“Why should anny man want to kill a king?” said Mr. Dooley. “That's what
I'd like to know. Little gredge have I again' anny monarch in th' deck.
Live an' let live's me motto. Th' more ye have in this wurruld th' less
ye have. Make in wan place, lose in another's th' rule, me boy. Little
joy, little sorrow. Takin' it all an' all I'd rather be where I am thin
on a throne, an' be th' look iv things I'll have me wish. 'Tis no aisy
job bein' a king barrin' th' fact that ye don't have to marry th' woman
iv ye'er choice but th' woman iv somebody else's. 'Tis like takin' a
conthract an' havin' th' union furnish th' foreman an' th' mateeryal.
Thin if th' wurruk ain't good a wild-eyed man fr'm Paterson, Noo Jarsey,
laves his monkey an' his hand organ an' takes a shot at ye. Thank
th' Lord I'm not so big that anny man can get comfort fr'm pumpin' a
Winchester at me fr'm th' top iv a house.”
“But if I was king ne'er an organ grinder'd get near enough me to take
me life with a Hotchkiss gun. I'd be so far away fr'm the multitood,
Hinnissy, that they cud on'y distinguish me rile features with a
spy-glass. I'd have polismen at ivry tur-rn, an' I'd have me subjicks
retire to th' cellar whin I took me walk. Divvle a bit wud you catch me
splattherin' mesilf with morthar an' stickin' newspapers in a hole in a
corner shtone to show future gin'rations th' progress iv crime in
this cinchry. They'd lay their own corner-shtone f'r all iv me. I'd
communicate with th' pop'lace be means iv ginral ordhers, an' I'd make
it a thing worth tellin' about to see th' face iv th' gr-reat an' good
King Dooley.”
“Kings is makin' thimsilves too common. Nowadays an arnychist dhrops
into a lunch-room at th' railroad depot an' sees a man settin' on a
stool atin' a quarther section iv a gooseb'ry pie an' dhrinkin' a glass
iv buttermilk. 'D'ye know who that is?' says th' lunch-counter lady.
'I do not,' says th' arnychist, 'but be th' look iv him he ain't much.'
'That's th' king,' says th' lady. 'Th' king, is it,' says th' arnychist.
'Thin here's f'r wan king less,' he says, an' 'tis all over. A king
ought to be a king or he oughtn't. He don't need to be a good mixer. If
he wants to hang on he must keep out iv range. 'Tis th' kings an' queens
that thrusts so much in th' lilety iv their people that they live in
summer resort hotels an' go out walkin' with a dog that's hurted. Th'
on'y person that ought to be able to get near enough a rale king to kill
him is a jook, or th' likes iv that. Th' idee iv a man from Noo Jarsey
havin' th' chanst!”
{Illustration}
“What on earth's to be done about thim arnychists?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“What ails thim annyhow? What do they want?”
“Th' Lord on'y knows,” said Mr. Dooley.
“They don't want annything, that's what they want. They want peace on
earth an' th' way they propose to get it is be murdhrin' ivry man that
don't agree with thim. They think we all shud do as they please. They're
down on th' polis foorce an' in favor iv th' pop'lace, an' whin they've
kilt a king they call on th' polis to save thim fr'm th' mob. An'
between you an' me, Hinnissy, ivry arnychist I've knowed, an' I've met
manny in me time, an' quite, law-abidin' citizens they was, too, had th'
makin' iv a thradeejan in him. If they was no newspapers they'd be few
arnychists. They want to get their pitchers in th' pa-apers an' they
can't do it be wheelin' bananas through th' sthreets or milkin' a cow,
so they go out an' kill a king. I used to know a man be th' name iv
Schmitt that was a cobbler be profession an' lived next dure but wan to
me. He was th' dacintist man ye iver see. He kep' a canary bur-rd, an'
his devotion to his wife was th' scandal iv th' neighborhood. But bless
my soul, how he hated kings. He cudden't abide Cassidy afther he heerd
he was a dayscinded fr'm th' kings iv Connock, though Cassidy was what
ye call a prolotoorio or a talkin' workin'man. An' th' wan king he hated
above all others was th' king iv Scholizwig-Holstein, which was th'
barbarous counthry he come fr'm. He cud talk fairly dacint about other
kings, but this wan--Ludwig was his name an' I seen his pitcher in
th' pa-apers wanst--wud throw him into a fit. He blamed ivrything that
happened to Ludwig. If they was a sthrike he charged it to Ludwig.
If Schwartzmeister didn't pay him f'r half-solin' a pair iv Congress
gaiters he used to wear in thim days, he tied a sthring arround his
finger f'r to remind him that he had to kill Ludwig. 'What have ye
again' th' king?' says I. 'He is an opprissor iv th' poor,' he says.
'So ar-re ye,' I says, 'or ye'd mend boots free.' 'He's explodin' th'
prolotoorio,' he says. 'Sure,' says I, 'th' prolotoorio can explode
thimsilves pretty well,' says I. 'He oughtn't to be allowed to live in
luxury while others starve,' he says. 'An' wud ye be killin' a man f'r
holdin' a nice job?' says I. 'What good wud it do ye?' says I. 'I'd be
th' emancipator iv th' people,' says he. 'Ye'd have th' wurred on th'
coffin lid,' says I. 'Why,' says he, 'think iv me, Schmitt, Owgoost
Schmitt, stalkin' forth to avinge th' woes iv th' poor,' he says.
'Loodwig, th' cursed, goes by. I jumps fr'm behind a three an' society
is freed fr'm th' monsther,' he says. 'Think iv th' glory iv it,' he
says. 'Owgoost Schmitt, emancipator,' he says. 'I'll prove to Mary Ann
that I'm a man,' he says. Mary Ann was his wife. Her maiden name was
Riley. She heard him say it. 'Gus,' says she, 'if iver I hear iv ye
shootin' e'er a king I'll lave ye,' she says.”
“Well, sir, I thought he was jokin', but be hivins, wan day he
disappeared, an' lo an' behold, two weeks afther I picks up a pa-aper
an' r-reads that me brave Schmitt was took up be th' polis f'r thryin'
to cop a monarch fr'm behind a three. I sint him a copy iv a pa-aper
with his pitcher in it, but I don't know if iver he got it. He's over
there now an' his wife is takin' in washin'.”
“It's vanity that makes arnychists, Hinnissy--vanity an' th' habits
kings has nowadays iv bein' as common as life insurance agents.”
“I don't like kings,” said Mr. Hennessy, “but I like arnychists less.
They ought to be kilt off as fast as they're caught.”
“They'll be that,” said Mr. Dooley. “But killin' thim is like wringin'
th' neck iv a mickrobe.”