Chapter II: Part 2

"I larned all this fr'm th' papers, an' I know 'tis sthraight. An' yet, Hinnissy, I dinnaw what to do about th' Ph'lippeens. An' I'm all alone in th' wurruld. Ivrybody else has made up his mind. Ye ask anny con-ducthor on Ar-rchy R-road, an' he'll tell ye. Ye can find out fr'm the papers; an', if ye really want to know, all ye have to do is to ask a prom'nent citizen who can mow all th' lawn he owns with a safety razor. But I don't know."

"Hang on to thim," said Mr. Hennessy, stoutly. "What we've got we must hold."

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "if I was Mack, I'd lave it to George. I'd say: 'George,' I'd say, 'if ye're f'r hangin' on, hang on it is. If ye say, lave go, I dhrop thim.' 'Twas George won thim with th' shells, an' th' question's up to him."

ON PRAYERS FOR VICTORY.

"It looks to me," said Mr. Dooley, "as though me frind Mack'd got tired iv th' Sthrateejy Board, an' was goin' to lave th' war to th' men in black."

"How's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy, who has at best but a clouded view of public affairs.

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "while th' sthrateejans have been wearin' out their jeans on cracker-boxes in Wash'n'ton, they'se been goin' on th' mos' deadly conflict iver heerd tell iv between th' pow'rful preachin' navies iv th' two counthries. Manila is nawthin' at all to th' scenes iv carnage an' slaughter, as Hogan says, that's been brought about be these desthroyers. Th' Spanyards fired th' openin' gun whin th' bishop iv Cades, a pow'rful turreted monitor (ol' style), attackted us with both for'ard guns, an' sint a storm iv brimstone an' hell into us. But th' victhry was not f'r long with th' hated Spanyard. He was answered be our whole fleet iv preachers. Thin he was jined be th' bishop iv Barsaloona an' th' bishop iv Mahdrid an' th' bishop iv Havana, all battle-ships iv th' first class, followed be a fleet iv cruisers r-runnin' all th' way fr'm a full-ar-rmored vicar gin'ral to a protected parish priest. To meet thim, we sint th' bishop iv New York, th' bishop iv Philadelphia, th' bishop iv Baltimore, an' th' bishop iv Chicago, accompanied be a flyin' squadhron iv Methodists, three Presbyteryan monitors, a fleet iv Baptist submarine desthroyers, an' a formidable array iv Universalist an' Unitaryan torpedo boats, with a Jew r-ram. Manetime th' bishop iv Manila had fired a solid prayer, weighin' a ton, at San Francisco; an' a masked batthry iv Congregationalists replied, inflictin' severe damage. Our Atlantic fleet is now sarchin' f'r th' inimy, an' the bishop iv New York is blockadin' th' bishop iv Sandago de Cuba; an' they'se been an exchange iv prayers between th' bishop iv Baltimore an' th' bishop iv Havana without much damage.

"Th' Lord knows how it'll come out. First wan side prays that th' wrath iv Hiven'll descind on th' other, an' thin th' other side returns th' compliment with inthrest. Th' Spanish bishop says we're a lot iv murdherin', irreligious thieves, an' ought to be swept fr'm th' face iv th' earth. We say his people ar-re th' same, an' manny iv thim. He wishes Hivin to sink our ships an' desthroy our men; an' we hope he'll injye th' same gr-reat blessin'. We have a shade th' best iv him, f'r his fleets ar-re all iv th' same class an' ol' style, an' we have some iv th' most modhern prayin' machines in the warruld; but he prays har-rd, an' 'tis no aisy wurruk to silence him."

"What d'ye think about it?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "I dinnaw jus' what to think iv it. Me own idee is that war is not a matther iv prayers so much as a matther iv punchin'; an' th' on'y place a prayer book stops a bullet is in th' story books. 'Tis like what Father Kelly said. Three weeks ago las' Sundah he met Hogan; an' Hogan, wantin' to be smart, ast him if he'd offered up prayers f'r th' success iv th' cause. 'Faith, I did not,' says th' good man. 'I was in too much iv a hurry to get away.' 'What was th' matther?' ast Hogan. 'I had me uniform to brush up an' me soord to polish,' says Father Kelly. 'I am goin' with th' rig'mint to-morrah,' he says; an' he says, 'If ye hear iv me waitin' to pray,' he says, 'anny time they'se a call f'r me,' he says, 'to be in a fight,' he says, 'ye may conclude,' he says, 'that I've lost me mind, an' won't be back to me parish,' he says. 'Hogan,' he says, 'I'll go into th' battle with a prayer book in wan hand an' a soord in th' other,' he says; 'an' if th' wurruk calls f'r two hands, 'tis not th' soord I'll dhrop,' he says. 'Don't ye believe in prayer?' says Hogan. 'I do,' says th' good man; 'but,' he says, 'a healthy person ought,' he says, 'to be ashamed,' he says, 'to ask f'r help in a fight,' he says."

"That's th' way I look at it," said Mr. Hennessy. "When 'tis an aven thing in th' prayin', may th' best man win."

"Ye're r-right, Hinnissy," said Mr. Dooley, warmly. "Ye're r-right. An' th' best man will win."

ON THE ANGLO-SAXON.

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "I see be th' pa-apers that th' snow-white pigeon iv peace have tied up th' dogs iv war. It's all over now. All we've got to do is to arrest th' pathrites an' make th' reconcenthradios pay th' stamp tax, an' be r-ready f'r to take a punch at Germany or France or Rooshia or anny counthry on th' face iv th' globe.

