Observations By Mr Dooley By Finley Peter Dunne

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Prepared by Kirk Pearson , with help from the volunteers at the Distributed Proofreaders project. Observations by Mr. Dooleyby Finley Peter Dunne A Little Essay on Books “Hogan tells me that wan iv th’ first things man done afther he’d larned to kill his neighborin’ animals, an’ make a meal iv wan part iv thim an’ a vest iv another, was to begin to mannyfacther lithrachoor, an’ it’s been goin’ on up to th’ prisint day. Thim was times that th’ Lord niver heerd about, but is as well known to manny a la-ad in th’ univarsity iv southren Injyanny as if th’ histhry iv thim was printed on a poster. Hogan says a pro-fissor with a shovel an’ a bad bringin’-up can go out annywhere along th’ dhrainage-canal an’ prove to ye that th’ Bible is no more thin an exthry avenin’ edition iv th’ histhry iv th’ wurruld, an’ th’ Noah fam’ly was considhered new arrivals in th’ neighborhood where they lived. He says he’ll show ye th’ earth as though ‘t was a section iv a layer-cake or an archytect’s dhrawin’ iv a flat-buildin’, an’ p’int out how ‘t was accumylated. “First ‘t was a mere squdge in which ne’er a livin’ thing cud be found. This peryod lasted a few millyion years, an’ thin th’ mush caked an’ become buildin’-materyal, an’ threes grew out iv th’ buildin’-materyal an’ fell down an’ become coal. Thin th’ wather come–but where it come fr’m I don’t know, f’r they was no God at th’ time–an’ covered th’ earth, an’ thin th’ wather evaporated an’ left little p’ints iv land shtickin’ up with ready-made men an’ women occypyin’ thim, an’ at that moment th’ Bible begun. Ye might say we ‘re livin’ on th’ roof iv a flat, with all th’ apartmints beneath us occypied be th’ bones iv submarine monsthers an’ other tinants. “Lasteways that’s what Hogan tells me, but I don’t believe a wurrud he says. Most iv th’ people iv this wurruld is a come-on f’r science, but I’m not. Ye can’t con-vince me, me boy, that a man who’s so near-sighted he can’t read th’ sign on a cable-car knows anny more about th’ formation iv th’ earth thin Father Kelly. I believe th’ wurruld is flat, not round; that th’ sun moves an’ is about th’ size iv a pie-plate in th’ mornin’ an’ a car-wheel at noon; an’ it ‘s no proof to me that because a pro-fissor who ‘s peekin’ through a chube all night says th’ stars ar-re millyions iv miles away an’ each is bigger thin this wurruld, that they ‘re bigger thin they look, or much higher thin th’ top iv th’ shot-tower. I’ve been up tin thousand feet on a mountain, an’ they seemed so near that I kept whiskin’ thim off me nose as I lay there on me back, but they wasn’t anny larger thin they were on th’ sthreet-level. I believe what I see an’ some iv th’ things I’m told, if they ‘ve been told often, an’ thim facts iv science has not been hung long enough to be digistible. “But, annyhow, they say that man first begun writin’ whin he had to hammer out his novels an’ pomes on a piece iv rock, an’ th’ hammer has been th’ imblim iv lithrachoor iver since. Thin he painted it on skins, hince th’ publisher; thin he played it an’ danced it an’ croshayed it till ‘t was discovered that ink an’ pa-aper wud projooce wurruds, an’ thin th’ printin’-press was invinted. Gunpowdher was invinted th’ same time, an’ ‘t is a question I’ve often heerd discussed which has done more to ilivate th’ human race. A joke. Th’ longer th’ wurruld lasts th’ more books does be comin’ out. Day be day I r-read in th’ pa-apers announcemints iv new publications that look like th’ dilinquent tax-list. They ‘s a publisher in ivry block, an’ in thousan’s iv happy homes some wan is pluggin’ away at th’ romantic novel or whalin’ out a pome on th’ type-writer up-stairs. A fam’ly without an author is as contimptible as wan without a priest. Is Malachi near-sighted, peevish, averse to th’ suds, an’ can’t tell whether th’ three in th’ front yard is blue or green? Make an author iv him! Does Miranda prisint no atthractions to th’ young men iv th’ neighborhood, does her overskirt dhrag, an’ is she poor with th’ gas-range? Make an authoreen iv her! Forchunitly, th’ manly insthinct is often too sthrong f’r th’ designs iv th’ fam’ly, an’ manny a man that if his parents had had their way might have been at this moment makin’ artificial feet f’r a deformed pome is l’adin’ what me fri’nd Hogan calls a glad, free, an’ timperymintal life on th’ back iv a sthreet-car. “But lithrachoor is th’ gr-reat life-wurruk iv th’ modhren woman. Th’ conthrol is passin’ into th’ hands iv th’ fair sect, an’ th’ day will come whin th’ wurrud book will mane no more to an able-bodied man thin th’ wurrud gusset. Women write all th’ romantic novels that ar-re anny good. That’s because ivry man thinks th’ thrue hayroe is himsilf, an’ ivry woman thinks he’s James K. Hackett. A woman is sure a good, sthrong man ought to be able to kill anny number iv bad, weak men, but a man is always wondherin’ what th’ other la-ad wud do. He might have th’ punch left in him that wud get th’ money. A woman niver cares how manny men are kilt, but a man believes in fair play, an’ he’d like to see th’ polis intherfere about Chapter Three. “Women writes all th’ good romantic novels, an’ read thim all. If anny proud la-ad in th’ gum business thinks he riprisints th’ ideal iv his wife’s soul, he ought to take a look at th’ books she reads. He’ll larn there th’ reason he’s where he is, is because he was th’ on’y chanst, not because he was th’ first choice. ‘Twud humble th’ haughtiest prince iv thrade to look into th’ heart iv th’ woman he cares most f’r an’ thinks laste about, an’ find that, instead iv th’ photygraft iv a shrewd but kindly man with a thriflin’ absence iv hair on his head an’ a burglar-proof safe on his watch-charm, there’s a pitcher iv a young la-ad in green tights playin’ a mandolin to a high front stoop. On th’ stoop, with a rose in her hand, is his lawful-wedded wife, th’ lady Annamariar Huggins iv Peotone. Ye can’t keep her away fr’m a romantic novel. No matther what Edward Atkinson tells ye, she prefers ‘Th’ Age iv Chivalry’ to th’ mos’ atthractive housewurruk. A woman’s readin’ is niver done. Hardly a day passes but some lady frind iv mine stops me on me way to catch a car, an’ asks me if I don’t regard Morse Hewlett as th’ gr-reatest an’ mos’ homicidal writer iv our time, an’ what I’ve got to say about Hinnelly’s attack on Stevenson. ‘Madam,’ says I, ‘I wud n’t know Morse if I was to see him goin’ down th’ sthreet ax in hand, an’ as f’r Hinnelly, his name escapes me, though his language is familiar to anny wan who iver helped load a scow. Stevenson,’ I says, ‘does n’t appeal to me, an’ if he shud, I’ll revarse th’ decision on th’ ground iv th’ bad prevyous charackter iv th’ plaintiff, while,’ I says, ‘admittin’ th’ thruth iv what he said. But,’ says I, ‘th’ on’y books in me libr’y is th’ Bible an’ Shakspere,’ says I. ‘They ‘re gr-reat f’r ye,’ says she. ‘So bully f’r th’ style. D’ ye read thim all th’ time?’ she says. ‘I niver read thim,’ says I. ‘I use thim f’r purposes iv definse. I have niver read thim, but I’ll niver read annything else till I have read thim,’ I says. ‘They shtand between me an’ all modhren lithrachoor,’ says I. ‘I’ve built thim up into a kind iv breakwather,’ I says, ‘an’ I set behind it ca’m an’ contint while Hall Caine rages without,’ says I. “Yes, sir, th’ readin’ an’ writin’ iv books is as much woman’s wurruk as th’ mannyfacther iv tidies. A woman is a nachral writer. She don’t mind givin’ hersilf away if ‘t will bring a tear to th’ eye or a smile to th’ lips. But a man does. He has more to give away. I’m not sayin’ that anny man can’t write betther thin a woman if he wants to. But so can he cuk betther, an’ sew betther, an’ paint minichoors betther, an’ do annything betther but nurse th’ baby–if he wants to; but he don’t often want to. He despises such thrivyal pursuits. Mos’ iv th’ gr-reat writers I iver see th’ pitchers iv was little, thin, peevish men that was always gettin’ licked. Wanst in a while a sthrong man got into th’ game, a bull-necked, round-headed man that might have made a fine thrackmaster or boiler-maker, but was addicted to dhrink, an’ niver had energy enough left in th’ mornin’ f’r annything more thin writin’ th’ best plays or th’ finest novels or th’ gr-reatest histhries in th’ wurruld. But if ye got at th’ rale feelin’ iv three-meal-a-day men about writin’, ye’d find they classed it with preachin’, school-teachin’, play-actin’, dancin’, an’ lace-wurruk. A man iv that kind might start to write, but if he did, he’d stop an’ think afther a while, an’ say to himsilf: ‘What’s a big, sthrong, able-bodied, two-hundhred-an’-tin-pound, forty-four-acrost-th’-chest crather like me doin’ here, pokin’ these funny hireyoglyphics into a piece iv pa-aper with a little sthick? I guess I’ll go out an’ shoe a horse.’ “So it is with readin’. I’m tol’ I ought to read more be Hogan, who’s wan iv th’ best-read an’ mos’ ignorant men I know. Well, maybe I ought, though whin I was a young man, an’ was helpin’ to build up this counthry, th’ principal use iv lithrachoor was as a weepin. In thim days, if a little boy was seen readin’ a book, his father took it away fr’m him an’ bate him on th’ head with it. Me father was th’ mos’ accyrate man in th’ wurruld with letthers. He found th’ range nachrally, an’ he cud wing anny wan iv us with th’ ‘Lives iv th’ Saints’ as far as he cud see. He was a poor man, an’ on’y had such books in his libr’y as a gintleman shud take, but if ye’d give him libr’y enough, he’d capture Giberaltor. If lithrachoor niver pinethrated me intelleck, ’twas not his fault. But nowadays, whin I go down th’ sthreet, I see th’ childher settin’ on th’ front steps studyin’ a book through double-compound-convex spectacles, lookin’ like th’ offspring of a profissyonal diver. What’ll they iver grow up to be? Be hivins! that la-ad Carnaygie knows his business. He is studied th’ situation, an’ he undhersthands that if he builds libr’ies enough an’ gets enough people readin’ books, they won’t be anny wan left afther a while capable iv takin’ away what he’s got. Ye bet he didn’t larn how to make steel billets out iv ‘Whin Knighthood was in Flower.’ He larned it be confabulatin’ afther wurrukin’ hours with some wan that knew how. I think he must be readin’ now, f’r he’s writin’ wan or two. ‘Tis th’ way with a man who takes to readin’ late in life. He can’t keep it down. “Readin’, me frind, is talked about be all readin’ people as though it was th’ on’y thing that makes a man betther thin his neighbors. But th’ thruth is that readin’ is th’ nex’ thing this side iv goin’ to bed f’r restin’ th’ mind. With mos’ people it takes th’ place iv wurruk. A man doesn’t think whin he’s readin’, or if he has to, th’ book is no fun. Did ye iver have something to do that ye ought to do, but didn’t want to, an’ while ye was wishin’ ye was dead, did ye happen to pick up a newspaper? Ye know what occurred. Ye didn’t jus’ skim through th’ spoortin’ intillygince an’ th’ crime news. Whin ye got through with thim, ye read th’ other quarther iv th’ pa-aper. Ye read about people ye niver heerd iv, an’ happenin’s ye didn’t undhersthand–th’ fashion notes, th’ theatrical gossip, th’ s’ciety news fr’m Peoria, th’ quotations on oats, th’ curb market, th’ rale-estate transfers, th’ marredge licenses, th’ death notices, th’ want ads., th’ dhrygoods bargains, an’ even th’ iditoryals. Thin ye r-read thim over again, with a faint idee ye’d read thim befure. Thin ye yawned, studied th’ design iv th’ carpet, an’ settled down to wurruk. Was ye exercisin’ ye-er joynt intelleck while ye was readin’? No more thin if ye’d been whistlin’ or writin’ ye-er name on a pa-aper. If anny wan else but me come along they might say: ‘What a mind Hinnissy has! He’s always readin’.’ But I wud kick th’ book or pa-aper out iv ye-er hand, an’ grab ye be th’ collar, an’ cry ‘Up, Hinnissy, an’ to wurruk!’ f’r I’d know ye were loafin’. Believe me, Hinnissy, readin’ is not thinkin’. It seems like it, an’ whin it comes out in talk sometimes, it sounds like it. It’s a kind iv nearthought that looks ginooine to th’ thoughtless, but ye can’t get annything on it. Manny a man I’ve knowed has so doped himsilf with books that he’d stumble over a carpet-tack. “Am I again’ all books, says ye? I’m not. If I had money, I’d have all th’ good lithrachoor iv th’ wurruld on me table at this minyit. I mightn’t read it, but there it’d be so that anny iv me frinds cud dhrop in an’ help thimsilves if they didn’t care f’r other stimylants. I have no taste f’r readin’, but I won’t deny it’s a good thing f’r thim that’s addicted to it. In modheration, mind ye. In modheration, an’ afther th’ chores is done. F’r as a frind iv Hogan’s says, ‘Much readin’ makes a full man,’ an’ he knew what he was talkin’ about. An’ do I object to th’ pursuit iv lithrachoor? Oh, faith, no. As a pursuit ’tis fine, but it may be bad f’r anny wan that catches it.” The Law’s Delays “If I had me job to pick out,” said Mr. Dooley, “I’d be a judge. I’ve looked over all th’ others an’ that’s th’ on’y wan that suits. I have th’ judicyal timperamint. I hate wurruk. “Ivrybody else is pushed an’ hurrid in this tumulchuse age. Th’ business man has to get to th’ bank befure it closes an’ th’ banker has to get there befure th’ business man escapes, an’ th’ high-priced actor has to kill off more gradyates iv th’ school iv actin’ thin iver he did, an’ th’ night editions iv th’ pa-apers comes out arlier ivry mornin’. All is rush an’ worry. Kings an’ imprors duck about their jooties like bell-hops, th’ pampered son iv luxury at Newport is thryin’ f’r a mile a minyit in his autymobill an’ th’ on’y leisure class left in th’ wurruld is th’ judicyary. Mind ye, Hinnissy, I’m not sayin’ annything again’ thim. I won’t dhrag th’ joodicyal ermine in th’ mud though I haven’t noticed that manny iv thim lift it immodestly whin they takes th’ pollytical crossing. I have th’ high rayspict f’r th’ job that’s th’ alternative iv sixty days in jail. Besides, me boy, I invy thim. “Somewhere a la-ad hits somewan on th’ head with an axe or sinds him a bunch iv proosic acid done up to look like candy. Maybe he does an’ maybe he don’t; but annyhow that’s what he’s lagged f’r. Th’ polis are in a hurry to get to th’ pool-room befure th’ flag falls in th’ first race an’ they carry th’ case to th’ gran’ jury; th’ gran’ jury indicts him without a thought or a suspicion iv ax har-rd feelin’, th’ judge takes his breakfast on th’ bench to be there in time an’ charges th’ jury to be fair but not to f’rget th’ man done it, an’ th’ jury rayturns a verdict iv guilty with three cheers an’ a tiger. Th’ pris’ner has hardly time to grab up his hat befure he ‘s hauled off to his funeral obsequies, an’ th’ onprejudiced public feels happy about it. I don’t believe in capital punishmint, Hinnissy, but ’twill niver be abolished while th’ people injye it so much. They ‘re jus’ squarin’ thimsilves f’r th’ rayvoltin’ details whin wurrud comes that Judge Tamarack iv Opolis has granted a stay iv proceedin’s. Stays iv pro-ceedin’s is devices, Hinnissy, be which th’ high coorts keep in form. ‘Tis a lagal joke. I med it up. Says Judge Tamarack: ‘I know very little about this ease excipt what I’ve been tol’ be th’ larned counsel f’r th’ dayfinse, an’ I don’t believe that, but I agree with Lord Coke in th’ maxim that th’ more haste th’ less sleep. Therefore to all sheriffs, greetin’: Fen jarrin’ th’ pris’ner till ye hear fr’m us.’ “So th’ pris’ner waits an’ dhreams he ‘s a lightnin’ rod an’ th’ public waits an’ ivrybody waits. Th’ high coort is busy in its way. Ivry two or three years it is discovered takin’ a nap at a county seat in th’ corn belt, an’ it hands down a decision f’r th’ defindant in a case f’r damages growin’ out iv th’ Shay rebillion. Then it dhrops off again. Th’ judge that thried th’ case retires to a well-arned job with a railrood comp’ny, th’ jury has ceased to look f’r their pitchers in th’ pa-apers an’ th’ insurance comp’nies insure young Cyanide’s life f’r the lowest known premyum. Occasionally a judge iv th’ coort iv appeals walkin’ in his sleep meets another judge, an’ they discuss matthers. ‘How ar-re ye gettin’ on with th’ Cyanide case, judge?’ ‘I’m makin’ fair headway, judge. I r-read part iv th’ vardict iv th’ coroner’s jury las’ year an’ nex’ month whin th’ fishin’ is over, I expict to look into th’ indictment. ‘Tis a puzzlin’ case. Th’ man is not guilty.’ ‘Well, good bye, judge; I’ll see ye in a year or two. Lave me know how ye’re gettin’ on. Pleasant dhreams!’ An’ so they part. Th’ higher up a coort is, th’ less they see iv each other. Their office hours are fr’m a quarther to wan leap years. Ye take a lively lawyer that’s wurruked twinty hours a day suin’ sthrect railrood comp’nies an’ boost him onto a high coort an’ he can’t think out iv a hammock. Th’ more exalted what Hogan calls th’ joodicyal station, th’ more it’s like a dormitory. Th’ years rowl by an’ th’ tillygraft op’rator that’s been expictin’ to sind a rush tillygram through young Cyanide sees his ohms an’ his volts mouldin’ an’ no wurrud comes fr’m th’ coort iv appeals but th’ murmur iv th’ chief justice discussin’ th’ nullification theery. But wan day, th’ decision is wafted down. ‘Th’ coort finds,’ it says, ‘that th’ vardict was conthry to th’ law an’ th’ ividince. We seen this fr’m th’ first. It’s as plain as th’ nose on ye’er face. Th’ judge was prejudiced an’ th’ jury was ignorant. Th’ ividince wasn’t sufficient to hang a cat. We revarse th’ decision an’ ordher a new thrile that full justice may be done. We cannot help remarkin’ at this time on th’ croolty iv subjectin’ this unforchnit man to all these years iv torture an’ imprisonment with a case again’ him which we see at a glance durin’ th’ Mexican war cud not shtand th’ test iv th’ law.’ “But whin th’ decision is carried to th’ pris’ner, th’ warden says ‘Who?’ ‘P. Cyanide,’ says th’ clark iv th’ coort. ‘He’s not here,’ says th’ warden. ‘On consultin’ me books, I find a man iv that name left in th’ year sivinty-wan.’ ‘Did he escape?’ ‘In a sinse. He’s dead.’ “So, Hinnissy, I’d like to be a judge iv a high coort, dhreamin’ th’ happy hours away. No hurry, no sthrivin’ afther immejet raysults, no sprintin’, no wan hollenin’ ‘Dooley J. hurry up with that ne exeat,’ or ‘Dooley, hand down that opinyion befure th’ batthry gives out.’ ‘Tis th’ thrue life iv aise an’ gintlemanly comfort. ‘Tis wait till th’ clouds rowl by; ’tis time was meant for slaves; ’tis a long life an’ a happy wan. Like th’ Shamrock II, th’ coort acts well in stays but can’t run befure th’ wind. A jury is f’r hangin’ ivry man, but th’ high coort says: ‘Ye must die, but take ye’er time about it an’ go out th’ way ye like.’ If I wanted to keep me money so that me gran’childher might get it f’r their ol’ age, I’d appeal it to th’ supreme coort. Oh, th’ fine judge I’d make, f’r I can sleep annywhere, an’ I’m niver impatient f’r annywan to get his jooes.” “I don’t see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “why they have anny juries. Why don’t they thry ivry man before th’ supreme coort an’ have done with it?” “I have a betther way than that,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ye see they’e wurrukin’ on time now. I wondher if they wudden’t sthep livelier if they were paid be th’ piece.” Sherlock Holmes Dorsey an’ Dugan are havin’ throuble,” said Mr. Hennessy. “What about?” asked Mr. Dooley. “Dorsey,” said Mr. Hennessy, “says Dugan stole his dog. They had a party at Dorsey’s an’ Dorsey heerd a noise in th’ back yard an’ wint out an’ see Dugan makin’ off with his bull tarryer.” “Ye say he see him do it?” “Yis, he see him do it.” “Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “‘twud baffle th’ injinooty iv a Sherlock Holmes.” “Who’s Sherlock Holmes?” “He’s th’ gr-reatest detictive that iver was in a story book. I’ve been r-readin’ about him an’ if I was a criminal, which I wud be if I had to wurruk f’r a livin’, an’ Sherlock Holmes got afther me, I’d go sthraight to th’ station an’ give mesilf up. I’d lay th’ goods on th’ desk an’ say: ‘Sargeant, put me down in th’ hard cage. Sherlock Holmes has jus’ see a man go by in a cab with a Newfoundland dog an’ he knows I took th’ spoons.’ Ye see, he ain’t th’ ordh’nry fly cop like Mulcahy that always runs in th’ Schmidt boy f’r ivry crime rayported fr’m stealin’ a ham to forgin’ a check in th’ full knowledge that some day he’ll get him f’r th’ right thing. No, sir; he’s an injanyous man that can put two an’ two together an’ make eight iv thim. He applies his brain to crime, d’ye mind, an’ divvle th’ crime, no matther how cunnin’ it is, will escape him. We’ll suppose, Hinnissy, that I’m Sherlock Holmes. I’m settin’ here in me little parlor wearin’ a dhressin’ gown an’ now an’ thin pokin’ mesilf full iv morpheen. Here we are. Ye come in. ‘Good-mornin’, Watson.’” “I ain’t Watson,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I’m Hinnissy.” “Ah,” said Mr. Dooley; “I thought I’d wring it fr’m ye. Perhaps ye’d like to know how I guessed ye had come in. ‘Tis very simple. On’y a matther iv observation. I heerd ye’er step; I seen ye’er refliction in th’ lookin’ glass; ye spoke to me. I put these things together with me thrained faculty f’r observation an’ deduction, d’ye mind. Says I to mesilf: ‘This must be Hinnissy.’ But mind ye, th’ chain iv circumstances is not complete. It might be some wan disguised as ye. So says I to mesilf: ‘I will throw this newcome, whoiver he is, off his guard, be callin’ him be a sthrange name!’ Ye wudden’t feel complimented, Hinnissy, if ye knew who Watson is. Watson knows even less than ye do. He don’t know annything, an’ annything he knows is wrong. He has to look up his name in th’ parish raygisther befure he can speak to himsilf. He’s a gr-reat frind iv Sherlock Holmes an’ if Sherlock Holmes iver loses him, he’ll find him in th’ nearest asylum f’r th’ feeble-minded. But I surprised ye’er secret out iv ye. Thrown off ye’er guard be me innocent question, ye popped out ‘I’m Hinnissy,’ an’ in a flash I guessed who ye were. Be th’ same process iv raisonin’ be deduction, I can tell ye that ye were home las’ night in bed, that ye’re on ye’er way to wurruk, an’ that ye’er salary is two dollars a day. I know ye were at home las’ night because ye ar-re always at home between iliven an’ sivin, bar Pathrick’s night, an’ ye’er wife hasn’t been in lookin’ f’r ye. I know ye’re on ye’er way to wurruk because I heerd ye’er dinner pail jingle as ye stepped softly in. I know ye get two dollars a day because ye tol’ me ye get three an’ I deducted thirty-three an’ wan third per cint f’r poetic license. ‘Tis very simple. Ar-re those shoes ye have on ye’er feet? Be hivins, I thought so.” Simple,” said Mr. Hennessy, scornfully; “’tis foolish.” “Niver mind,” said Mr. Dooley. “Pass th’ dope, Watson. Now bein’ full iv th’ cillybrated Chow Sooey brand, I addhress me keen mind to th’ discussion iv th’ case iv Dorsey’s dog. Watson, look out iv th’ window an’ see if that’s a cab goin’ by ringin’ a gong. A throlley car? So much th’ betther. Me observation tol’ me it was not a balloon or a comet or a reindeer. Ye ar-re a gr-reat help to me, Watson. Pass th’ dope. Was there a dog on th’ car? No? That simplifies th’ thing. I had an idee th’ dog might have gone to wurruk. He was a bull-tarryer, ye say. D’ye know annything about his parents? Be Mulligan’s Sloppy Weather out iv O’Hannigan’s Diana iv th’ Slough? Iv coorse. Was ayether iv thim seen in th’ neighborhood th’ night iv th’ plant? No? Thin it is not, as manny might suppose, a case iv abduction. What were th’ habits iv Dorsey’s coyote? Was he a dog that dhrank? Did he go out iv nights? Was he payin’ anny particular attintions to anny iv th’ neighbors? Was he baffled in love? Ar-re his accounts sthraight? Had Dorsey said annything to him that wud ‘ve made him despondent? Ye say no. He led a dog’s life but seemed to be happy. Thin ’tis plainly not a case iv suicide. “I’m gettin’ up close to th’ criminals. Another shot iv th’ mad mixture. Wait till I can find a place in th’ ar-rm. There ye ar-re. Well, Watson, what d’ye make iv it?” “If ye mane me, Dugan stole th’ dog.” “Not so fast,” said Mr. Dooley. “Like all men iv small minds ye make ye’ers up readily. Th’ smaller th’ mind, th’ aisier ’tis made up. Ye’ers is like a blanket on th’ flure befure th’ fire. All ye have to do to make it up is to lave it. Mine is like a large double bed, an’ afther I’ve been tossin’ in it, ’tis no aisy job to make it up. I will puncture me tire with th’ fav’rite flower iv Chinnytown an’ go on. We know now that th’ dog did not elope, that he didn’t commit suicide an’ that he was not kidnaped be his rayturnin’ parents. So far so good. Now I’ll tell ye who stole th’ dog. Yisterdah afthernoon I see a suspicious lookin’ man goin’ down th’ sthreet. I say he was suspicious lookin’ because he was not disguised an’ looked ivry wan in th’ face. He had no dog with him. A damning circumstance, Watson, because whin he’d stolen th’ dog he niver wud ‘ve taken it down near Dorsey’s house. Ye wudden’t notice these facts because ye’er mind while feeble is unthrained. His coat collar was turned up an’ he was whistlin’ to himsilf, a habit iv dog fanciers. As he wint be Hogan’s house he did not look around or change his gait or otherwise do annything that wud indicate to an unthrained mind that there was annything wrong, facts in thimsilves that proved to me cultivated intilligence that he was guilty. I followed him in me mind’s eye to his home an’ there chained to th’ bed leg is Dorsey’s dog. Th’ name iv th’ criminal is P. X. O’Hannigan, an’ he lives at twinty-wan hundhred an’ ninety-nine South Halsted sthreet, top flat, rear, a plumber be pro-fission. Officer, arrest that man! “That’s all right,” said Mr. Hennessy; “but Dugan rayturned th’ dog las’ night.” “Oh, thin,” said Mr. Dooley, calmly, “this is not a case f’r Sherlock Holmes but wan f’r th’ polis. That’s th’ throuble, Hinnissy, with th’ detictive iv th’ story. Nawthin’ happens in rale life that’s complicated enough f’r him. If th’ Prisidint iv th’ Epworth League was a safe-blower be night th’ man that’d catch him’d be a la-ad with gr-reat powers iv observation an’ thrained habits iv raisonin’. But crime, Hinnissy, is a pursoot iv th’ simple minded–that is, catchable crime is a pursoot iv th’ simple-minded. Th’ other kind, th’ uncatchable kind that is took up be men iv intellict is called high fi-nance. I’ve known manny criminals in me time, an’ some iv thim was fine men an’ very happy in their home life, an’ a more simple, pasth’ral people ye niver knew. Wan iv th’ ablest bank robbers in th’ counthry used to live near me–he