "Cousin Roopert, I ta-ak
ye by the hand. Ye was a bra-ave lad in th' first book, an' a dom'd fool
in th' second; but I read th' second first, and th' first lasht, so whin
I left ye ye was all right. I t'ought ye was dead?"
"No," said I. "I am only dead in the sense that Mr. Hope has no further
use for me."
"A wise mon, that Mr. Ant'ny Hawp," said Dooley. "Whin I write me book,"
he continued, "I'm goin' t' shtop short whin folks have had enough."
"Oh, indeed!" cried Dolly, enthusiastically. "Are you writing a book,
Mr. Dooley? I am so glad."
"Yis," said Dooley, deprecatingly, yet pleased by Dolly's enthusiasm.
"I'm half finished already. That is to say, I've made th'
illusthrations. An' the publishers have accepted the book on th'
stringth iv them."
"Really?" said Dolly. "Do you really draw?"
"Nawm," said Dooley. "I niver drew a picture in me life."
"He draws corks," put in Hennessey. "He's got a pull that bates--"
"Hennessey," interrupted Mr. Dooley, "since whin have ye been me
funnygraph? Whin me cousin ashks me riddles, I'll tell her th' answers.
G' down-shtairs an' get a cloob san'wich an' ate yourself to death.
Char-rge it to--er--char-rge it to Misther Rassendyll here--me cousin
Roop, be marritch. He looks liks a soft t'ing."
Hennessey subsided and showed an inclination to depart, and I, not
liking to see a well-meaning person thus sat upon, tried to be pleasant
to him.
"Don't go just yet, Mr. Hennessey," said I. "I should like to talk to
you."
"Mr. Rassendyll," he replied, "I'm not goin' just yet, but an invitation
to join farces with one iv the Hippojorium's cloob sandwhiches is too
much for me. I must accept. Phwat is the noomber iv your shweet?"
I gave him the number, and Hennessey departed. Before he went, however,
he comforted me somewhat by saying that he too was "a puppit in th'
han's iv an auter. Ye've got to do," said he, "whativer ye're sint t'
do. I'm told ye've killed a million Germans--bless ye!--but ye're
nawthin' but a facthory hand afther all. I'm th' background iv Dooley.
If Dooley wants to be smar-rt, I've got t' play th' fool. It's the same
with you; only you've had yer chance at a printcess, later on pla-acin'
the la-ady in a 'nonymous p'sition--which is enough for anny man, Dooley
or no Dooley."
Hennessey departed in search of his club sandwich, which was
subsequently alluded to in my bill, and for which I paid with pleasure,
for Hennessey is a good fellow. I then found myself listening to the
conversation between Dolly and Dooley.
"Roscommon, of course," Dolly was saying. What marvellous adaptability
that woman has! "How could you think, my dear cousin, that I belonged to
the farmer Dooleys?"
"I t'ought as much," said Mr. Dooley, genially, "now that I've seen ye.
Whin you put th' wor-rds 'at home' on yer car-rd, I had me doots. No
Dooley iv th' right sor-rt iver liked annyt'ing a landlord gave him; an'
whin y' expreshed satisfaction wid th' Hippojorium, I didn't at first
t'ink ye was a true Dooley. Since I've seen ye, I love ye properly,
ma'am--like th' cousin I am. I've read iv ye, just as I've read iv yer
hoosband, Cousin Roopert here be marritch, in th' biojographies of Mr.
Ant'ny Hawp, an' while I cudn't help likin' ye, I must say I didn't
t'ink ye was very deep on th' surface, an' when I read iv your elopin'
with Cousin Roop, I says to Hennessey, I says, 'Hennessey,' I says,
'that's all right, they'd bote iv 'em better die, but let us not be
asashinators,' I says; 'let 'em be joined in marritch. That's punishment
enough,' I says to Hennessey. Ye see, Miss Dooley, I have been marrit
meself."
"But I have found married life far from punishment," I heard Dolly say.
"I fear you're a sad pessimist, Mr. Dooley," she added.
"I'm not," Mr. Dooley replied. "I'm a Jimmycrat out an' out, if ye refer
to me politics; but if your remark is a reflection on me religion, let
me tell ye, ma'am, that, like all me countrymen in this beautiful land,
I'm a Uni-tarrian, an' prood iv it."