"An' I'm glad iv it. This war, Hinnissy, has been a gr-reat sthrain on me. To think iv th' suffrin' I've endured! F'r weeks I lay awake at nights fearin' that th' Spanish ar-rmadillo'd lave the Cape Verde Islands, where it wasn't, an' take th' thrain out here, an' hur-rl death an' desthruction into me little store. Day be day th' pitiless exthries come out an' beat down on me. Ye hear iv Teddy Rosenfelt plungin' into ambus-cades an' Sicrity iv Wars; but d'ye hear iv Martin Dooley, th' man behind th' guns, four thousan' miles behind thim, an' willin' to be further? They ar-re no bokays f'r me. I'm what Hogan calls wan iv th' mute, ingloryous heroes iv th' war; an' not so dam mute, ayther. Some day, Hinnissy, justice'll be done me, an' th' likes iv me; an', whin th' story iv a gr-reat battle is written, they'll print th' kilt, th' wounded, th' missin', an' th' seryously disturbed. An' thim that have bore thimsilves well an' bravely an' paid th' taxes an' faced th' deadly newspa-apers without flinchin' 'll be advanced six pints an' given a chanst to tur-rn jack f'r th' game.

"But me wurruk ain't over jus' because Mack has inded th' war an' Teddy Rosenfelt is comin' home to bite th' Sicrety iv War. You an' me, Hinnissy, has got to bring on this here Anglo-Saxon 'lieance. An Anglo-Saxon, Hinnissy, is a German that's forgot who was his parents. They're a lot iv thim in this counthry. There must be as manny as two in Boston: they'se wan up in Maine, an' another lives at Bogg's Ferry in New York State, an' dhrives a milk wagon. Mack is an Anglo-Saxon. His folks come fr'm th' County Armagh, an' their naytional Anglo-Saxon hymn is 'O'Donnell Aboo.' Teddy Rosenfelt is another Anglo-Saxon. An' I'm an Anglo-Saxon. I'm wan iv th' hottest Anglo-Saxons that iver come out iv Anglo-Saxony. Th' name iv Dooley has been th' proudest Anglo-Saxon name in th' County Roscommon f'r many years.

"Schwartzmeister is an Anglo-Saxon, but he doesn't know it, an' won't till some wan tells him. Pether Bowbeen down be th' Frinch church is formin' th' Circle Francaize Anglo-Saxon club, an' me ol' frind Dominigo that used to boss th' Ar-rchey R-road wagon whin Callaghan had th' sthreet conthract will march at th' head iv th' Dago Anglo-Saxons whin th' time comes. There ar-re twinty thousan' Rooshian Jews at a quarther a vote in th' Sivinth Ward; an', ar-rmed with rag hooks, they'd be a tur-rble thing f'r anny inimy iv th' Anglo-Saxon 'lieance to face. Th' Bohemians an' Pole Anglo-Saxons may be a little slow in wakin' up to what th' pa-apers calls our common hurtage, but ye may be sure they'll be all r-right whin they're called on. We've got together an Anglo-Saxon 'lieance in this wa-ard, an' we're goin' to ilict Sarsfield O'Brien prisidint, Hugh O'Neill Darsey vice-prisidint, Robert Immitt Clancy sicrety, an' Wolfe Tone Malone three-asurer. O'Brien'll be a good wan to have. He was in the Fenian r-raid, an' his father carrid a pike in forty-eight. An' he's in th' Clan. Besides, he has a sthrong pull with th' Ancient Ordher iv Anglo-Saxon Hibernyans.

"I tell ye, whin th' Clan an' th' Sons iv Sweden an' th' Banana Club an' th' Circle Francaize an' th' Pollacky Benivolent Society an' th' Rooshian Sons of Dinnymite an' th' Benny Brith an' th' Coffee Clutch that Schwartzmeister r-runs an' th' Tur-rnd'ye-mind an' th' Holland society an' th' Afro-Americans an' th' other Anglo-Saxons begin f'r to raise their Anglo-Saxon battle-cry, it'll be all day with th' eight or nine people in th' wurruld that has th' misfortune iv not bein' brought up Anglo-Saxons."

"They'se goin' to be a debate on th' 'lieance at th' ninety-eight picnic at Ogden's gr-rove," said Mr. Hennessy.

"P'r'aps," said Mr. Dooley, sweetly, "ye might like to borry th' loan iv an ice-pick."

ON A LETTER FROM THE FRONT.

Mr. Dooley looked important, but affected indifference, as he mopped the bar. Mr. Hennessy, who had learned to study his friend in order to escape disagreeable complications, patiently waited for the philosopher to speak. Mr. Dooley rubbed the bar to the end, tossed the cloth into a mysterious recess with a practised movement, moved a glass or two on the shelf, cleaned his spectacles, and drew a letter from his pocket.

"Hm-m!" he said: "I have news fr'm th' fr-ront. Me nevvew, Terry Donahue, has sint me a letther tellin' me all about it."

"How shud he know?" Mr. Hennessy asked.

"How shud he know, is it?" Mr. Dooley demanded warmly. "How shudden't he know? Isn't he a sojer in th' ar-rmy? Isn't it him that's down there in Sandago fightin' f'r th' honor iv th' flag, while th' likes iv you is up here livin' like a prince, an' doin' nawthin' all th' livelong day but shovel at th' rollin'-mills? Who are ye f'r to criticize th' dayfinders iv our counthry who ar-re lyin' in th' trinches, an' havin' th' clothes stole off their backs be th' pathriotic Cubians, I'd like to know? F'r two pins, Hinnissy, you an' I'd quarrel."

"I didn't mean nawthin'," Mr. Hennessy apologized. "I didn't know he was down there."

"Nayether did I," said Mr. Dooley. "But I informed mesilf. I'll have no wan in this place speak again th' ar-rmy. Ye can have ye'er say about Mack. He has a good job, an' 'tis r-right an' proper f'r to baste him fr'm time to time. It shows ye'er in good thrim, an' it don't hur-rt him. They'se no wan to stop his pay. He goes up to th' cashier an' dhraws his forty-wan-sixty-six jus' th' same whether he's sick or well, an' whether he's pulled th' box reg-lar or has been playin' forty-fives in th' back room. But whin ye come to castin' aspersions on th' ar'rmy, be hivens, ye'll find that I can put me thumb on this showcase an' go over at wan lep."

"I didn't say annything," said Mr. Hennessy. "I didn't know about Terry."