ownded a flat buildin’–an’ befure he’d turn in to bed afther rayturnin’ fr’m his night’s wurruk, he’d go out in th’ shed an’ chop th’ wood. He always wint into th’ house through a thransom f’r fear iv wakin’ his wife who was a delicate woman an’ a shop lifter. As I tell ye he was a man without guile, an’ he wint about his jooties as modestly as ye go about ye’ers. I don’t think in th’ long run he made much more thin ye do. Wanst in a while, he’d get hold iv a good bunch iv money, but manny other times afther dhrillin’ all night through a steel dure, all he’d find ‘d be a short crisp note fr’m th’ prisidint iv th’ bank. He was often discouraged, an’ he tol’ me wanst if he had an income iv forty dollars th’ month, he’d retire fr’m business an’ settle down on a farm. “No, sir, criminals is th’ simplest crathers in th’ wide wide wurruld–innocent, sthraight-forward, dangerous people, that haven’t sinse enough to be honest or prosperous. Th’ extint iv their schamin’ is to break a lock on a dure or sweep a handful iv change fr’m a counter or dhrill a hole in a safe or administher th’ strong short arm to a tired man takin’ home his load. There are no mysteryous crimes excipt thim that happens to be. Th’ ordh’nry crook, Hinnissy, goes around ringin’ a bell an’ disthributin’ hand-bills announcin’ his business. He always breaks through a window instead iv goin’ through an open dure, an’ afther he’s done annything that he thinks is commindable, he goes to a neighborin’ liquor saloon, stands on th’ pool table an’ confides th’ secret to ivrybody within sound iv his voice. That’s why Mulligan is a betther detictive thin Sherlock Holmes or me. He can’t put two an’ two together an’ he has no powers iv deduction, but he’s a hard dhrinker an’ a fine sleuth. Sherlock Holmes niver wud’ve caught that frind iv mine. Whin th’ safe iv th’ Ninth Rational Bank was blowed, he wud’ve put two an’ two together an’ arristed me. But me frind wint away lavin’ a hat an’ a pair iv cuffs marked with his name in th’ safe, an’ th’ polis combined these discoveries with th’ well-known fact that Muggins was a notoryous safe blower an’ they took him in. They found him down th’ sthreet thryin’ to sell a bushel basket full iv Alley L stock. I told ye he was a simple man. He ralized his ambition f’r an agaracoolchral life. They give him th’ care iv th’ cows at Joliet.” “Did he rayform?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “No,” said Mr. Dooley; “he escaped. An’ th’ way he got out wud baffle th’ injinooty iv a Sherlock Holmes.” “How did he do it?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “He climbed over th’ wall,” said Mr. Dooley. International Amenities “Be hivins,” said Mr. Dooley, “I wisht I’d been there.” “Where?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “At th’ bankit iv th’ Ancyent an’ Hon’rable Chamber iv Commerce in New York,” said Mr. Dooley. “‘Tis a hard fate that compels me to live out here on th’ prairies among th’ aborig’nal Americans fr’m Poland an’ Bohaymya. Me heart at times is burstin’ f’r to jine in th’ festivities iv me fellow Britons in New York. F’r I’m a British subjick, Hinnissy. I wasn’t born wan. I was born in Ireland. But I have a little money put away, an’ ivry American that has larned to make wan dollar sthick to another is ex-officio, as Hogan says, a British subjick. We’ve adopted a foster father. Some iv us ain’t anny too kind to th’ ol’ gintleman. In th’ matther iv th’ Nicaragoon Canal we have recently pushed him over an’ took about all he had. But our hearts feels th’ love iv th’ parent counthry, though our hands is rebellyous, an’ ivry year me fellow-merchants gets together in New York an’ f’rgets th’ cares iv th’ wool an’ tallow business in an outburst iv devotion to th’ ol’ land fr’m which our fathers sprung or was sprung be th’ authorities. “Th’ prisidint iv th’ bankit was me frind Morse K. Cheeseshop a mimber iv an ol’ Yorkshire fam’ly born in th’ West Riding iv Long Island befure th’ Crimeyan War. At his right sat th’ Sicrety iv state f’r th’ colony, an’ at his left me frind th’ ambassadure to th’ Coort iv Saint James. Why we shud sind an ambassadure I don’t know, though it may be an ol’ custom kept up f’r to plaze th’ people iv Omaha. He’s a good man, th’ ambassadure, who is inthrajoocin’ th’ American joke in England. Hogan says th’ diff’rence between an American joke an’ an English joke is th’ place to laugh. In an American joke ye laugh just afther th’ point if at all, but in an English joke ye laugh ayether befure th’ point or afther th’ decease iv th’ joker. Th’ ambassadure hopes to inthrajooce a cross iv th’ two that ye don’t laugh at at all that will be suited to th’ English market. His expeeriments so far has been encouragin’. “At th’ conclusion iv th’ eatin’ th’ chairman, Sir Morse Cheeseshop inthrajooced th’ sicrety iv state in a few well chosen wurruds. ‘Fellow Colonists,’ says he, ‘I desire to presint His Majesty’s ripresentative in this counthry who is doin’ more thin anny other man in th’ plastherin’ business,’ he says. ‘Owin’,’ he says, ‘to mimbers iv th’ Sinit lavin’ a hod iv bricks fall on his head recently, he has not been able to do much on th’ job,’ he says. ‘But he has brought his throwel and morthar here to-night an’ if ye will kindly lave off singing’ “Brittanya rules th’ prosperity wave” f’r a minyit he’ll give ye an exhibition iv how he wurruks. Me Lords an’ gintlemen, th’ sicrety iv state:’ “‘Fellow subjicks,’ says th’ sicrety iv state, ‘diplomacy is far diff’rent business thin it used to be. (A voice, ‘Good f’r you.’) In th’ days iv Bismarck, Gladstun an’ Charles Francis Adams ’twas a case iv inthrigue an’ deceit. Now it is as simple as a pair iv boots. In fifteen years th’ whole nature iv man is so changed that a diplomat has on’y to be honest, straight-forward an’ manly an’ concede ivrything an’ he will find his opponents will meet him half way an’ take what he gives. Unforchunitly diplomacy on’y goes as far as the dure. It is onable to give protection to th’ customer, so whin he laves th’ shop th’ sthrong arm men iv th’ Sinit knocks him down an’ takes fr’m him ivrything he got inside an’ more too. Di-plomacy has become a philanthropic pursoot like shop-keepin’, but politics, me lords, is still th’ same ol’ spoort iv highway robb’ry. But I done what I cud to protict th’ intherests iv th’ mother, father an’ brother-in-law counthry, an’ between you an’ me if I don’t desarve th’ Victorya cross f’r presintin’ that threaty to th’ Sinit nobody does. I will on’y say that hinceforth th’ policy iv this gover’mint will be as befure not to bully a sthrong power or wrong a weak, but will remain thrue to th’ principle iv wrongin’ th’ sthrong an’ bullyin’ th’ weak.’ “Th’ sicrety iv state was followed be th’ ambassadure. ‘I wish to tell ye,’ said he, ‘what a good time I had in England. Befure I wint there I was sthrongly prejudiced again’ England. I thought it was th’ noblest counthry on which, as Dan’l Webster says, th’ sun niver set without hatchin’ out a new colony. But I did it a great injustice. It is betther thin what I thought. It does not care f’r chaff or gush such as goes down in this counthry. All an English gintleman demands is that ye shall be ye’ersilf, frank, manly an’ sincere. A little cry on th’ shouldher, a firm grasp iv th’ hand, a brief acknowledgment that we owe our language an’ are payin’ it back, our lithrachoor an’ our boots to him, an’ his heart opens. He cannot conceal his admiration f’r ye. He goes away. Ah, niver will I f’rget th’ day I peeked out iv me bed-room window at Windsor Castle an’ see manny iv th’ sturdy lielists here befure me bein’ received in th’ back yard be th’ king. I mind well th’ wurruds that fell fr’m his lips whin ye left to take lunch in th’ rile woodshed. “Chote,” he says, “thim were a fine lot iv Americans,” he says. “What thribe did ye say they belonged to? Soos?” he says.’ “So th’ avenin’ proceeded until it was time to go home, whin th’ chairman proposed th’ customary toast. ‘Me lords an’ gintlemen, charge ye’er glasses an’ jine me in a toast,’ he says. ‘His majesty Edward th’ Sivinth, iv Gr-reat Britain an’ possibly Ireland, iv Inja, Egypt, iv Austhralya, iv South Africa in a sinse, an’ iv th’ Dominions beyant th’ sea, includin’ New York, King, Definder iv th’ Faith. I hope I got it all in.’ ‘Ye did,’ said th’ ambassadure. An’ th’ toast was dhrunk with enthusyasm. Other toasts was dhrunk to th’ rile fam’ly an’ th’ Protestant Succession, to th’ Jook iv Argyle who used to own Andhrew Carnaygie, an’ in manny cases th’ rile merchants carrid th’ glasses away in their pockets. Jus’ as th’ comp’ny was breakin’ up a man whose gaiters creaked rose an’ said: ‘Isn’t there wan more toast?’ ‘Good hivins have I f’rgotten somewan?’ said Lord Cheeseshop. ‘That was all there was in th’ book. Who d’ye mane?’ he says. ‘I mane th’ prisidint iv th’ United States,’ says th’ man, who comes fr’m Baraboo. ‘Oh him,’ says th’ chairman in a relieved tone. ‘Well, annywan that wants to can dhrink his health at th’ bar,’ he says. “As th’ comp’ny filed out a band was playin’ in th’ adjinin’ room where they was a meetin’ iv th’ Amalgamated Stove-polish men fr’m th’ neighborhood iv Terry Hut. ‘What’s that outlandish chune?’ says Lord Cheeseshop. ”Tis th’ naytional air, west iv Hoboken,’ says th’ man fr’m Baraboo. ‘What’s it called?’ says Lord Cheeseshop. ‘Th’ Star Spangled Banner,’ says th’ man. ‘Well,’ says Lord Cheeseshop, ”tis very intherestin’,’ he says. ”Tis th’ on’y Indyan music I iver heerd,’ he says.” “Ah well,” said Mr. Hennessy, ” who cares?” “Faith I think ye’re right,” said Mr. Dooley. “A man will swallow annything with a dinner. What is good f’r what Hogan calls th’ iliminthry canal has nawthin’ to do with th’ Nicaragoon Canal an’ I’d be more afraid iv Lord Cheeseshop if he thought th’ toast an’ didn’t say it. Our Anglo-Saxon relations is always a give-away –on some wan.” Art Patronage “I see in this pa-aper,” said Mr. Dooley, “they’se a fellow kickin’ because an American painther ain’t got anny chanst again’ foreign compytition.” “Sure,” said Mr. Hennessy; “he’s aisy displazed. I niver knew th’ business to be betther. Wages is high an’ ’tis a comfortable thrade barrin’ colic.” “I don’t mane that kind iv painthers,” said Mr. Dooley. “I don’t mane th’ wans that paint ye’er barn, but th’ wans that paints a pitcher iv ye’er barn an’ wants to sell it to ye f’r more thin th’ barn is worth. This man says no matther how industhrees an American painther is, no matther if he puts on his overalls arly in th’ mornin’ an’ goes out with a laddher an’ whales away all day long, he can hardly arn a livin’, while th’ pauper artists iv Europe is fairly rowlin’ in th’ lap iv luxury. Manny a la-ad that started in life with th’ intintion iv makin’ th’ wurruld f’rget that what’s his name–Hogan’s frind–ye know who I mane–Michael Angelo–ever lived, is now glad to get a job decoratin’ mountain scenery with th’ latest news about th’ little liver pills. “Ye see, Hinnissy, whin a man gets hold iv a large hatful iv money, wan iv th’ first things he does is to buy some art. Up to th’ time whin th’ top blew off th’ stock market, he bought his art out iv th’ front window iv a news an’ station’ry shop or had it put in be th’ paperhanger. He took th’ Sundah pa-apers that ar-re a gr-reat help if ye’re collectin’ art, an’ he had some pitchers iv fruit that looks nachral enough to ate, d’ye mind, a paintin’ iv a deer like th’ wan he shot at in th’ Manotowish counthry in Eighty-eight, an’ a livin’ likeness iv a Lake Supeeryor white fish on a silver plate. That was th’ peeryod, mind ye, whin th’ iron dogs howled on his lawn an’ people come miles an’ miles f’r to see a grotto made out iv relics iv th’ Chicago fire. “Manetime his daughter was illustratin’ suspinders an’ illuminatin’ china plates an’ becomin’ artistic, an’ afther awhile whin th’ time come that he had to keep a man at th’ dure to sweep out th’ small bills, she give him a good push to’rd betther things. Besides, his pardner down th’ sthreet had begun collectin’ pitchers, an’ ivry time he wint abroad th’ mannyfacthrers iv pitcher frames bought new autymobills f’r th’ Champs All Easy. So ’twas a soft matther f’r our frind Higbie to be persuaded that he ought to be a pathron iv art, an’ he wint abroad detarmined to buy a bunch iv chromos that’d make people come out iv th’ gallery iv his pardner down th’ sthreet stiflin’ their laughter in their hands. “Now ye’d think seein’ that he made his money in this counthry, he’d pathronize American art. Ye’d believe he’d sind wurrud down to his agent f’r to secure forty feet iv Evansville be moonlight an’ be con-tint. But he don’t. “Ye don’t catch Higbie changin’ iv anny iv his dividends on domestic finished art. He jumps on a boat an’ goes sthraight acrost to th’ centhral deepo. The first thing he gets is a porthrait iv himsilf be wan iv th’ gr-reat modhren masthers, Sargent be name. This here Sargent, Hogan tells me, used to live in this counthry, an’ faith, if he’d stayed here ye might see him to-day on a stagin’. But he had a mind in his head an’ he tore off f’r Europe th’ way a duck hunter goes f’r a rice swamp. Afther awhile, Higbie shows up, an’ says he: ‘I’m Higbie iv th’ Non-Adhesive Consolidated Glue Company,’ he says. ‘Can ye do me?’ ‘I can an’ will,’ says Sargent. ‘I’ll do ye good. How much have ye got?’ he says. ‘Get some more an’ come around,’ he says. An’ Higbie puts on his Prince Albert coat an’ laves it open so that ye can see his watch charm–th’ crown iv Poland with th’ Kohinoor in th’ top iv it–an’ me frind Sargent does him brown an’ red. He don’t give him th’ pitcher iv coorse. If ye have ye’er porthrait painted be a gr-reat painther, it’s ye’er porthrait but ’tis his pitcher, an’ he keeps it till ye don’t look that way anny more. So Higbie’s porthrait is hung up in a gallery an’ th’ doctors brings people to see it that ar-re sufferin’ fr’m narvous dyspepsia to cheer thim up. Th’ pa-apers says ’tis fine. ‘Number 108 shows Sargent at his best. There is the same marvellous ticknick that th’ great master displayed in his cillybrated take-off on Mrs. Maenheimer in last year’s gallery. Th’ skill an’ ease with which th’ painther has made a monkey iv his victim are beyond praise. Sargent has torn th’ sordid heart out iv th’ wretched crather an’ exposed it to th’ wurruld. Th’ wicked, ugly little eyes, th’ crooked nose, th’ huge graspin’ hands, tell th’ story iv this miscreant’s character as completely as if they were written in so manny wurruds, while th’ artist, with wondherful malice, has painted onto th’ face a smile iv sickenin’ silf-complacency that is positively disgustin’. No artist iv our day has succeeded so well in showin’ up th’ maneness iv th’ people he has mugged. We ondershtand that th’ atrocious Higbie paid wan hundherd thousan’ dollars f’r this comic valentine. It is worth th’ money to ivrybody but him.’ “But Higbie don’t see th’ pa-aper. He’s over in Paris. Th’ chimes are rung, bonefires are lighted in th’ sthreets an’ th’ Pannyma Comp’ny declares a dividend whin he enters th’ city. They’se such a demand f’r paint that th’ supply runs out an’ manny gr-reat imprishonist pitcher facthries is foorced to use bluein’. Higbie ordhers paintin’s be th’ ton, th’ r-runnin’ foot, th’ foot pound, th’ car load. He insthructs th’ pitcher facthries to wurruk night an’ day till his artistic sowl is satisfied. We follow his coorse in th’ pa-apers. ‘Th’ cillybrated Gainsborough that niver wud be missed has been captured be Misther Higbie, th’ American millyionaire. Th’ price paid is said to be wan hundherd thousan’ dollars. Th’ pitcher riprisints a lady in a large hat fondlin’ a cow. It is wan iv th’ finest Gainsboroughs painted be th’ Gainsborough Mannyfacthrin’ comp’ny iv Manchester. At th’ las’ public sale, it was sold f’r thirty dollars. Misther Higbie has also purchased th’ cillybrated Schmartzmeister Boogooroo, wan iv th’ mos’ horrible examples iv this delightful painther’s style. He is now negotyatin’ with th’ well-known dealer Moosoo Mortheimer f’r th’ intire output iv th’ Barabazah School. Yisterdah in a call on th’ janial dealer, th’ name iv th’ cillybrated painther Mooney was mintioned. “How manny pitchers has he painted?” “Four hundherd and forty-three thousan’ at ilivin o’clock to-day,” says th’ dealer. “But four hundherd thousan’ iv thim ar-re in America.” “Get th’ r-rest iv thim f’r me,” says th’ connysoor. “What did ye say th’ gintleman’s name was?” We ondershtand that Misther Mooney has had to put in two new four-deck machines to meet th’ ordhers, which include thirty green an’ mauve haystacks, forty blue barns or childher at play, an’ no less thin ninety riprisintations iv mornin’ at sea, moonlight avenin’, flock iv sheep, or whativer ye may call thim.’ “An’ whin he comes home, he hangs thim in his house, so that his frinds can’t turn around without takin’ off a pasthral scene on their coats, an’ he pastes th’ price on th’ frame, an’ whin he dies, he laves his pitcher to some definceless art museem. An’ there ye ar-re. “So I tell ye, Hinnissy, if I was a young an’ ambitious American painther, I’d go to Europe. Whin Hannigan was over there, he met a young man that painted that fine head iv Murphy that looks so much like Casey that hangs in Schwartzmeister’s back room. ‘Ar-re ye still at th’ art?’ says Hannigan. ‘I am,’ says th’ young man. ‘How does it go?’ asks Hannigan. ‘I’ve more thin I can do,’ says th’ young man. ‘Since steel rails got so high, I’ve had to hire an assistant. Ye see, I didn’t get on in Chicago. Me “Bridgepoort in a Fog” was th’ on’y pitcher I sold, an’ a sausage mannyfacthrer bought that because his facthry was in it. I come over here, an’ so’s me pitchers will have a fair show, I sign annywan’s name ye want to thim. Ye’ve heerd iv Michael Angelo? That’s me. Ye’ve heerd iv Gainsborough? That’s me. Ye’ve heerd iv Millet, th’ boy that painted th’ pitcher give away with th’ colored supplimint iv th’ Sundah Howl? That’s me. Yis, sir, th’ rale name iv near ivry distinguished painther iv modhren times is Remsen K. Smith. Whin ye go home, if ye see a good painther an’ glazier that’d like a job as assistant Rimbrandt f’r th’ American thrade, sind him to me. F’r,’ he says, ‘th’ on’y place an American artist can make a livin’ is here. Charity f’r artists,’ he says, ‘begins abroad,’ he says.” “Well,” said Mr. Hennessy, “perhaps a bum Europeen pitcher is betther thin a good American pitcher.” “Perhaps so,” said Mr. Dooley. “I think it is so. Annyhow, no matther how bad a painther he is, annywan that can get money out iv an American millyionaire is an artist an’ desarves it. There’s th’ rale art. I wish it was taught in th’ schools. I’d like to see an exhibition at th’ Museem with ‘Check iv American Gintleman, dhrawn fr’m life,’ hung on th’ wall.” Immigration “Well, I see Congress has got to wurruk again,” said Mr. Dooley. “The Lord save us fr’m harm,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “Congress has got to wurruk again, an’ manny things that seems important to a Congressman ‘ll be brought up befure thim. ‘Tis sthrange that what’s a big thing to a man in Wash’nton, Hinnissy, don’t seem much account to me. Divvle a bit do I care whether they dig th’ Nicaragoon Canal or cross th’ Isthmus in a balloon; or whether th’ Monroe docthrine is enfoorced or whether it ain’t; or whether th’ thrusts is abolished as Teddy Rosenfelt wud like to have thim or encouraged to go on with their neefaryous but magnificent entherprises as th’ Prisidint wud like; or whether th’ water is poured into th’ ditches to reclaim th’ arid lands iv th’ West or th’ money f’r thim to fertilize th’ arid pocket-books iv th’ conthractors; or whether th’ Injun is threated like a depindant an’ miserable thribesman or like a free an’ indepindant dog; or whether we restore th’ merchant marine to th’ ocean or whether we lave it to restore itsilf. None iv these here questions inthrests me, an’ be me I mane you an’ be you I mane ivrybody. What we want to know is, ar-re we goin’ to have coal enough in th’ hod whin th’ cold snap comes; will th’ plumbin’ hold out, an’ will th’ job last. “But they’se wan question that Congress is goin’ to take up that you an’ me are intherested in. As a pilgrim father that missed th’ first boats, I must raise me claryon voice again’ th’ invasion iv this fair land be th’ paupers an’ arnychists iv effete Europe. Ye bet I must–because I’m here first. ‘Twas diff’rent whin I was dashed high on th’ stern an’ rockbound coast. In thim days America was th’ refuge iv th’ oppressed iv all th’ wurruld. They cud come over here an’ do a good job iv oppressin’ thimsilves. As I told ye I come a little late. Th’ Rosenfelts an’ th’ Lodges bate me be at laste a boat lenth, an’ be th’ time I got here they was stern an’ rockbound thimsilves. So I got a gloryous rayciption as soon as I was towed off th’ rocks. Th’ stars an’ sthripes whispered a welcome in th’ breeze an’ a shovel was thrust into me hand an’ I was pushed into a sthreet excyvatin’ as though I’d been born here. Th’ pilgrim father who bossed th’ job was a fine ol’ puritan be th’ name iv Doherty, who come over in th’ Mayflower about th’ time iv th’ potato rot in Wexford, an’ he made me think they was a hole in th’ breakwather iv th’ haven iv refuge an’ some iv th’ wash iv th’ seas iv opprission had got through. He was a stern an’ rockbound la-ad himsilf, but I was a good hand at loose stones an’ wan day–but I’ll tell ye about that another time. “Annyhow, I was rayceived with open arms that sometimes ended in a clinch. I was afraid I wasn’t goin’ to assimilate with th’ airlyer pilgrim fathers an’ th’ instichoochions iv th’ counthry, but I soon found that a long swing iv th’ pick made me as good as another man an’ it didn’t require a gr-reat intellect, or sometimes anny at all, to vote th’ dimmycrat ticket, an’ befure I was here a month, I felt enough like a native born American to burn a witch. Wanst in a while a mob iv intilligint collajeens, whose grandfathers had bate me to th’ dock, wud take a shy at me Pathrick’s Day procission or burn down wan iv me churches, but they got tired iv that befure long; ’twas too much like wurruk. “But as I tell ye, Hinnissy, ’tis diff’rent now. I don’t know why ’tis diff’rent but ’tis diff’rent. ‘Tis time we put our back again’ th’ open dure an’ keep out th’ savage horde. If that cousin iv ye’ers expects to cross, he’d betther tear f’r th’ ship. In a few minyits th’ gates ‘ll be down an’ whin th’ oppressed wurruld comes hikin’ acrost to th’ haven iv refuge, they’ll do well to put a couplin’ pin undher their hats, f’r th’ Goddess iv Liberty ‘ll meet thim at th’ dock with an axe in her hand. Congress is goin’ to fix it. Me frind Shaughnessy says so. He was in yisterdah an’ says he: ”Tis time we done something to make th’ immigration laws sthronger,’ says he. ‘Thrue f’r ye, Miles Standish,’ says I; ‘but what wud ye do?’ ‘I’d keep out th’ offscourin’s iv Europe,’ says he. ‘Wud ye go back?’ says I. ‘Have ye’er joke,’ says he. ”Tis not so seeryus as it was befure ye come,’ says I. ‘But what ar-re th’ immygrants doin’ that’s roonous to us?’ I says. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘they’re arnychists,’ he says; ‘they don’t assymilate with th’ counthry,’ he says. ‘Maybe th’ counthry’s digestion has gone wrong fr’m too much rich food,’ says I; ‘perhaps now if we’d lave off thryin’ to digest Rockyfellar an’ thry a simple diet like Schwartzmeister, we wudden’t feel th’ effects iv our vittels,’ I says. ‘Maybe if we’d season th’ immygrants a little or cook thim thurly, they’d go down betther,’ I says. “‘They’re arnychists, like Parsons,’ he says. ‘He wud’ve been an immygrant if Texas hadn’t been admitted to th’ Union,’ I says. ‘Or Snolgosh,’ he says. ‘Has Mitchigan seceded?’ I says. ‘Or Gittoo,’ he says. ‘Who come fr’m th’ effete monarchies iv Chicago, west iv Ashland Av’noo,’ I says. ‘Or what’s-his-name, Wilkes Booth,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what he was–maybe a Boolgharyen,’ says I. ‘Well, annyhow,’ says he, ‘they’re th’ scum iv th’ earth.’ ‘They may be that,’ says I; ‘but we used to think they was th’ cream iv civilization,’ I says. ‘They’re off th’ top annyhow. I wanst believed ’twas th’ best men iv Europe come here, th’ la-ads that was too sthrong and indepindant to be kicked around be a boorgomasther at home an’ wanted to dig out f’r a place where they cud get a chanst to make their way to th’ money. I see their sons fightin’ into politics an’ their daughters tachin’ young American idee how to shoot too high in th’ public school, an’ I thought they was all right. But I see I was wrong. Thim boys out there towin’ wan heavy foot afther th’ other to th’ rowlin’ mills is all arnychists. There’s warrants out f’r all names endin’ in ‘inski, an’ I think I’ll board up me windows, f’r,’ I says, ‘if immygrants is as dangerous to this counthry as ye an’ I an’ other pilgrim fathers believe they are, they’se enough iv thim sneaked in already to make us aborigines about as infloointial as the prohibition vote in th’ Twinty-ninth Ward. They’ll dash again’ our stern an’ rock-bound coast till they bust it,’ says I. “‘But I ain’t so much afraid as ye ar-re. I’m not afraid iv me father an’ I’m not afraid iv mesilf. An’ I’m not afraid iv Schwartzmeister’s father or Hinnery Cabin Lodge’s grandfather. We all come over th’ same way, an’ if me ancestors were not what Hogan calls rigicides, ’twas not because they were not ready an’ willin’, on’y a king niver come their way. I don’t believe in killin’ kings, mesilf. I niver wud’ve sawed th’ block off that curly-headed potintate that I see in th’ pitchers down town, but, be hivins, Presarved Codfish Shaughnessy, if we’d begun a few years ago shuttin’ out folks that wudden’t mind handin’ a bomb to a king, they wudden’t be enough people in Mattsachoosetts to make a quorum f’r th’ Anti-Impeeryal S’ciety,’ says I. ‘But what wud ye do with th’ offscourin’ iv Europe?’ says he. ‘I’d scour thim some more,’ says I. “An’ so th’ meetin’ iv th’ Plymouth Rock Assocyation come to an end. But if ye wud like to get it together, Deacon Hinnissy, to discuss th’ immygration question, I’ll sind out a hurry call f’r Schwartzmeister an’ Mulcahey an’ Ignacio Sbarbaro an’ Nels Larsen an’ Petrus Gooldvink, an’ we ‘ll gather to-night at Fanneilnoviski Hall at th’ corner iv Sheridan an’ Sigel sthreets. All th’ pilgrim fathers is rayquested f’r to bring interpreters.” “Well,” said Mr. Hennessy, “divvle th’ bit I care, on’y I’m here first, an’ I ought to have th’ right to keep th’ bus fr’m bein’ overcrowded.” “Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “as a pilgrim father on me gran’ nephew’s side, I don’t know but ye’re right. An’ they’se wan sure way to keep thim out.” “What’s that?