Whin Congress gets through expellin' mimbers that believes so much in
mathrimony that they carry it into ivry relation iv life an' opens th'
dure iv Chiny so that an American can go in there as free as a Chinnyman
can come into this refuge iv th' opprissed iv th' wurruld, I hope'twill
turn its attintion to th' gr-reat question now confrontin' th'
nation--th' question iv what we shall do with our hired help. What shall
we do with thim?
“We haven't anny,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ar-rchey r-road has no servant girl problem. Th'
rule is ivry woman her own cook an' ivry man his own futman, an' be th'
same token we have no poly-gamy problem an' no open dure problem an'
no Ph'lippeen problem. Th' on'y problem in Ar-rchey r-road is how manny
times does round steak go into twelve at wan dollar-an-a-half a day. But
east iv th' r-red bridge, Hinnissy, wan iv th' most cryin' issues iv
th' hour is: What shall we do with our hired help? An' if Congress don't
take hold iv it we ar-re a rooned people.”
“'Tis an ol' problem an' I've seen it arise an' shake its gory head
ivry few years whiniver th' Swede popylation got wurruk an' begun bein'
marrid, thus rayjoocin' th' visible supply iv help. But it seems 'tis
deeper thin that. I see be letters in th' pa-apers that servants is
insolent, an' that they won't go to wurruk onless they like th' looks iv
their employers, an' that they rayfuse to live in th' counthry. Why anny
servant shud rayfuse to live in th' counthry is more thin I can see.
Ye'd think that this disreputable class'd give annything to lave
th' crowded tinimints iv a large city where they have frinds be th'
hundherds an' know th' polisman on th' bate an' can go out to hateful
dances an' moonlight picnics--ye'd think these unforchnate slaves'd be
delighted to live in Mulligan's subdivision, amid th' threes an' flowers
an' bur-rds. Gettin' up at four o'clock in th' mornin' th' singin'
iv th' full-throated alarm clock is answered be an invisible choir iv
songsters, as Shakespere says, an' ye see th' sun rise over th' hills as
ye go out to carry in a ton iv coal. All day long ye meet no wan as
ye thrip over th' coal-scuttle, happy in ye'er tile an' ye'er heart is
enlivened be th' thought that th' childher in th' front iv th' house
ar-re growin' sthrong on th' fr-resh counthry air. Besides they'se
always cookin' to do. At night ye can set be th' fire an' improve ye'er
mind be r-readin' half th' love story in th' part iv th' pa-aper that
th' cheese come home in, an' whin ye're through with that, all ye have
to do is to climb a ladder to th' roof an' fall through th' skylight an'
ye're in bed.”
{Illustration}
“But wud ye believe it, Hinnissy, manny iv these misguided women rayfuse
f'r to take a job that aint in a city. They prefer th' bustle an'
roar iv th' busy marts iv thrade, th' sthreet car, th' saloon on three
corners an' th' church on wan, th' pa-apers ivry mornin' with pitchers
iv th' s'ciety fav'rite that's just thrown up a good job at Armours to
elope with th' well-known club man who used to be yard-masther iv th'
three B's, G, L, & N., th' shy peek into th' dhry-goods store, an' other
base luxuries, to a free an' healthy life in th' counthry between iliven
P.M. an' four A.M. Wensdahs an' Sundahs. 'Tis worse thin that, Hinnissy,
f'r whin they ar-re in th' city they seem to dislike their wurruk an'
manny iv thim ar-re givin' up splindid jobs with good large families
where they have no chanst to spind their salaries, if they dhraw thim,
an' takin' places in shops, an' gettin' marrid an' adoptin' other
devices that will give thim th' chanst f'r to wear out their good
clothes. 'Tis a horrible situation. Riley th' conthractor dhropped in
here th' other day in his horse an' buggy on his way to the dhrainage
canal an' he was all wurruked up over th' question. 'Why,' he says,
''tis scand'lous th' way servants act,' he says. 'Mrs. Riley has
hystrics,' he says. 'An' ivry two or three nights whin I come home,' he
says, 'I have to win a fight again' a cook with a stove lid befure I
can move me family off th' fr-ront stoop,' he says. 'We threat thim well
too,' he says. 'I gave th' las' wan we had fifty cints an' a cook book
at Chris'mas an' th' next day she left befure breakfast,' he says. 'What
naytionalties do ye hire?' says I. 'I've thried thim all,' he says,
'an',' he says, 'I'll say this in shame,' he says, 'that th' Irish ar-re
th' worst,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'ye need have no shame,' I says,
'f'r'tis on'y th' people that ar-re good servants that'll niver be
masthers,' I says. 'Th' Irish ar-re no good as servants because they
ar-re too good,' I says. 'Th' Dutch ar-re no good because they aint good
enough. No matther how they start they get th' noodle habit. I had wan,
wanst, an' she got so she put noodles in me tay,' I says. 'Th' Swedes
ar-re all right but they always get marrid th' sicond day. Ye'll have a
polisman at th' dure with a warrant f'r th' arrist iv ye'er cook if ye
hire a Boheemyan,' I says. 'Coons'd be all right but they're liable f'r
to hand ye ye'er food in ragtime, an' if ye ordher pork-chops f'r dinner
an' th' hall is long, 'tis little ye'll have to eat whin th' platter's
set down,' I says. 'No,' says I, 'they'se no naytionality now livin' in
this counthry that're nathral bor-rn servants,' I says. 'If ye want
to save throuble,' I says, 'ye'll import ye'er help. They'se a race
iv people livin' in Cinthral Africa that'd be jus' r-right. They niver
sleep, tkey can carry twice their weight on their backs, they have no
frinds, they wear no clothes, they can't read, they can't dance an'
they don't dhrink. Th' fact is they're thoroughly oneddycated. If ye
cud tache thim to cook an' take care iv childher they'd be th' best
servants,' says I. 'An' what d'ye call thim?' says he. 'I f'rget,' says
I. An' he wint away mad.”
“Sure an' he's a nice man to be talkin' iv servants,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“He was a gintleman's man in th' ol' counthry an' I used to know his
wife whin she wurruked f'r ----”
“S-sh,” said Mr. Dooley. “They're beyond that now. Besides they speak
fr'm experyence. An' mebbe that's th' throuble. We're always harder with
our own kind thin with others. 'Tis I that'd be th' fine cinsor iv a
bartinder's wurruk. Th' more ye ought to be a servant ye'ersilf th' more
difficult'tis f'r ye to get along with servants. I can holler to anny
man fr'm th' top iv a buildin' an' make him tur-rn r-round, but if I
come down to th' sthreet where he can see I aint anny bigger thin he is,
an' holler at him, 'tis twinty to wan if he tur-rns r-round he'll hit me
in th' eye. We have a servant girl problem because, Hinnissy, it isn't
manny years since we first begun to have servant girls. But I hope
Congress'll take it up. A smart Congress like th' wan we have now ought
to be able to spare a little time fr'm its preparation iv new Jims iv
speech f'r th' third reader an' rig up a bill that'd make keepin' house
a recreation while so softenin' th' spirit iv th' haughty sign iv a
noble race in th' kitchen that cookin' buckwheat cakes on a hot day with
th' aid iv a bottle iv smokeless powdher'd not cause her f'r to sind a
worthy man to his office in slippers an' without a hat.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Hennessy, the simple democrat. “It wud be all r-right if
women'd do their own cookin'.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley. “'Twud be a return to Jacksonyan simplicity,
an' 'twud be a gr-reat thing f'r th' resthrant business.”