"Iv coorse, ye didn't," said Mr. Dooley. "An' that's what I'm sayin'. Ye're here wallowin' in luxury, wheelin' pig ir'n fr'm morn till night; an' ye have no thought iv what's goin' on beyant. You an' Jawn D. Rockefeller an' Phil Ar-rmour an' Jay Pierpont Morgan an' th' r-rest iv ye is settin' back at home figurin' how ye can make some wan else pay ye'er taxes f'r ye. What is it to ye that me nevvew Terry is sleepin' in ditch wather an' atin' hard tacks an' coffee an' bein' r-robbed be leeber Cubians, an' catchin' yallow fever without a chanst iv givin' it to e'er a Spanyard. Ye think more iv a stamp thin ye do iv ye'er counthry. Ye're like th' Sugar Thrust. F'r two cints ye'd refuse to support th' govermint. I know ye, ye bloated monno-polist."

"I'm no such thing," said Mr. Hennessy, hotly. "I've been a Dimmycrat f'r thirty year."

"Well, annyhow," said Mr. Dooley, "don't speak disrayspictful iv th' ar-rmy. Lave me r-read you Terry's letter fr'm th' fr-ront. 'M--m: In th' trinches, two miles fr'm Sandago, with a land crab as big as a lobster crawlin' up me back be way iv Kingston, June 6, Dear Uncle Martin.' That's th' way it begins. 'Dear Uncle Martin: We are all well here, except thim that is not, an' hope ye're injyin' th' same gr-reat blessin'. It's hotter down here thin Billy-be-dam'd. They'se a rollin'-mill near here jus' th' same as at home, but all th' hands is laid off on account iv bad times. They used ol'-fashioned wooden wheelbahrs an' fired with wood. I don't think they cud handle th' pig th' way we done, bein' small la-ads. Th' coke has to be hauled up in sacks be th' gang. Th' derrick hands got six a week, but hadn't anny union. Helpers got four twinty. Puddlers was well paid. I wint through th' plant befure we come up here, an' r-run a wagon up th' plank jus' to keep me hand in. Tell me frinds that wan gang iv good la-ads fr'm th' r-road cud wurruk anny three iv th' gangs down here. Th' mills is owned be Rockefellar, so no more at prisint fr'm yer affecshunate nevvew, Peter Casey, who's writin' this f'r me.'"

"'Tis a good letter," said Mr. Hennessy. "I don't see how they cud get derrick hands f'r six a week."

"Me frind Jawn D. knows how," said Mr. Dooley.

ON OUR CUBAN ALLIES.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "dam thim Cubians! If I was Gin'ral Shafter, I'd back up th' wagon in front iv th' dure, an' I'd say to Gin'ral Garshy, I'd say, 'I want you'; an' I'd have thim all down at th' station an' dacently booked be th' desk sergeant befure th' fall iv night. Th' impydince iv thim!"

"What have they been doin'?" Mr. Hennessy asked.

"Failin' to undherstand our civilization," said Mr. Dooley. "Ye see, it was this way. This is th' way it was: Gin'ral Garshy with wan hundherd thousan' men's been fightin' bravely f'r two years f'r to liberyate Cubia. F'r two years he's been marchin' his sivinty-five thousan' men up an' down th' island, desthroyin' th' haughty Spanyard be th' millyons. Whin war was declared, he offered his own sarvice an' th' sarvices iv his ar-rmy iv fifty thousan' men to th' United States; an', while waitin' f'r ships to arrive, he marched at th' head iv his tin thousan' men down to Sandago de Cuba an' captured a cigar facthry, which they soon rayjooced to smokin' ruins. They was holdin' this position--Gin'ral Garshy an' his gallant wan thousan' men--whin Gin'ral Shafter arrived. Gin'ral Garshy immedjitly offered th' sarvices iv himsilf an' his two hundherd men f'r th' capture iv Sandago; an', when Gin'ral Shafter arrived, there was Gin'ral Garshy with his gallant band iv fifty Cubians, r-ready to eat at a minyit's notice.

"Gin'ral Shafter is a big, coorse, two-fisted man fr'm Mitchigan, an', whin he see Gin'ral Garshy an' his twinty-five gallant followers, 'Fr-ront,' says he. 'This way,' he says, 'step lively,' he says, 'an' move some iv these things,' he says. 'Sir,' says Gin'ral Garshy, 'd'ye take me f'r a dhray?' he says. 'I'm a sojer,' he says, 'not a baggage car,' he says. 'I'm a Cubian pathrite, an' I'd lay down me life an' the lives iv ivry wan iv th' eighteen brave men iv me devoted ar-rmy,' he says; 'but I'll be dam'd if I carry a thrunk,' he says. 'I'll fight whiniver 'tis cool,' he says, 'an' they ain't wan iv these twelve men here that wudden't follow me to hell if they was awake at th' time,' he says; 'but,' he says, 'if 'twas wurruk we were lookin' f'r, we cud have found it long ago,' he says. 'They'se a lot iv it in this counthry that nobody's usin',' he says. 'What we want,' he says, 'is freedom,' he says; 'an', if ye think we have been in th' woods dodgin' th' savage corryspondint f'r two year,' he says, 'f'r th' sake iv r-rushin' yer laundhry home,' he says, ''tis no wondher,' he says, 'that th' r-roads fr'm Marinette to Kalamazoo is paved with goold bricks bought be th' people iv ye'er native State,' he says.

"So Shafter had to carry his own thrunk; an' well it was f'r him that it wasn't Gin'ral Miles', the weather bein' hot. An' Shafter was mad clear through; an', whin he took hold iv Sandago, an' was sendin' out invitations, he scratched Garshy. Garshy took his gallant band iv six back to th' woods; an' there th' three iv thim ar-re now, ar-rmed with forty r-rounds iv canned lobster, an' ready to raysist to th' death. Him an' th' other man has written to Gin'ral Shafter to tell him what they think iv him, an' it don't take long."

"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "I think Shafter done wrong. He might've asked Garshy in f'r to see th' show, seein' that he's been hangin' ar-round f'r a long time, doin' th' best he cud."