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “Teach thim all about our instichoochions befure they come,” said Mr. Dooley. White House Discipline “Where did ye spind th’ New Year’s?” asked Mr. Dooley. “I didn’t go to th’ White House rayciption,” said Mr. Hennessy, pleasantly. “I see ye didn’t,” said Mr. Doolcy. “Ye’er ar-rm is not in a sling. Man an’ boy, Hinnissy, I’ve taken manny a chanst on me life, but I’d as lave think iv declarin’ th’ sintimints iv me heart in an Orange meetin’ as dhroppin’ in f’r a socyal call at what Hogan calls th’ ixicutive mansion. That is, if I was a govermint emplyee, which I ain’t, havin’ been born wrong. “Th’ time was whin a man lost his job an’ his heart to th’ prisidint at th’ same time. A reproof was administhered to him with chloryform. He woke up an’ rubbed his eyes an’ says, ‘Where am I?’ an’ th’ polisman says: ‘Ye’re in an ash bar’l.’ He come fr’m th’ White House with tears in his eyes an’ was tol’ he was out iv wurruk. But, Hinnissy, th’ prisint occypant iv th’ White House is a heartier person. A reproof fr’m him is th’ same thing as a compound fracture. A wurrud iv caution will lay a man up f’r a week an’ a severe riprimand will sind him through life with a wooden leg. “There was me frind, Gin’ral Miles. No more gallant sojer iver dhrew his soord to cut out a patthern f’r a coat thin Gin’ral Miles. He’s hunted th’ Apachy, th’ Sioux, th’ Arapahoo, th’ Comanchee, th’ Congressman an’ other savages iv th’ plain; he’s faced death an’ promotion in ivry form, an’ no harm come to him till he wint up th’ White House stairs or maybe ’twas till he come down. Annyhow, Gin’ral Miles was pursooin’ th’ thrue coorse iv a nachral warryor an’ enlightenin’ th’ wurruld on th’ things he happened to think iv. ‘Tis what is ixpicted iv him. If ye don’t read him ye don’t know what’s goin’ on in th’ wurruld. Ivry Sundah I pick up me pa-aper an’ hurry through th’ articles on what’s a suitable Christmas gift f’r th’ hired girl who’ll pizen th’ soup if she gets three yards iv calico, be Winnyfield Scott Schley, an’ what ought to be done f’r th’ Chinee, be Cap. Mahan, an’ get down to what Gin’ral Miles thinks. ‘Tis always good an’ full iv meaty advice. ‘Is Mars inhabited?’ ‘Th’ future iv th’ Columbya river salmon,’ ‘Is white lead good f’r th’ complexion?’ ‘What wud I do if I had a millyion dollars an’ it was so,’ ‘England’s supreemacy in Cochin China,’ ‘Pink gaiters as a necissity iv warfare,’ ‘Is th’ Impire shouldhers goin’ out?’ ‘Waist measurements iv warriors I have met,’ an’ so on. Gin’ral Miles is th’ on’y in-an’-out, up an’ down, catch-as-catch-can, white, red or black, with or without, journylist we have left. On anny subject fr’m stove polish to sun worship, I’d take th’ wurrud iv me frind Gin’ral Miles befure th’ man that made th’ goods. “‘Twas that got him into throuble. Wan day afther inspictin’ th’ army, Gin’ral Miles give a chat to wan iv his fav’rite journals on what he thought about th’ navy, him bein’ a great authority on navy affairs befure steam come in. I don’t know what th’ divvle he said an’ I don’t care, f’r me mind was made up long ago, an’ ivrybody that don’t agree with me is little betther thin a thraitor or a cow’rd. But annyhow he give his opinyion, an’ afther givin’ it he took his bonnet out, had a goold beater in to fix up th’ epylets, got th’ ilicthric lights goin’ in th’ buttons, found th’ right pair iv blue an’ pink pants, pulled on th’ shoes with th’ silver bells, harnessed to his manly hips th’ soord with the forget-me-nots on th’ handle an’ pranced over to th’ White House. As he wint up th’ hall, he noticed an atmosphere iv what Hogan calls cold hatoor, f’r wan iv th’ durekeepers said th’ prisidint wasn’t home an’ another lightly kicked him as he passed, but like a sojer he wint on to th’ East room where Mr. Rosenfelt, th’ pa-apers tells me, shtud in front iv th’ fireplace, nervously pluckin’ Sicrety Gage be th’ beard. ‘I’ve come,’ says Gin’ral Miles, ‘to pay me rayspicts to th’ head iv th’ naytion.’ ‘Thank ye,’ says th’ prisidint, ‘I’ll do th’ same f’r th’ head iv th’ army,’ he says, bouncin’ a coal scuttle on th’ vethran’s helmet. ‘Gin’ral, I don’t like ye’er recent conduct,’ he says, sindin’ th’ right to th’ pint iv th’ jaw. ‘Ye’ve been in th’ army forty year,’ he says, pushin’ his head into th’ grate, ‘an’ ye shud know that an officer who criticizes his fellow officers, save in th’ reg’lar way, that is to say in a round robin, is guilty iv I dinnaw what,’ he says, feedin’ him with his soord. ‘I am foorced to administher ye a severe reproof,’ he says. ‘Is that what this is?’ says Gin’ral Miles. ‘It is,’ says th’ prisidint. ‘I thought it was capital punishnmint,’ says Gin’ral Miles as he wint out through th’ window pursooed be a chandelier. His nex’ article will be entitled ‘Hospital Sketches,’ an’ I undhershtand he’s dictatin’ a few remarks to his nurse on providin’ atthractive suits iv steel plate f’r gin’rals in th’ army. “Well, sir, they’ll be gr-reat times down there f’r a few years. A movement is on foot f’r to establish an emergency hospital f’r office holders an’ politicians acrost th’ sthreet fr’m th’ White House where they can be threated f’r infractions iv th’ Civil Sarvice law followed be pers’nal injuries. I’ll be watchin’ th’ pa-apers ivry mornin’. ‘Rayciption at th’ White House. Among th’ casulties was so-an’-so. Th’ prisidint was in a happy mood. He administhered a stingin’ rebuke to th’ Chief Justice iv th’ Supreme Coort, a left hook to eye. Sinitor Hanna was prisint walkin’ with a stick. Th’ prisidint approached him gaily an’ asked him about his leg. “‘Tis gettin’ betther,” says th’ sinitor. “That’s good,” says th’ prisidint. “Come again whin it is entirely well an’ we’ll talk over that appointment,” he says. Th’ afthernoon was enlivened be th’ appearance iv a Southern Congressman askin’ f’r a foorth-class post-office. Th’ prisidint hardly missed him be more thin a foot at th’ gate, but th’ Congressman bein’ formerly wan iv Mosby’s guerillas escaped, to th’ gr-reat chagrin iv Mr. Rosenfelt, who remarked on his return that life at th’ White House was very confinin’. “I will niver be able to enfoorce th’ civil sarvice law till I take more exercise,” he said heartily. Th’ ambulance was at th’ dure promptly at five, but no important business havin’ been thransacted nearly all th’ cabinet was able to walk to their homes.’ “Yes, sir, ’twill be grand an’ I’m goin’ to injye it. F’r th’ first time since I’ve been at it, Ar-rchey road methods has been inthrajooced in naytional polliticks. I knew th’ time wud come, Hinnissy. ‘Tis th’ on’y way. Ye may talk about it as much as ye want, but govermint, me boy, is a case iv me makin’ ye do what I want an’ if I can’t do it with a song, I’ll do it with a shovel. Th’ ir’n hand in th’ velvet glove, th’ horseshoe in th’ boxin’ mit, th’ quick right, an’ th’ heavy boot, that was th’ way we r-run polliticks when I was captain iv me precinct.” “But ye niver was prisidint,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I always had too soft a spot f’r age,” said Mr. Dooley; “an’ ’tis th’ aged that does up us young fellows. An’ annyhow I done betther.” Money and Matrimony “Can a man marry on twinty-five dollars?” asked Mr. Dooley. “He can if he can get th’ money,” said Mr. Hennessy. “Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley; “here’s a judge on th’ binch says twinty-five dollars is as much as a man needs to enther th’ sacred bonds–twinty-five dollars beside th’ nerve, an’ he has to have that annyhow. Th’ pa-apers has took it up an’ some is f’r it an’ some is again’ it. A few iditors believes it can be done on less; others thinks it can’t be done undher thirty at th’ outside. A larned lawyer says that a man who wud lure a young girl away fr’m her music lessons whin if she asked him f’r twinty-six dollars he’d have to signal f’r help, is nawthin’ short iv a crim’nal. Nearly all th’ ladin’ acthresses in th’ counthry has been interviewed an’ they say that if marrid at all they cud not see their way clear f’r less thin a millyion iv money. They think th’ judge meant a divoorce. Lookin’ over th’ argymints pro an’ con, Hinnissy, I come to th’ conclusion that th’ judge is wrong an’ times has changed. “Whin I was a boy all a man needed was a little encouragement fr’m th’ fam’ly, an account with a liveryman an’ a small pull with th’ parish priest an’ there he was. ‘Twas well if he had a job too but if he hadn’t it wasn’t a bar. A marrid man can always find wurruk to do. He’s got to. But no wan iver thought iv askin’ him to skin open his bank book. They wasn’t anny such things. They wasn’t anny banks. He didn’t have to pin a cashier’s check to th’ proposal an’ put in a sealed bid. If th’ girls in my time an’ this part iv town had to wait f’r an opulent business man with twinty-five or thirty dollars, manny iv thim wud be waitin’ at this minyit. “We looked on mathrimony as a dhraft on posterity, as Mark Hanna wud say, an’ not as an invistmint. We argyied that while th’ childher was growin’ up we’d be undher no expinse, an’ when they’d finished their schoolin’ an’ was able to take up th’ stern jooties iv life an’ go to wurruk, say between th’ age iv sivin an’ nine, they cud support us in luxury. Th’ young ladies had none th’ best iv us. They had no money too, along with th’ rest iv their charms. It was no case iv matchin’ coopons in thim happy days. Th’ father iv th’ fam’ly niver thought iv sindin’ in an expert accountant to look over th’ young man’s books an’ decide whether his invistmints was sound, an’ if th’ young man had th’ nerve to ask his father-in-law was he still on th’ payroll, ‘twudn’t be the sacramint iv mathrimony he’d require. If th’ young man was kind to th’ dog, smoked seegars that were not made be th’ rubber thrust an’ cud pass ivry second saloon without a pang, he was illegible f’r to enther th’ first fam’lies in th’ neighborhood an’ sometimes even th’ last. We was too dilicate f’r to speak iv marredge as though it was like buyin’ a pound iv tinpinny nails. Durin’ th’ coortship no wan around th’ house iver let on that annything was in th’ air, though wanst in awhile they was a giggle whin th’ dure bell rang an’ th’ ol’ man wud give a wink to th’ clock an’ go out into th’ kitchen. We spint most iv our time in th’ kitchen while th’ preliminaries was bein’ arranged. Th’ coortship I think wint on be a complete system iv signals long befure Marconi come into th’ wurruld, but wan night th’ wealthy heiress come hack fr’m th’ parlor an’ fell into a clinch with her mother, an’ th’ proud father yawned an’ wint to bed. That was all they was to it. No wan assayed young Lotharyo Hinnissy iv th’ sixth ward. If they heard he had twinty-five dollars, they’d begin f’r to make an allybi ready f’r him. I mind whin Hogan was goin’ to marry Cassidy’s daughter. ‘I haven’t a cint,’ he says. ‘Hurry up an’ marry thin,’ says Cassidy, ‘or ye might have.’ “That’s th’ way it was in thim good ol’ days an’, be hivins, I think that’s th’ way it is now among th’ likes iv us. An’ that’s a good thing f’r th’ men that own th’ rollin’ mills. It wudden’t do to take anny chances goin’ up an’ down Ar-rchey road offerin’ ye’ersilf without th’ cash forfeit. Some wan might call ye. But it’s diff’rent among th’ best fam’lies. ‘Tis far diff’rent. I read be th’ pa-apers in this conthrovarsy, that if a man can’t show down a bank account that wud make Andhrew Carnaygie feel like goin’ back to wurruk, he might as well make up his mind to remain a gay bachelor till he falls fr’m th’ cab f’r th’ las’ time. Not f’r him th’ joys iv marrid life, th’ futman at th’ dure tellin’ him his wife has not come home yet, th’ prattlin’ iv th’ tendher infant as it is rocked to sleep in th’ incybator, th’ frequent letthers fr’m abroad askin’ him if th’ dhraft come. No rayspictible woman wud have him while he was gettin’ th’ money an’ none ought to have him afther he’s got it. “Manetime th’ price iv mathrimonyal coopon fours goes up till hardly annywan can think iv entherin’ thim. A man believes th’ judge was wrong an’ says he, ‘I’ll niver condimn Mary Josephine to be a poor man’s wife. I’ll wait till I get a millyion.’ It’s not so hard to get a millyion nowadays if ye pick out th’ right people to get it fr’m, but it takes some time, an’ befure th’ eager suitor has landed enough to sit in th’ game, he’s considherably past th’ age iv consint. Manetime father, too, hasn’t been idle. He’s bethrayed a few thrusts himsilf an’ put a story or two on th’ house. So whin th’ young man comes up wan night an’ lays down his pile an’ suggests that th’ time has come f’r to hasten th’ glad evint, father says: ‘I’m afraid, me boy, that ye’re a little slow. Ye haven’t kept pace with th’ socyal requiremints. Since seein’ ye last, Mary Josephine has acquired th’ use iv a private yacht an’ is slowly mastherin’ th’ great truth that if ye have a club suit, ye ought to pass up th’ make. A slight oversight some afthernoon in distinguishin’ thrumps an’ they wudden’t be enough iv that bundle left to put a rubber band around. No, Mike, I think a gr-reat deal iv ye, but niver, niver will I consint that a daughter iv mine shud suffer th’ pangs iv poverty.’ An’ so it goes through th’ years until marredge, Hinnissy, is resthricted to th’ very rich an’ th’ exthremely poor who’re almost all marrid already. “I don’t know mesilf what to think iv it, Hinnissy, an’ I don’t know that I ought to worry about it. I haven’t noticed anny reduction in th’ number iv marredge licenses day be day. Th’ Kubelowskis an’ th’ Witsinskis still are exchangin’ vows, an’ if they’ve got more thin twinty-five dollars apiece I’d like to know where they got it an’ notify th’ polis. No, sir, th’ gloryous ol’ instichooshion iv which I’m as proud as I am shy is here to stay, an’ I’m thinkin’ it’ll be here whin money becomes extinct. If th’ rich are becomin’ richer, th’ poor are becomin’ more foolish about these things, an’ there’s hope in that.” “D’ye ra-ally think a man ought to marry on twinty-five dollars?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “If he’s that kind iv a man, more money thin that wud be wasted on him,” said Mr. Dooley. Prince Henry’s Visit “It’s goin’ to be gr-reat times f’r us Germans whin Prince Hinnery comes over,” said Mr. Dooley. “By th’ way,” said Mr. Hennessy with an air of polite curiosity, “what relation’s he to th’ impror iv Germany? Is he th’ son or th’ nevvew?” “He’s nayther,” said Mr. Dooley. “Th’ impror has no sons that I iver heerd iv. If he had a son he’d be a steam injine. No, sir, this man is th’ impror’s brother Hinnery or Hans. I don’t exactly know what th’ usual jooties iv an impror’s brother is. I know what an impror has to do. His wurruk’s cut out f’r him. I cud fill th’ job mesilf to me own satisfaction an’ th’ on’y wan an impror has to plaze is himsilf. Th’ German impror frequently mintions another, but on’y in th’ way iv politeness. I know what an impror’s jooties is, but I don’t know what an impror’s brother has to do ex officio, as Hogan says. But this boy Hinnery or Hans has more wurruk thin a bartinder in a prohibition town. He’s a kind iv travellin’ agent f’r th’ big la-ad. His bag is ready packed ivry night, he sleeps like a fireman with his pants in his boots beside his bed, an’ they’se a thrap dure alongside th’ cradle f’r him to slide down to th’ first flure. “He’s no more thin got to sleep whin th’ three iliven sounds on th’ gong. In Hinnery leaps to th’ pantaloons, down th’ laddher he goes pullin’ up his suspinders with wan hand an’ puttin’ on his hat with th’ other an’ off he is f’r Corea or Chiny or Booloochistan at a gallop. His brother stands at th’ dure an’ hollers farewell to him. ‘Go, Hinnery,’ he says. ‘Go, me dear brother, to th’ land iv perpetchooal sunshine an’ knock in nails f’r to hang up th’ German armor,’ he says. ‘Knock in th’ nails, an’ if ye happen to hit ye’ersilf on th’ thumb, swear on’y be th’ German Mike an’ raymimber ye done it f’r me,’ he says. ‘I will remain at home an’ conthrol th’ rest iv th’ wurruld with th’ assistance iv that German Providence that has been as kind to us as we desarve an’ that we look up to as our akel,’ he says. An’ Hinnery goes away. He travels o’er land an’ sea, be fire an’ flood an’ field. He’s th’ ginooine flyin’ Dutchman. His home is in his hat. He hasn’t slept all night in a bed f’r tin years. ‘Tis Hinnery this an’ Hinnery that; Hinnery up th’ Nile an’ Hinnery to Injy; Hinnery here an’ Hinnery there. Th’ cuffs iv his shirt is made iv th’ time cards iv railroads. Ivry time they’se a change in schedool he ordhers new shirts. He knows th’ right iv way fr’m Berlin to Ballymaehoo; he speaks all known languages, an’ ivrywhere he goes he makes a frind or an inimy, which is th’ same thing to th’ Germans. He carries a sample case undher wan arm an’ a gun undher th’ other, an’ if ye don’t like Rhine wine perhaps ye’ll take lead. On second considherations he won’t shoot ye but he’ll sell ye th’ Krupp. They’se more where it come fr’m. “I tell ye, Hinnissy, this Impror or Kaiser iv Germany is a smart man. I used to think ’twas not so. I thought he had things unaisy in his wheel-house. I mind whin he got th’ job, ivrywan says: ‘Look out f’r war. This wild man will he in that office f’r a year whin he’ll just about declare fight with th’ wurruld.’ An’ ivrybody framed up f’r him. But look ye what happened. ‘Tis twinty years since he was swore in an’ ne’er a fight has he had. Ivrybody else has been in throuble. A screw-maker iv a sindintary life has ploonged England into a war; me frinds th’ Greeks that were considhered about akel to a flush iv anger over a raid on a push cart has mixed it up with th’ Turks; th’ Japs has been at war, an’ th’ Dagoes; our own peace-lovin’ nation has been runnin’ wan short an’ wan serryal war, an’ aven th’ Chinese has got their dandher up, be hivins, but Willum, th’ Middleweight Champeen, Willum th’ Potsdam Game Chicken, Willum, th’ Unterdenlinden Cyclone, Willum has been ladin’ th’ ca’m an’ prosperous life iv a delicatessen dealer undher a turner hall. He’s had no fights. He niver will have anny fights. He’ll go to his grave with th’ repytation iv nayether winnin’ nor losin’ a battle, but iv takin’ down more forfeits thin anny impror pugilist iv our time. “What do I think iv him? Well, sir, I think he’s not a fighter but a fight lover. Did ye iver see wan iv thim young men that always has a front seat at a scrap so near th’ ring that whin th’ second blows th’ wather he gets what’s left on his shirt front? Well, that’s me frind Willum. He is a pathron iv spoort an’ not a spoort. His ideel is war but he’s a practical man. He has a season ticket to th’ matches but he niver will put on the gloves. He’s in the spoortin’ goods business an’ he usu’lly gets a percintage iv th’ gate receipts. If he sees two nations bellowin’ at each other th’ assurances iv their distinguished considheration, he says: ‘Boys, get together. ‘Tis a good match. Ye’re both afraid. Go in, uncle; go in, Boer.’ He is all around th’ ringside, encouragin’ both sides. ‘Stand up again’ him there, Paul; rassle him to th’ flure. Good f’r ye, uncle. A thrifle low, that wan, but all’s fair in war. Defind ye’er indipindance, noble sons iv Teutonic blood. Exercise ye’er sov’reign rights, me English frinds.’ If wan or th’ other begins to weaken th’ first bottle through th’ ropes is Willum’s. Whin annybody suggests a dhraw, he demands his money back. Nawthin’ but a fight to a finish will do him. If ayether iv th’ contestants is alive in th’ ring at th’ end, he congratulates him an’ asks him if he heerd that German cheer in th’ las’ round. “Oh, he’s good. He’ll do all right, that German man. In high di-plomacy, he’s what in low di-plomacy wud be called a happy jollyer. But he knows that if a man’s always slappin’ ye on th’ back, ye begin to think he’s weak; so he first shakes his fist undher ye’er nose an’ thin slaps ye on th’ back. Sometimes he does both at th’ same time. An’ he’s got th’ thrue jollyer’s way iv provin’ to ye that he’s ye’er frind alone an’ th’ deadly inimy iv all others. He’s got th’ Czar iv Rooshya hypnotized, th’ King iv England hugged to a standstill, an’ th’ Impror iv Chiny in tears. An’ he’s made thim all think th’ first thing annywan knows, he’ll haul off an’ swing on wan iv th’ others. “So, havin’ fixed ivrything up in Europe, he cast his eyes on this counthry, an’ says he: ‘I think I’ll have to dazzle thim furriners somewhat. They’ve got a round-headed man f’r prisidint that was born with spurs on his feet an’ had a catridge-belt f’r a rattle, an’ some day his goolash won’t agree with him an’ he’ll call th’ bluff I’ve been makin’ these manny years. What’ll I do to make thim me frinds so that ‘twud be like settin’ fire to their own house to attackt me? Be hivins, I’ve got it. They’re a dimmycratic people. I’ll sind thim a prince. They can’t keep him away, an’ whin he lands, th’ German popylation’ll come out an’ get up schootzenfists f’r him an’ me fellow impror acrost th’ say’ll see how manny iv them there ar-re, an’ he’ll think twict befure he makes faces at me. F’r, wanst a German, always a German be it iver so far,’ he says. ‘I’ll sind thim Hinnery. Hinnery! Turn in th’ alarm f’r Hinnery,’ he says. Hinnery slides down th’ pole an’ th’ Impror says: ‘Brother, catch th’ night boat f’r America an’ pay a visit to whativer king they have there. Take along annywan ye like an’ as manny thrunks as ye need, an’ stay as long as ye plaze. Don’t ring. Back th’ dhray again’ th’ front dure an’ hurl ye’ersilf into th’ first bed room ye see. Act just as if ye was me,’ he says. ‘But I’m not invited,’ says Hinnery. ‘Write ye’er own invitation,’ says Willum. ‘Here’s th’ answer: ‘Fellow Potyntate, Ye’ers iv th’ second instant askin’ me brother Hinnery to spind a year with ye, not received. In reply will say that nawthin’ cud give me gr-reater pleasure. He can stay as long as he plazes. Him an’ his soot will not need more thin th’ whole house, so ye can have th’ barn to ye’ersilf. If ye have a brother, don’t neglect to sind him over to see me. I know a good hotel at four a day, all included but candles, an’ if he stands at th’ front window, he can see me go by anny day. Ye’ers, Willum, Rex an’ a shade more.’ “So here comes Hinnery, an’ we’re goin’ to give him a gloryous rayciption. Th’ war vessels will be out to welcome him, th’ prisidint will meet him at th’ dock an’ he will be threated to wan continyous round iv schutzenfists, turnd’yeminds, sangerbunds, katzenjammers, skats, an’ other German fistivals. Th’ aristocracy iv New York is practicin’ Dutch an’ th’ Waldorf-Astorya will be festooned with dachshunds. He’ll see more Germans an’ more German Germans thin he iver see in Prooshya. An’ I hope he’ll have a good time.” “I wondher what Tiddy Rosenfelt thinks iv it?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “Well, what wud ye think if ye’d had to intertain a German Prince unawares? Ye’d give him th’ best ye’d got, ye’d dig up a bottle iv Knockimheimer down th’ sthreet an’ ye’d see that he got a noodle ivry time he reached. An’ whin he wint away, ye’d go as far as th’ dure with him an’ pat him on th’ back an’ say: ‘Good-bye, good-bye, Hinnery. Good-bye, Hans. Guten nobben, oof veedersayin, me boy. Good luck to ye. Look out f’r that shtep! There ye ar-re. Be careful iv th’ gate. D’ye think ye can get home all right? I’d go as far as th’ car with ye if I had me coat on. Well, good-bye lanksman. Raymimber me to ye’er brother. Tell him not to f’rget that little matther. Oh, of coorse, they’se no counthry in th’ wurruld like Germany an’ we’re uncivilized an’ rapacyous an’ will get our heads knocked off if we go into a fight. Good-bye, mein frind.’ An’ whin ye’d shut th’ dure on him, ye’d say: ‘Well, what d’ye think iv that?’” Prince Henry’s Reception “That Prince Hinnery seems to be havin’ a good time,” said Mr. Hennessy. “He’s havin’ th’ time iv his life,” said Mr. Dooley. “Not since th’ Hohnezollern fam’ly was founded be wan iv th’ ablest burglars iv th’ middle ages has anny prince injyed such a spree as this wan. Ye see, a prince is a gr-reat man in th’ ol’ counthry, but he niver is as gr-reat over there as he is here. Whin he’s at home he’s something th’ people can’t help an’ they don’t mind him. He’s like an iron lamp post, station’ry, ornymintal, an’ useful to let people know where they are. But whin he comes to this home iv raypublican simplicity, he’s all that th’ wurrud prince wud imply, an’ it implies more to us thin to annywan else. I tell ye, we’re givin’ him th’ best we have in th’ shop. We’re showin’ him that whativer riv’rince we may feel tow’rd George Wash’nton, it don’t prejudice us again’ live princes. Th’ princes we hate is thim that are dead an’ harmless. We’ve rayceived him with open arms, an’ I’ll say this f’r him, that f’r a German he’s a good fellow. “That’s as far as I care to go, havin’ lived f’r manny years among th’ Germans. I’m not prejudiced again’ thim, mind ye. They make good beer an’ good citizens an’ mod-rate polismen, an’ they are fond iv their fam’lies an’ cheese. But wanst a German, always Dutch. Ye cudden’t make Americans iv thim if ye called thim all Perkins an’ brought thim up in Worcester. A German niver ra-aly leaves Germany. He takes it with him wheriver he goes. Whin an Irishman is four miles out at sea he is as much an American as Presarved Fish. But a German is niver an American excipt whin he goes back to Germany to see his rilitives. He keeps his own language, he plays pinochle, he despises th’ dhrink iv th’ counthry, his food is sthrange an’ he on’y votes f’r Germans f’r office, or if he can’t get a German, f’r somewan who’s again’ th’ Irish. I bet ye, if ye was to suddenly ask Schwarzmeister where he is, he’d say: ‘At Hockheimer in Schwabia.’ He don’t ra-aly know he iver come to this counthry. I’ve heerd him talkin’ to himsilf. He always counts in German. “But I say about Prince Hinnery that f’r a German he’s all right an’ I’m glad he come. I hear he wrote home to his brother that is th’ Imp’ror over there: ‘Dear Willum: This is a wondherful counthry, an’ they’ve give me a perfectly killin’ rayciption. I’ve almost died laughin’. We was met forty miles out at sea be a band on a raft playin’ th’ Watch on th’ Rhine. We encountered another band playin’ th’ same plazin’ harmony ivry five miles till we got up to New York. I wisht I had come over on a man-iv-war. In th’ Bay we was surrounded be a fleet iv tugs carryin’ riprisintatives iv th’ press, singin’ th’ Watch on th’ Rhine. I rayceived siveral offers through a migaphone to write an article about what ye say in ye’er sleep f’r th’ pa-apers, but I declined thim, awaitin’ insthructions fr’m ye. At th’ dock we was greeted be a band playin’ th’ Watch on th’ Rhine an’ afther some delay, caused be th’ Delicatessen Sangerbund holdin’ us while they sung th’ Watch on th’ Rhine, we stepped ashore on a gangplank neatly formed be th’ guv’nor iv th’ state holdin’ onto th’ feet iv th’ mayor, him clutchin’ th’ iditor iv th’ Staats Zeitung an’ so on, th’ gangplank singin’ th’ Watch on th’ Rhine as we walked to th’ dock. “‘I am much imprissed be New York. I hate it. Th’ buildin’s are very high here but th’ language is higher. If I was to go home now, ye wudden’t know me. Afther I hear a speech I don’t dare to look in th’ glass f’r fear I might be guilty iv treason to ye, mein lieber. Our illustrious ancesthor, Fridrick th’ Great, was a cheap an’ common man compared to me, an’ ye, august brother, niver got by th’ barrier. I hope I’ll have time to cool down befure I get home or ye’ll have to lock me up. “‘They’re givin’ me th’ fine line iv entertainmint. Ivrywhere I go, they’se music or something that does as well. I have a musical insthrument called a catastrophone in me room that plays th’ Watch on th’ Rhine whin I go in at night an’ get up in th’ mornin’. Whin I go out on th’ sthreet, th’ crowd cries “Hock th’ Kaiser.” I wish they’d stop hockin’ ye, dear brother, an’ hock th’ Watch on th’ Rhine. (This here is an American joke. I’m gettin’ on fast.) I’m goin’ to be took to th’ opry some night this week. They’ve fired a lot iv la-ads out iv their boxes to make room f’r me. Wan iv thim objected, but he was fired annyhow. Aftherward I’m goin’ to ate dinner with th’ iditors iv th’ counthry. Won’t that be nice? I suppose I’m th’ first Hohnezollern that iver took dinner with an iditor, though our fam’ly has often given thim food an’ lodgin’–in jail. I wish ye was here to go with me. Ye’ve had more journylistic expeeryence an’ manny iv th’ things ye’ve had printed wudden’t seem too unthrue to th’ other guests. Th’ newspapers has been mos’ kind to me, I might say almost too kind. I am sindin’ ye a photygraft iv mesilf in me bath, took be flashlight be an iditor concealed on th’ top iv th’ clothes press, an’ an interview be a lady rayporther who riprisinted hersilf as th’ Queen iv Ohio. “‘But th’ big ivint comes off tomorrah. I am actually invited to a dinner iv wan hundherd iv th’ riprisintative business men iv New York an’ a few Christyans ast in aftherward. Hooray, hooray! Mind ye, these ar-re not ordhn’ry business men. Far fr’m it. No one gets in unless he has made at laste eight millyion marks out iv th’ sivinty millyion marks in this counthry. An’ I’m ast to meet thim! What fun! I bet ’twill be jolly. I’m goin’ to buy me a table f’r computin’ inthrest, a copy iv th’ naytional bankin’ act an’ a good account iv th’ thransactions in sterlin’ exchange f’r th’ current year an’ whin th’ quip an’ jest go round, I’ll be no skeleton at th’ feast. “‘Ye can see be this that me life has been almost too gay, but th’ merrymint goes blithely on. Fr’m here I go to Bawstown where I expict to pat th’ Bunker Hill monymint on th’ head an’ have a look at th’ new railway station. Then I will take in Buffly, Cichago (pro-nounced Sichawgo), Saint Looey, Three Rapids, Idaho, Pinnsylvanya, an’ mos’ iv th’ large cities iv th’ west, includin’ Chatahooga where wan iv th’ gr-reat battles iv th’ rivolution was fought between Gin’ral Sigel an’ Gin’ral Zollycoffer. I ixpict to larn a good deal about th’ steel, pork, corn, lard an’ lithrachoor iv th’ counthry befure I rayturn. But this buttherfly existence is killin’ me. It is far too gay. I suppose whin I was younger, I wud’ve injyed it, but me time f’r socyal fistivities has passed an’ I long f’r th’ quiet iv home life among th’ simple ryelties iv Europe. Ye’ers, Hinnery.’ “Yes, he’s havin’ a good time. But what th’ pa-apers calls th’ climax iv th’ intertainmint will be reached whin he arrives in Chicago. Schwartzmeister an’ I will rayceive him. Schwartzmeister’s fam’ly knew his in th’ ol’ counthry. He had an uncle that was booted all th’ way fr’m Sedan to Paris be a cousin iv th’ Prince. We’ve arranged th’ programme as far as Ar-rchey road is consarned. Monday mornin’, visit to Kennedy’s packin’ house; afthernoon, Riordan’s blacksmith shop; avenin’, ‘Th’ Two Orphans,’ at th’ Halsted sthreet opry house. Choosdah, iliven A.M., inspiction iv th’ rollin’ mills ; afthernoon, visit to Feeney’s coal yard; avenin’, ‘Bells iv Corneville,’ at th’ opry house. Winsdah mornin’, tug ride on th’ river fr’m Thirty-first sthreet to Law’s coal yard; afthernoon, a call on th’ tanneries, th’ cable barn an’ th’ brick yards; avenin’, dinner an’ rayciption be th’ retail saloonkeepers. There’s th’ whole programme. They may think in New York they are givin’ him a good time but we’ll show him what gayety ra-aly is, an’ inform him iv th’ foundation iv our supreemacy as a nation. That’s what he wants to see an’ we’ll show it to him.” “Goowan,” said Mr. Hennessy. “He don’t know ye.” “I bet ye he knows me as much as he knows thim,” said Mr. Dooley. “To a ra-ale prince, they can’t be much diff’rence between a man who sells liquor be th’ pail an’ wan that sells it be th’ distillery, between a man that makes a horseshoe an’ wan that makes a mlllyion tons iv steel. We’re all alike to him–Carnaygie, Rockyfellar, Morgan, Schwartzmeister an’ me.” “Well, he certainly has been well rayceived,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I wondher,” said Mr. Dooley, “if he thinks ’tis on th’ square!” Cuba vs. Beet Sugar “What’s all this about Cubia an’ th’ Ph’lippeens?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “What’s beet sugar?” “Th’ throuble about Cubia is that she’s free; th’ throuble about beet sugar is we’re not; an’ th’ throuble about th’ Ph’lippeens is th’ Ph’lippeen throuble,” said Mr. Dooley. “As rega-ards Cubia, she’s like a woman that th’ whole neighborhood helps to divoorce fr’m a crool husband, but nivertheless a husband, an’ a miserable home but a home, an’ a small credit at th’ grocery but a credit, an’ thin whin she goes into th’ dhressmakin’ business, rayfuse to buy annything fr’m her because she’s a divoorced woman. We freed Cubia but we didn’t free annything she projooces. It wasn’t her fault. We didn’t think. We expicted that all we had to do was to go down to Sandago with a kinetoscope an’ sthrike th’ shackles fr’m th’ slave an’ she’d be comfortable even if she had no other protiction f’r her poor feet. We f’rgot about th’ Beet. Most iv us niver thought about that beautiful but fragile flower excipt biled in conniction with pigs’ feet or pickled in its own life juice. We didn’t know that upon th’ Beet hangs th’ fate iv th’ nation, th’ hope iv th’ future, th’ permanence iv our instichoochions an’ a lot iv other things akelly precious. Th’ Beet is th’ naytional anthem an’, be hivins, it looks as though it might be th’ naytional motto befure long. “Well, Cubia got her freedom or something that wud look like th’ same thing if she kept it out iv th’ rain, but somehow or another it didn’t suit her entirely. A sort iv cravin’ come over her that it was hard to tell fr’m th’ same feelin’ iv vacancy that she knew whin she was opprissed be th’ Hated Casteel. Hunger, Hinnissy, is about th’ same thing in a raypublic as in a dispotism. They’se not much choice iv unhappiness between a hungry slave an’ a hungry freeman. Cubia cudden’t cuk or wear freedom. Ye can’t make freedom into a stew an’ ye can’t cut a pair iv pants out iv it. It won’t bile, fry, bake or fricassee. Ye can’t take two pounds iv fresh creamery freedom, a pound iv north wind, a heapin’ taycupfull iv naytional aspirations an’ a sprinklin’ iv bars fr’m th’ naytional air, mix well, cuk over a hot fire an’ sarve sthraight fr’m th’ shtove; ye can’t make a dish out iv that that wud nourish a tired freeman whin he comes home afther a hard day’s wurruk lookin’ f’r a job. So Cubia comes te us an’ says she: ‘Ye done well by us,’ she says. ‘Ye give us freedom,’ says she, ‘an’ more thin enough to go round,’ she says, ‘an’ now if ye plaze we’d like to thrade a little iv it bhack f’r a few groceries,’ she says. ‘We will wear wan shackle f’r a ham,’ says she, ‘an’ we’ll put on a full raygalia iv ball an’ chain an’ yoke an’ fetters an’ come-alongs f’r a square meal,’ says she. “That sounds raisonable enough an’ bein’ be nature a gin’rous people whin we don’t think, we’re about to help her disthress with whativer we have cold in th’ panthry whin th’ thought iv th’ Beet crosses our minds. What will th’ Beet say, th’ red, th’ juicy, th’ sacchrine Beet, th’ Beet iv our Fathers, th’ Beet iv Plymouth Rock, Beet iv th’ Pilgrim’s Pride, Sweet Beet iv Liberty, iv thee I sing? If we do annything f’r Cubia, down goes th’ Beet, an’ with th’ Beet perishes our instichoochions. Th’ constichoochion follows th’ Beet ex propria vigore, as Hogan says. Th’ juice iv th’ Beet is th’ life blood iv our nation. Whoiver touches a hair iv yon star spangled Beet, shoot him on th’ spot. A bold Beet industhry a counthry’s pride whin wanst desthroyed can niver be supplied. ‘Beet sugar an’ Liberty Now an’ Foriver, wanan’ insiprable’–Dan’l Webster. ‘Thank Gawd I–I also–am a Beet’–th’ same. ‘Gover’mint iv th’ Beet, by th’ Beet an’ f’r th’ Beet shall not perish fr’m th’ earth,’–Abraham Lincoln. An’ so, Hinnissy, we put th’ pie back into th’ ice-chest where we keep our honor an’ ginerosity an’ lock th’ dure an’ Cubia goes home, free an’ hopeless. D’ye think so? Well, I don’t. Be hivins, Hinnissy, I think th’ time has come whin we’ve got to say whether we’re a nation iv Beets. I am no serf, but I’d rather be bent undher th’ dispotism iv a Casteel thin undher th’ tyranny iv a Beet. If I’ve got to be a slave, I’d rather be wan to a man, even a Spanish man, thin to a viggytable. If I’m goin’ to he opprissed be a Beet, let it be fr’m th’ inside not fr’m without. I’ll choose me masther, Hinnissy, an’ whin I do, ’twill not be that low-lyin’, purple-complected, indygistible viggytable. I may bend me high head to th’ egg-plant, th’ potato, th’ cabbage, th’ squash, th’ punkin, th’ sparrow-grass, th’ onion, th’ spinach, th’ rutabaga turnip, th’ Fr-rench pea or th’ parsnip, but ’twill niver be said iv me that I was subjygated be a Beet. No, sir. Betther death. I’m goin’ to begin a war f’r freedom. I’m goin’ to sthrike th’ shackles fr’m a slave an’ I’m him. I’m goin’ to organize a rig’mint iv Rough Riders an’ whin I stand on th’ top iv San Joon hill with me soord in me hand an’ me gleamin’ specs on me nose, ye can mark th’ end iv th’ domination iv th’ Beet in th’ western wurruld. F’r, Hinnissy, I tell ye what, if th’ things I hear fr’m Wash’nton is thrue, that other war iv freedom stopped befure it was half done.” “An’ what about th’ Ph’lippeens?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “They’se nawthin’ to say about th’ Ph’lippeens,” said Mr. Dooley, “excipt that th’ throuble down there is all over.” “All over?” “All over.” Bad Men From The West “I see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “th’ Sinit has rayfused f’r to confirm th’ nommynation iv a man f’r an office out West because he’d been in jail.” “Pro-fissyonal jealousy,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ye see, th’ fact iv th’ matther is th’ Sinit don’t know what th’ people iv th’ Far West want an’ th’ prisidint does. Th’ Sinit thinks th’ jooty iv th’ counthry to th’ land iv th’ tarantuly is done if they sind out a man too weak in th’ lungs to stay in th’ East an’ wan that can multiply com-pound fractions in his head. But th’ prisidint he knows that what’s needed in th’ Far West is active, intilligent officers that can shoot through th’ pocket. Th’ other day it become necess’ry to thrust on th’ impeeryal terrytory iv Aryzony a competint person f’r to administher th’ laws an’ keep th’ peace iv said community, an’ th’ pollyticians in Wash’nton was f’r givin’ thim somewan fr’m Connecticut or Rhode Island with a cough an’ a brother in th’ legislachure. But th’ prisidint says no. ‘No,’ he says, ‘none but th’ best,’ he says, f’r th’ domain iv th’ settin’ sun, ‘he says. ‘I know th’ counthry well,’ he says, ‘an’ to cope with th’ hardy spirits iv Aryzony ’tis issintial we shud have a man that can plug a coyote fr’m th’ hip at fifty paces,’ he says. ‘How can you dhraw to yon hectic flush so’s to make him good again’ th’ full hands iv thim communities where life is wan gay an’ tireless round iv shoot,’ he says. ‘Ye can’t expict him to riprisint th’ majesty iv th’ govermint iv Wash’nton an’ Lincoln. He’d be bucked off befure he got his feet in th’ sturrups. No, sir, th’ man iv me choice is Tarantula Jake, th’ whirlwind iv Zuina Pass. This imminint statesman has pocketed more balls thin anny other disperado west iv Tucson, an’ anny docymints iv state enthrusted to his hands is sure to be delivered to their object,’ he says, ‘or,’ he says, ‘th’ heirs iv th’ object,’ he says. “‘But,’ says th’ Sinit, ‘he lost an ear in a fight.’ “‘A boyish error,’ says th’ prisidint. ‘Th’ man threw th’ knife at him,’ he says. “‘And he kilt a man,’ says they. “‘Ye do him an injustice,’ says th’ prisidint. ‘Kilt a man, says ye! Kilt a man! Such is fame. Why,’ he says, ‘he’s kilt more men thin th’ Sinit has repytations,’ he says. ‘Ye might jus’ as well say me frind Sinitor Bivridge wanst made a speech, or that Shakespere wrote a play, or that it’s a fine tooth I have. If all th’ people Jake has kilt was alive to-day, we’d be passin’ congisted disthrict ligislachion f’r Aryzony. Kilt a man is it? I give ye me wurrud that ye can hardly find wan home in Aryzony, fr’m th’ proudest doby story-an’-a-half palace iv th’ rich to th’ lowly doby wan-story hut iv th’ poor, that this flagrant pathrite hasn’t deprived iv at laste wan ornymint. Didn’t I tell ye he is a killer? I didn’t mane a man that on’y wanst in a while takes a life. He’s a rale killer. He’s no retailer. He’s th’ Armour iv that particular line iv slaughter. Ye don’t suppose that I’d propose f’r to enthrust him with a lofty constichoochinal mission if he on’y kilt wan man. Me notions iv th’ jooties iv public office is far higher thin that, I thank hivin. Besides in th’ case ye speak iv ’twas justifiable homicide. He had ast th’ man to dhrink with him. No, sir, I have examined his record carefully an’ I find him fully equipped f’r anny emergency. He niver misses. He’s th’ man f’r th’ place, th’ quick dhrawin’, readily passionate, hammerless gun firin’ Terror iv th’ Great Desert.’ “But th’ Sinit didn’t approve iv him. Th’ sinitor fr’m Matsachoosetts, where human life is held so cheap that no wan thinks iv takin’ it, pro-tested again’ him, an’ ’twas fin’lly discovered that early in his career he’d been caught runnin’ off a bunch iv cows an’ pushed into jail, an’ that was too much f’r th’ hon’rable body, hardly wan member iv which has iver been caught. So they give Jake th’ go-by. “But it’ll come out all right in th’ end. Th’ prisidint knows what th’ West wants an’ he ‘ll get it f’r thim. Th’ West is no effete community, where th’ folks likes a quiet book-keepin’ life, an early supper, a game iv cards, lock th’ windy, wind th’ clock an’ so to bed. That may do f’r th’ East. But in th’ West, we demand Sthrenuse Life an’ Sudden Death. We’re people out here on th’ des’late plains where th’ sun sets pink acrost th’ gray desert an’ th’ scorpion clings to th’ toe. We don’t want pianny tuners or plasther saints to govern us. We want men who go to bed with their spurs on, an’ can break a gun without spikin’ their thumbs. We’ll have thim too. Undher precedin’ administhrations, th’ job wint to th’ la-ads with no more qualifications thin is needed to run a dairy lunch. Some iv th’ bes’ places in th’ West is held be th’ poorest shots, while men capable iv th’ mos’ sthrikin’ gun plays is left to devote their talents to private functions. An’ they call that th’ merit system! I expict th’ time is near at hand whin justice will be done thim worthy citizens. At prisint whin a man is needed f’r a govermint office, he is called on to set down with a sheet of pa-aper an’ a pot iv ink an’ say how manny times eight-an’-a-half will go into a line dhrawn fr’m th’ base iv th’ hypothenoose, an’ if he makes th’ answer bright an’ readable, they give him a place administherin’ th’ affairs iv a proud people that cudden’t tell a hypothenoose fr’m a sea-lion. But whin things gets goin’ right undher this administhration, th’ civil sarvice commission consistin’ iv th’ Hon. Bill Cody, th’ Hon. Texas Jack, an’ th’ Hon. Bat Masterson will put th’ boys through an examination that’ll bring out all there is in thim. I’m preparin’ a pa-aper f’r an examination iv candydates f’r sup’rintindint iv th’ Smithsonyan Institoot: “1. Describe a round-up. “2. Name five iv th’ best brands (a) cattle (b) whiskey, ye have used. “3. Afther makin’ a cinch, is it proper f’r to always kick th’ critter in th’ stomach or on’y whin ye feel like it? “4. Undher what circumstances shud a Mexican not be shot, and if so, why? “5. How long shud a tinderfoot dance befure he is entitled to live? “6. Name eighty reasons f’r dhrawin’ a gun. “7. State ye’er opinyion iv sheep men. “8. Write a brief account iv th’ life an’ death iv Billy th’ Kid. “Iv coorse, Hinnissy, this is on’y a part iv th’ exercise. They’ll be practical tests as well. Th’ iligible list’ll be taken out into th’ yard an’ required to shoot at movin’ an’ stationary targets, at pedesthreens an’ horsemen, fr’m th’ pocket, fr’m th’ hip, over th’ shouldher, fr’m a window with a sawed-off shot gun, an’ so on. They’ll be required to bust a buckin’ bronc, cut out a steer fr’m th’ herd without stampedin’ th’ rest, lassoo movin’ objects an’ give other exhibitions iv science. An’ th’ la-ad that wins out’ll have to defind his job again’ all comers f’r a month. “I want to see this day. We’re a nation iv hayroes, an’ none but hayroes shud enjye th’ spoil. Thin we’ll read that th’ Hon. Mike McCorker has been appinted Ambassadure to England: ‘Mike is wan iv th’ mos’ detarmined statesmen between Rapid City an’ Rawlins. His early life was spint in seclusion, owin’ to a little diff’rence about a horse, but he had no sooner appeared in public life thin he made his mark on th’ marshal iv Red Gulch. He applied himsilf to his chosen career with such perseverance an’ so thrue an aim that within two years he had risen to th’ head iv his pro-fission, a position that he has since held without interruption excipt durin’ th’ peryod whin th’ Hon. Grindle H. Gash shelled him f’r three days with a howitzer. His remarkable night attack on that gallant but sleepy statesman will not soon be f’rgotten. A great ovation will be given Bill whin he pulls his freight f’r th’ coort iv Saint James. Some iv th’ boys is loadin’ up f’r it already, an’ near all th’ Chinese has moved into th’ hills. Ambassadure Gash was a Rough Rider durin’ th’ late Cubian War. “‘Th’ appintment iv Judge Rufus Flush to be Chief Justice iv th’ United States Supreeme Coort is hailed with delight be all citizens iv New Mexico. Judge Flush is th’ recognized authority on gun shot wounds an’ lynch law in th’ Southwest, besides bein’ in private life a pretty handy man with knife or gun himsilf. He was wan iv th’ first men up San Joon Hill on th’ mim’rable day. “‘Th’ sicrety iv state was visited yisterdah be throop B iv th’ Rough Riders, includin’ th’ sicrety iv th’ threesury, th’ postmasther gin’ral, nine disthrick judges, forty postmasthers, an’ wan hundherd an’ eight collictors iv intarnal rivinoo. Th’ conversation was informal, but it is undhershtud that th’ advisability iv an excursion to Boston to shoot up th’ anti-impeeryalist saloons was discussed. Th’ prisidint dhropped in durin’ th’ conference an’ greeted all prisint be their first name, which is Bill. There was some good-natured chaff as to which iv th’ gintlemen was first at th’ top iv San Joon Hill befure th’ meetin’ broke up. Th’ postmasther gin’ral is sufferin’ fr’m a slight knife wound.’” “Ar-re all th’ people West iv th’ park shootin’ men?” asked Mr. Hennessy timidly. “I think so,” said Mr. Dooley, “but a man that’s been out there tells me not. He says annywan but an Englishman cud go fr’m wan end iv th’ West to th’ other without carryin’ a gun, an’ that people that kill each other are not considhered rayspictable in Tucson anny more thin they wud be in Eysther Bay, but that they are mostly dhrunk men an’ th’ like iv that. Th’ towns, he says, is run be fellows that sell ribbons, milk, yeast, spool thread an’ pills an’ pull teeth an’ argye little foolish law suits, just as th’ towns down here are run, an’ th’ bad men are more afraid iv thim thin they are iv each other. He says there are things doin’ out West that niver get into th’ dime novels, an’ that whin people lose their lives they do it more often in a saw mill or a smelter thin in a dance hail. He says so but I don’t believe him.” “I suppose,” said Mr. Hennessy, “a man iv me peaceable disposition wud niver get a job.” “Make a repytation,” said Mr. Dooley. “Buy a gun.” European Intervention “Th’ question befure th’ house is,” said Mr. Dooley, “which wan iv th’ Euro-peen powers done mos’ f’r us in th’ Spanish war.” “I thought they were all again’ us,” said Mr. Hennessy. “So did I,” said Mr. Dooley, “but I done thim an injustice. I was crool to thim crowned heads. If it hadn’t been f’r some wan power, an’ I can’t make out which it was, th’ Cubians to-day wud be opprissed be th’ Casteel instead iv th’ Beet Sugar Thrust an’ th’ Filipinos’d be shot be Mausers instead iv Krag-Jorgensens. Some wan power sthretched out its hand an’ said, ‘No. No,’ it said, ‘thus far but no farther. We will not permit this misguided but warrum-hearted little people to be crushed be th’ ruffyan power iv Spain,’ it said. ‘Niver,’ it said, ‘shall histhry record that th’ United States iv America, nestlin’ there in its cosy raypublic fr’m th’ Atlantic to th’Passyfic, was desthroyed an’ th’ hurtage iv liberty that they robbed fr’m us wasted because we did not give thim support,’ it says. An’ so whin th’ future looked darkest, whin we didn’t know whether th’ war wud last eight or be prolonged f’r tin weary, thragic minyits, whin it seemed as though th’ Spanish fleet wud not sink unless shot at, some kindly power was silently comfortin’ us an’ sayin’ to itsilf: ‘I do so hope they’ll win, if they can.’ But I don’t know which wan it was. “At first I thought it was England. Whiniver ye hear iv anny counthry helpin’ us, ye think it is England. That’s because England has helped us so much in th’ past. Says Lord Cranburne in reply to a question in th’ House iv Commons: ‘I am reluctantly foorced be mesilf to blushin’ly admit that but f’r us, people on their way to China to-day wud be gettin’ up an’ lookin’ over th’ side iv th’ ship an’ sayin’, “This is where America used to be.” Whin war was first discussed, mesilf an’ th’ rest iv th’ fam’ly met an’ decided that unless prompt action was took, our cousins an’ invistmints acrost th’ sea wud be damaged beyond repair, so we cabled our ambassadure to go at wanst to th’ White House an’ inform th’ prisidint that we wud regard th’ war as a crool blot on civilization an’ an offinse to th’ intillygince iv mankind. I am glad to say our inthervintion was iffycacious. War was immeedjately declared. I will not tell ye how high our hearts beat as we r-read th’ news fr’m day to day. Ye know. I will on’y say that we insthructed our ambassadure to do ivrything in his power to help our kinsmen an’ he faithfully ixicuted his ordhers. He practically lived at th’ White House durin’ th’ thryin’ peeryod, an’ his advice to th’ prisidint such as: “If ye go on with this binnyficint war th’ United Powers will knock ye’er head off,” or “I think I can secure fav’rable terms fr’m th’ Powers if ye will abdicate in favor iv a riprisintative iv th’ house iv Bourbon an’ cede New England to Spain,” done more thin annything else to put heart into th’ American foorces. I will add that durin’ this time we was approached be an ambassadure iv wan iv th’ powers who ast us to inthervene. I will not say which power it was, excipt that it was Austhrya-Hungary an’ I’m previnted be th’ obligations iv me office fr’m mintionin’ what powers was behind th’ move beyond hintin’ that they was as follows: Germany, France, Rooshya, It’ly, China, Turkey, Monaco, San Marino, Boolgahrya, Montinaygro, Booloochistan an’ Pershya. Pah’s reply to th’ ambassadure was: “I will do all I can” as he kicked him down stairs. It ill becomes me to say what else we done f’r that home iv freedom–an’ hiven knows I wisht it’d stay there an’ not be wandherin’ over th’ face iv th’ wurruld–but I’m not proud iv me looks an’ I will remark that Tiddy Rosenfelt was capably directed be th’ iditors iv England, thim hearts iv oak, that th’ American navy was advised be our mos’ inargetic corryspondints an’ that, to make th’ raysult certain, we lint a few British gin’rals to th’ Spanish. Cud frindship go farther? As they say in America: “I reckon, be gosh, not.”‘ “Well, whin I read this speech I was prepared to hang th’ medal f’r savin’ life on th’ breasts iv th’ hands acrost th’ sea where there’s always plinty iv hooks f’r medals. But th’ nex’ day, I picks up th’ pa-aper an’ sees that ’twas not England done it but Germany. Yes, sir, ’twas Germany. Germany was our on’y frind. They was a time whin it looked as though she was goin’ to shoot at us to keep us fr’m th’ consequences iv our rash act. They’se nawthin’ Germany wudden’t do for or to a frind. Yes, it was Germany. But it was France, too. La Belle France was there with a wurrud iv encouragemint an’ a glance iv affection out iv her dark eyes that kep’ growin’ darker as th’ war proceeded. An’ it was Rooshya. Whin th’ Czar heerd iv th’ war, th’ first thing he said was: ‘I’m so sorry. Who is th’ United States?’ ‘An’ ’twas It’ly an’ Booloochistan an’ Boolgahrya an’ even Spain. Spain was our frind till th’ war was over. Thin she rounded on us an’ sold us th’ Ph’lippines. “They was all our frinds an’ yet on’y wan iv thim was our frind. How d’ye make it out, Hinnissy? Hogan has a sayin’ that onaisy lies th’ head that wears a crown, but it seems to be as aisy f’r some iv thim as f’r th’ mos’ dimmycratic American. But whoiver it was that saved us I’m thankful to thim. It won’t do f’r ye to look at th’ map an’ say that th’ pow’rful protictin’ nation wud be hardly big enough f’r a watch charm f’r a man fr’m Texas, or that Europeen assistance f’r America is about as useful as a crutch f’r a foot-runner. But f’r th’ inthervention iv our unknown frind, we’d’ve been annihilated. Th’ powers wud’ve got together an’ they wud’ve sint over a fleet that wud’ve been turrble if it didn’t blow up an’ th’ crews didn’t get sea-sick. They wud’ve sint an irresistible ar-rmy; an’ fin’ly if all else failed, they wud