"It isn't that," explained Mr. Dooley. "Th' throuble is th' Cubians don't undherstand our civilization. Over here freedom means hard wurruk. What is th' ambition iv all iv us, Hinnissy? 'Tis ayether to hold our job or to get wan. We want wurruk. We must have it. D'ye raymimber th' sign th' mob carrid in th' procession las' year? 'Give us wurruk, or we perish,' it said. They had their heads bate in be polismen because no philan-thropist'd come along an' make thim shovel coal. Now, in Cubia, whin th' mobs turns out, they carry a banner with the wurruds, 'Give us nawthin' to do, or we perish.' Whin a Cubian comes home at night with a happy smile on his face, he don't say to his wife an' childher, 'Thank Gawd, I've got wurruk at last!' He says, 'Thank Gawd, I've been fired.' An' th' childher go out, and they say, 'Pah-pah has lost his job.' And Mrs. Cubian buys hersilf a new bonnet; and where wanst they was sorrow an' despair all is happiness an' a cottage organ.

"Ye can't make people here undherstand that, an' ye can't make a Cubian undherstand that freedom means th' same thing as a pinitinchry sintince. Whin we thry to get him to wurruk, he'll say: 'Why shud I? I haven't committed anny crime.' That's goin' to be th' throuble. Th' first thing we know we'll have another war in Cubia whin we begin disthributin' good jobs, twelve hours a day, wan sivinty-five. Th' Cubians ain't civilized in our way. I sometimes think I've got a touch iv Cubian blood in me own veins."

ON THE DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA'S FLEET.

[These comments were made by Mr. Dooley during a strike of the
stereotypers, which caused the English newspapers of Chicago
temporarily to suspend publication.]

"I hear," said Mr. Hennessy, "that th' stereopticons on th' newspapers have sthruck."

"I sh'd think they wud," said Mr. Dooley. "Th' las' time I was down town was iliction night, whin Charter Haitch's big la-ad was ilicted, an' they was wurrukin' th' stereopticons till they was black in th' face. What's th' news?"

"Th' What Cheer, Ioway, Lamp iv Freedom is on th' sthreets with a tillygram that Shafter has captured Sandago de Cuba, an' is now settin' on Gin'ral Pando's chest with his hands in his hair. But this is denied be th' Palo Gazoot, the Macoupin County Raygisther, an' th' Meridyan Sthreet Afro-American. I also see be th' Daily Scoor Card, th' Wine List, th' Deef Mute's Spokesman, th' Morgue Life, the Bill iv Fare, th' Stock Yards Sthraight Steer, an' Jack's Tips on th' Races, the on'y daily paper printed in Chicago, that Sampson's fleet is in th' Suez Canal bombarding Cades. Th' Northwestern Christyan Advycate says this is not thrue, but that George Dixon was outpointed be an English boxer in a twinty-r-round go in New York."

"Ye've got things mixed up," said Mr. Dooley. "I get th' news sthraight. 'Twas this way. Th' Spanish fleet was bottled up in Sandago Harbor, an' they dhrew th' cork. That's a joke. I see it in th' pa-apers. Th' gallant boys iv th' navy was settin' out on th' deck, defindin' their counthry an' dhrawin' three ca-ards apiece, whin th' Spanish admiral con-cluded 'twud be better f'r him to be desthroyed on th' ragin' sea, him bein' a sailor, thin to have his fleet captured be cav'lry. Annyhow, he was willin' to take a chance; an' he says to his sailors: 'Spanyards,' he says, 'Castiles,' he says, 'we have et th' las' bed-tick,' he says; 'an', if we stay here much longer,' he says, 'I'll have to have a steak off th' armor plate fried f'r ye,' he says. 'Lave us go out where we can have a r-run f'r our money,' he says. An' away they wint. I'll say this much f'r him, he's a brave man, a dam brave man. I don't like a Spanyard no more than ye do, Hinnissy. I niver see wan. But, if this here man was a--was a Zulu, I'd say he was a brave man. If I was aboord wan iv thim yachts that was convarted, I'd go to this here Cervera, an' I'd say: 'Manuel,' I'd say, 'ye're all right, me boy. Ye ought to go to a doctor an' have ye'er eyes re-set, but ye're a good fellow. Go downstairs,' I'd say, 'into th' basemint iv the ship,' I'd say, 'an' open th' cupboard jus' nex' to th' head iv th' bed, an' find th' bottle marked "Floridy Wather," an' threat ye'ersilf kindly.' That's what I'd say to Cervera. He's all right.

"Well, whin our boys see th' Spanish fleet comin' out iv th' harbor, they gathered on th' deck an' sang th' naytional anthem, 'They'll be a hot time in th' ol' town to-night.' A liftnant come up to where Admiral Sampson was settin' playin' sivin up with Admiral Schley. 'Bill,' he says, 'th' Spanish fleet is comin' out,' he says. 'What talk have ye?' says Sampson. 'Sind out some row-boats an' a yacht, an' desthroy thim. Clubs is thrumps,' he says, and he wint on playin'. Th' Spanish fleet was attackted on all sides be our br-rave la-ads, nobly assisted be th' dispatch boats iv the newspapers. Wan by wan they was desthroyed. Three battle-ships attackted th' convarted yacht Gloucester. Th' Gloucester used to be owned be Pierpont Morgan; but 'twas convarted, an' is now leadin' a dacint life. Th' Gloucester sunk thim all, th' Christobell Comma, the Viscera, an' th' Admiral O'Quinn. It thin wint up to two Spanish torpedo boats an' giv thim wan punch, an' away they wint. Be this time th' sojers had heerd of the victhry, an' they gathered on th' shore, singin' th' naytional anthem, 'They'll be a hot time in th' ol' town to-night, me babby.' Th' gloryous ol' chune, to which Washington an' Grant an' Lincoln marched, was took up be th' sailors on th' ships, an' Admiral Cervera r-run wan iv his boats ashore, an' jumped into th' sea. At last accounts th' followin' dispatches had been received: 'To Willum McKinley: Congratulations on ye'er noble victhry. (Signed) Willum McKinley.' 'To Russell A. Alger: Ye done splendid. (Signed) Russell A. Alger.' 'To James Wilson, Sicrety iv Agriculture: This is a gr-reat day f'r Ioway. Ar-re ye much hur-rted? (Signed) James Wilson.'"

"Where did ye hear all this?" asked Mr. Hennessy, in great amazement.

"I r-read it," said Mr. Dooley, impressively, "in the Staats Zeitung."

ON A LETTER TO MR. DEPEW.

"I usen't to know," said Mr. Dooley, "what me frind Gin'ral Sherman meant whin he said that thing about war. I've been through two iv thim, not to speak iv convintions an' prim'ries, an' divvle th' bit iv har-rm come to me no more thin if I was settin' on a roof playin' an accorjeen. But I know now what th' ol' la-ad meant. He meant war was hell whin 'twas over.

"I ain't heerd anny noise fr'm th' fellows that wint into threnches an' plugged th' villyanious Spanyard. Most iv thim is too weak to kick. But th' proud an' fearless pathrites who restrained thimsilves, an' didn't go to th' fr-ront, th' la-ads that sthruggled hard with their warlike tindincies, an' fin'lly downed thim an' stayed at home an' practised up upon th' typewriter, they're ragin' an' tearin' an' desthroyin' their foes.

"Did ye see what me frind Alger wrote to Chansy Depoo? Well, sir, Alger has been misthreated. There's a good man. I say he's a good man. An' he is, too. At anny thrick fr'm shingles to two-be-fours he's as good as th' best. But no wan apprechated Alger. No wan undherstud him. No wan even thried to. Day be day he published th' private letters iv other people, an' that didn't throw anny light on his charackter. Day be day he had his pitchers took, an' still th' people didn't get onto th' cur-rves iv him. Day be day he chatted iv th' turrors iv war, an' still people on'y said: 'An' Alger also r-ran.' But th' time come whin Alger cud contain himsilf no longer, an' he set down an' wrote to Chansy Depoo.

"'Mr. Chansy Depot, care iv Grand Cintral Depew, New York, N.Y., Esquire. Dear Chanse: I've been expectin' a letter fr'm ye f'r three or four days. In reply to same will say: Oh, Chanse, ye don't know how I suffer. I'm that low in me mind I feel like a bunch iv lathes. Oh, dear, to think iv what I've gone through. I wint into th' war onprepared. I had on'y so many r-rounds iv catridges an' a cross-cut saw, an' I failed to provide mesilf with th' ord'nary necessities iv life. But, in spite iv me deficiencies, I wint bravely ahead. Th' sthrain was something tur-r'ble on me. Me mind give out repeatedly. I cud not think at times, but I niver faltered. In two months I had enough supplies piled up in Maine to feed ivry sojer in Cubia. They were thousands iv r-rounds iv catridges f'r ivry rig'mint, and all th' rig'mints had to do was to write f'r thim. Th' navy had taken Manila an' Cervera's fleet, an' th' ar-rmy had taken Sandago an' th' yellow fever. Th' war is over, an' peace wanst more wags her wings over th' counthry. Pine scantlings is quoted sthrong. Ivrywhere is peace an' contint. Me photographs are on sale at all first-class newsdealers. Yet there is no ca'm f'r me. Onthinkin' wans insult me. They tell me a sojer can't ate gin'ral ordhers. They want me to raysign an' go back to me humble home in Mitchigan. Disgustin' men that've done nawthin' but get thimsilves shot, ask f'r milk an' quinine. They'll be askin' me to carry food to thim nex'. Oh, Chanse, oh, hivens, ye can't know how grieved I am! Rather wud I have perished in a logjam thin to've indured this ingratichood. But, in lookin' back over me past life, I can think iv no wrong I've done. If me mim'ry is at fault, please note. Me car-eer is an open book. I've held nawthin' back fr'm th' public, not even whin 'twas mar-rked private. I can say with th' pote that I done me jooty. But, oh, Chanse! don't iver aspire to my job. Be sicrety of war, if ye will; but niver be sicrety iv A war. Do not offer this letter to th' newspapers. Make thim take it. How's things goin' with ye, ol' pal? I hope to see ye at th' seaside. Till thin, I'm yours, sick at heart, but atin' reg'lar. RUSS.'"

"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "th' poor man must've had a har-rd time iv it."

"He did," said Mr. Dooley. "Niver laid his head to a pillow before eight, up with th' moon: he's suffered as no man can tell. But he'll be all r-right whin his mind's at r-rest."

ON THE PRESIDENT'S CAT.

"'Twas this way about Dr. Huckenlooper. Mack has a cat that was give him f'r a Chris'mas prisint be me frind Pierpont Morgan, an' th' cat was a gr-reat favor-ite in th' White House. 'Twas as quite as th' Sicrety iv Agriculture an' as affectionate as th' Sicrety iv th' Three-asury. Th' cat was called Goold Bonds, because iv th' inthrest he dhrew. He very often played with th' Sicrety iv th' Navy, an' ivry wan that come to th' White House f'r a job loved him.

"But wan day Goold Bonds begun to look bad. He cudden't ate th' r-rich crame out iv th' di'mon'-studded saucer. He stopped castin' an eye at th' c'nary in th' cage. Whin th' Sicrety iv th' Navy wint down f'r to play with him, Goold Bonds spit at that good an' gr-reat man. Mack was shavin' himsilf befure th' lookin'-glass, an' had jus' got his face pulled r-round to wan side f'r a good gash, whin he heerd a scream iv ag'ny behind him, an' tur-rned to see Goold Bonds leap up with his paws on his stomach an' hit th' ceilin'. Mack give a cry iv turror, an' grabbed at Goold Bonds. Away wint Goold Bonds through th' house. Th' Sicrety iv War seen him comin', an' called, 'Pussy, pussy.' Goold Bonds wint through his legs, an' galloped f'r where th' Postmaster-gin'ral was settin' editin' his pa-aper. Th' Postmaster-gin'ral had jus' got as far as 'we opine,' whin he see Goold Bonds, an' he bate th' cat to th' windy be a whisker.

"Well, Goold Bonds ended up in th' coal cellar, an' they was a cab'net council f'r to see what was to be done. 'Sind f'r Doctor Heinegagubler,' says th' Sicrety iv War. 'He's wan iv th' gr-reatest surgeons iv our time,' he says, 'an' can cure annything fr'm pips to glanders,' he says. Th' famous Doctor Honeycooler was summoned. 'Sir,' says Mack, 'Goold Bonds, th' pride iv th' administhration, has had a fit,' he says. ''Twud br-reak our hear-rts to lose our little pet,' he says. 'Go,' he says, 'an' take such measures as ye'er noble healin' ar-rt sug-gists,' he says; 'an' may th' prayers iv an agonized foster-parent go with ye,' he says. An' Doctor Higgenlocker wint down into th' coal-shed; an' whin he come back, it was with Goold Bonds in his ar-rms, weak an' pale, but with a wan smile on his lips.

"Afther embracin' Goold Bonds an' tuckin' him away in bed, Mack tur-rns to th' Dock. 'Dock,' he says, 'ye have performed a noble sarvice,' he says. 'I appint ye a major-gin'ral,' he says. 'I'm that already,' says th' Dock. 'I've r-rich relatives in Philadelphia,' he says. 'But,' says Mack, ''tis a shame to think iv ye'er noble sarvices bein' wasted,' he says, 'whin ye'er counthry calls,' he says. 'I appint ye,' he says, 'surgeon-gin'ral,' he says. 'Pro-ceed,' he says, 'to Cubia, an' stamp out th' dhread ravages,' he says, 'iv r-ringbone an' stagger,' he says.

"That's how Dock got th'job. He was a gr-reat man down there, an' now he's wan iv th' vethranaryans iv th' war. Ye heerd iv typhoid an' yellow fever in th' threnches; but did ye hear annything iv spavin or th' foot-an'-mouth disease? Not wanst. Dock was on jooty late an' early. Sleepless an' vigilant, he stood beside th' suffrin' mules, allayin' their pain, an' slowly but surely dhraggin' thim out iv th' clutches iv pinkeye an' epizootic. He had a cheery wurrud, a pleasant smile, an' a bottle iv liniment f'r wan an' all. He cured Teddy Rosenfelt's hor-rse iv intherference an' made a soothin' lotion iv axle-grease f'r Gin'ral Shafter's buckboard. Ye might see him anny time wandhrin' through th' camp with a hatful of oats or a wisp of hay. They called him th' Stall Angel, and countless thousands iv sick hor-rses blessed him. He's a gr-reat man is th' Dock. But, if it hadn't been f'r Goold Bonds, th' counthry wud niver have had his sarvices. Who knows but that Mack's cat was th' rale victhor at Sandago?"

"Didn't he cure anny men?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Sure," said Mr. Dooley. "He cured Teddy Rosenfelt iv boltin'."

ON A SPEECH BY PRESIDENT McKINLEY.

"I hear-r that Mack's in town," said Mr. Dooley.

"Didn't ye see him?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Faith, I did not!" said Mr. Dooley. "If 'tis meetin' me he's afther, all he has to do is to get on a ca-ar an' r-ride out to number nine-double-naught-nine Archey R-road, an' stop whin he sees th' sign iv th' Tip-p'rary Boodweiser Brewin' Company. I'm here fr'm eight in the mornin' till midnight, an' th' r-rest iv th' time I'm in the back room in th' ar-rms iv Or-rphyus, as Hogan says. Th' Presidint is as welcome as anny rayspictable marrid man. I will give him a chat an' a dhrink f'r fifteen cints; an', as we're not, as a frind iv mine in th' grocery an' pothry business says, intirely a commercial an' industhreel nation, if he has th' Sicrety iv th' Threasury with him, I'll give thim two f'r twinty-five cints, which is th' standard iv value among civilized nations th' wurruld over. Prisidint iv th' United States, says ye? Well, I'm prisidint iv this liquor store, fr'm th' pitcher iv th' Chicago fire above th' wash-stand in th' back room to th' dure-step. Beyond that belongs to th' polisman on th' bate. An Amurrican's home, as wan iv th' potes says, is his castle till th' morgedge falls due. An' divvle a fut will I put out iv this dure to see e'er a prisidint, prince, or potentate, fr'm th' czar iv Rooshia to th' king iv Chiny. There's Prisidint Mack at th' Audjiotoroom, an' here's Prisidint Dooley at nine-double-naught-nine, an' th' len'th iv th' sthreet between thim. Says he, 'Come over to th' hotel an' see me.' Says I, 'If ye find ye'ersilf thrun fr'm a ca-ar in me neighborhood, dhrop in.' An' there ye ar-re.

"I may niver see him. I may go to me grave without gettin' an' eye on th' wan man besides mesilf that don't know what th' furrin' policy iv th' United States is goin' to be. An he, poor man, whin some wan asts him, 'Did ye iver meet Dooley:' 'll have to say, 'No, I had th' chanst wanst, but me ac-cursed pride kept me from visitin' him.'

"I r-read his speeches, though, an' know what he's doin.' Some iv thim ar-re gr-reat. He attinded th' banket given be th' Prospurity Brigade at th' hotel where he's stoppin'. 'Twas a magnificent assimblage iv th' laborin' classes, costin' fifteen dollars a plate, an' on'y disturbed whin a well-to-do gintleman in th' dhry-goods business had to be thrun out f'r takin' a kick at a waiter. I r-read be th' papers that whin Mack come in he was rayceived be th' gatherin' with shouts iv approval. Th' proceedin's was opened with a prayer that Providence might r-remain undher th' protection iv th' administhration. Th' Sicrety iv th' Treasury followed with a gran' speech, highly commindin' th' action iv th' threasury department durin' th' late war; 'but,' says he, 'I cannot,' he says, 'so far forget mesilf,' he says, 'as not to mintion,' he says, 'that,' he says, 'if it hadn't been f'r the sublime pathreetism an' courage,' he says, 'iv th' gintleman whom we honor,' he says, 'in puttin' me on th' foorce,' he says, 'I might not be here to-night,' he says.

"Th' Sicrety iv th' Threasury was followed be th' Gin'ral Shafter. 'Gintlemen,' says he, 'it gives me,' he says, 'gr-reat pleasure,' he says, 'to be prisint in th' mist iv so manny an' so various vittles,' he says. 'Iv coorse,' he says, 'I re-elize me own gr-reat worth,' he says; 'but,' he says, 'I wud have to be more thin human,' he says, 'to overlook th' debt iv gratichood,' he says, 'th' counthry owes,' he says, 'to th' man whose foresight, wisdom, an' prudence brought me for-ard at such an opparchune time,' he says. 'Gintlemen,' he says, 'onless ye have lived in th' buckboard f'r months on th' parched deserts iv Cubia,' he says, 'ye little know what a pleasure it is,' he says, 'to dhrink,' he says, 'to th' author iv our bein' here,' he says. An' Gin-ral Miles wint out an' punched th' bell-boy. Mack r-rose up in a perfect hurcane iv applause, an' says he, 'Gintlemen,' he says, 'an' fellow-heroes,' he says, 'ye do me too much honor;' he says. 'I alone shud not have th' credit iv this gloryous victhry. They ar-re others.' [A voice: 'Shafter.' Another voice: 'Gage.' Another voice: 'Dooley.'] 'But I pass to a more conganial line iv thought,' he says. 'We have just emerged fr'm a turrible war,' he says. 'Again,' he says, 'we ar-re a united union,' he says. 'No north,' he says, 'no south, no east,' he says, 'no west. No north east a point east,' he says. 'Th' inimies iv our counthry has been cr-rushed,' he says, 'or is stuck down in Floridy with his rig'mint talkin',' he says, 'his hellish docthrines to th' allygatars,' he says. 'Th' nation is wanst more at peace undher th' gran' goold standard,' he says. 'Now,' he says, 'th' question is what shall we do with th' fruits iv victhry?' he says. [A voice, 'Can thim.'] 'Our duty to civilization commands us to be up an' doin',' he says. 'We ar-re bound,' he says, 'to--to re-elize our destiny, whativer it may be,' he says. 'We can not tur-rn back,' he says, 'th hands iv th' clock that, even as I speak, he says, 'is r-rushin' through th' hear-rts iv men,' he says, 'dashin' its spray against th' star iv liberty an' hope, an' no north, no south, no east, no west, but a steady purpose to do th' best we can, considerin' all th' circumstances iv the case.' he says. 'I hope I have made th' matther clear to ye,' he says, 'an', with these few remarks,' he says, 'I will tur-rn th' job over to destiny,' he says, 'which is sure to lead us iver on an' on, an' back an' forth, a united an' happy people, livin',' he says, 'undher an administhration that, thanks to our worthy Prisidint an' his cap-ble an' earnest advisers, is second to none,' he says."

"What do you think ought to be done with th' fruits iv victhry?" Mr. Hennessy asked.

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "if 'twas up to me, I'd eat what was r-ripe an' give what wasn't r-ripe to me inimy. An' I guess that's what Mack means."

ON THE HERO IN POLITICS.

"'Tis as much as a man's life is worth these days," said Mr. Dooley, "to have a vote. Look here," he continued, diving under the bar and producing a roll of paper.

"Here's th' pitchers iv candydates I pulled down fr'm th' windy, an' jus' knowin' they're here makes me that nervous f'r th' contints iv th' cash dhrawer I'm afraid to tur-rn me back f'r a minyit. I'm goin' to throw thim out in th' back yard.

"All heroes, too, Hinnissy. They'se Mike O'Toole, th' hero iv Sandago, that near lost his life be dhrink on his way to th' arm'ry, an' had to be sint home without lavin' th' city. There's Turror Teddy Mangan, th' night man at Flaher-ty's, that loaded th' men that loaded th' guns that kilt th' mules at Matoonzas. There's Hero O'Brien, that wud've inlisted if he hadn't been too old, an' th' contractin' business in such good shape. There's Bill Cory, that come near losin' his life at a cinematograph iv th' battle iv Manila. They're all here, bedad, r-ready to sarve their country to th' bitter end, an' to r-rush, voucher in hand, to th' city threasurer's office at a minyit's notice.

"I wint to a hero meetin' th' other night, Hinnissy, an' that's sthrange f'r me. Whin a man gets to be my age, he laves th' shoutin' f'r th' youth iv th' land, onless he has a pol-itical job. I niver had a job but wanst. That was whin I was precin't cap'n; an' a good wan I was, too. None betther. I'd been on th' cinthral comity to-day, but f'r me losin' ambition whin they r-run a man be th' name iv Eckstein f'r aldherman. I was sayin', Hinnissy, whin a man gets to be my age, he ducks pol-itical meetin's, an' r-reads th' papers an' weighs th' ividence an' th' argymints,--pro-argymints an' con-argymints,--an' makes up his mind ca'mly, an' votes th' Dimmycratic ticket. But young Dorsey he med me go with him to th' hero's meetin' in Finucane's hall.

"Well, sir, there was O'Toole an' all th' rest on th' platform in unyform, with flags over thim, an' the bands playin' 'They'll be a hot time in th' ol' town to-night again'; an' th' chairman was Plunkett. Ye know Plunkett: a good man if they was no gr-rand juries. He was makin' a speech. 'Whin th' battle r-raged,' he says, 'an' th' bullets fr'm th' haughty Spanyards' raypeatin' Mouser r-rifles,' he says, 'where was Cassidy?' he says. 'In his saloon,' says I, 'in I'mrald Av'noo,' says I. 'Thrue f'r ye,' says Plunkett. 'An' where,' he says, 'was our candydate?' he says. 'In somebody else's saloon,' says I. 'No,' says he. 'Whin th' Prisidint,' he says, 'called th' nation to ar-rms,' he says, 'an' Congress voted fifty million good bucks f'r th' naytional definse,' he says, 'Thomas Francis Dorgan,' he says, 'in that minyit iv naytional pearl,' says he, 'left his good job in the pipe-yard,' he says, 'an' wint down to th' raycruitin' office, an' says, "How manny calls f'r volunteers is out?" he says. "Wan," says th' officer. "Put me down," says Dorgan, "f'r th' tenth call," he says. This, gintlemen iv th' foorth precin't,' he says, 'is Thomas Francis Dorgan, a man who, if ilicted,' he says, 'victhry'll perch,' he says, 'upon our banners,' he says; 'an',' he says, 'th' naytional honor will be maintained,' he says, 'in th' county boord,' he says.

"I wint out to take th' air, an' I met me frind Clohessy, th' little tailor fr'm Halsted Sthreet. Him an' me had a shell iv beer together at th' German's; an' says I, 'What d'ye think iv th' heroes?' I says. 'Well,' says he, 'I make no doubt 'twas brave iv Dorgan,' he says, 'f'r to put his name in f'r th' tenth call,' he says; 'but,' he says, 'I don't like Plunkett, an' it seems to me a man'd have to be a hell iv a sthrong man, even if he was a hero, to be Plunkett's man, an' keep his hands out iv ye'er pockets,' he says. 'I'm with Clancy's candydate,' he says. 'He niver offered to enlist for th' war,' he says, 'but 'twas Clancy put Terence on th' polis foorce an' got th' school f'r Aggie,' he says.

"That's the way I feel," said Mr. Hennessy. "I wudden't thrust Plunkett as far as I cud throw a cow be th' tail. If Dorgan was Clancy's war hero, I'd be with him."

"Annyhow," said Mr. Dooley, "mighty few iv th' rale heroes iv th' war is r-runnin' f'r office. Most iv thim put on their blue overalls whin they was mustered out an' wint up an' ast f'r their ol' jobs back--an' sometimes got thim. Ye can see as manny as tin iv thim at the rollin'-mills defindin' th' nation's honor with wheelbahr's an' a slag shovel."

MR. DOOLEY IN PEACE

ON NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS.

Mr. Hennessy looked out at the rain dripping down in Archey Road, and sighed, "A-ha, 'tis a bad spell iv weather we're havin'."

"Faith, it is," said Mr. Dooley, "or else we mind it more thin we did. I can't remimber wan day fr'm another. Whin I was young, I niver thought iv rain or snow, cold or heat. But now th' heat stings an' th' cold wrenches me bones; an', if I go out in th' rain with less on me thin a ton iv rubber, I'll pay dear f'r it in achin' j'ints, so I will. That's what old age means; an' now another year has been put on to what we had befure, an' we're expected to be gay. 'Ring out th' old,' says a guy at th' Brothers' School. 'Ring out th' old, ring in th' new,' he says. 'Ring out th' false, ring in th' thrue,' says he. It's a pretty sintimint, Hinnissy; but how ar-re we goin' to do it? Nawthin'd please me betther thin to turn me back on th' wicked an' ingloryous past, rayform me life, an' live at peace with th' wurruld to th' end iv me days. But how th' divvle can I do it? As th' fellow says, 'Can th' leopard change his spots,' or can't he?

"You know Dorsey, iv coorse, th' cross-eyed May-o man that come to this counthry about wan day in advance iv a warrant f'r sheep-stealin'? Ye know what he done to me, tellin' people I was caught in me cellar poorin' wather into a bar'l? Well, last night says I to mesilf, thinkin' iv Dorsey, I says: 'I swear that henceforth I'll keep me temper with me fellow-men. I'll not let anger or jealousy get th' betther iv me,' I says. 'I'll lave off all me old feuds; an' if I meet me inimy goin' down th' sthreet, I'll go up an' shake him be th' hand, if I'm sure he hasn't a brick in th' other hand.' Oh, I was mighty compliminthry to mesilf. I set be th' stove dhrinkin' hot wans, an' ivry wan I dhrunk made me more iv a pote. 'Tis th' way with th' stuff. Whin I'm in dhrink, I have manny a fine thought; an', if I wasn't too comfortable to go an' look f'r th' ink-bottle, I cud write pomes that'd make Shakespeare an' Mike Scanlan think they were wurrkin' on a dredge. 'Why,' says I, 'carry into th' new year th' hathreds iv th' old?' I says. 'Let th' dead past bury its dead,' says I. 'Tur-rn ye'er lamps up to th' blue sky,' I says. (It was rainin' like th' divvle, an' th' hour was midnight; but I give no heed to that, bein' comfortable with th' hot wans.) An' I wint to th' dure, an', whin Mike Duffy come by on number wan hundherd an' five, ringin' th' gong iv th' ca-ar, I hollered to him: 'Ring out th' old, ring in th' new.' 'Go back into ye'er stall,' he says, 'an' wring ye'ersilf out,' he says. 'Ye'er wet through,' he says.

"Whin I woke up this mornin', th' pothry had all disappeared, an' I begun to think th' las' hot wan I took had somethin' wrong with it. Besides, th' lumbago was grippin' me till I cud hardly put wan foot befure th' other. But I remimbered me promises to mesilf, an' I wint out on th' sthreet, intindin' to wish ivry wan a 'Happy New Year,' an' hopin' in me hear-rt that th' first wan I wished it to'd tell me to go to th' divvle, so I cud hit him in th' eye. I hadn't gone half a block before I spied Dorsey acrost th' sthreet. I picked up a half a brick an' put it in me pocket, an' Dorsey done th' same. Thin we wint up to each other. 'A Happy New Year,' says I. 'Th' same to you,' says he, 'an' manny iv thim,' he says. 'Ye have a brick in ye'er hand,' says I. 'I was thinkin' iv givin' ye a New Year's gift,' says he. 'Th' same to you, an' manny iv thim,' says I, fondlin' me own ammunition. ''Tis even all around,' says he. 'It is,' says I. 'I was thinkin' las' night I'd give up me gredge again ye,' says he. 'I had th' same thought mesilf,' says I. 'But, since I seen ye'er face,' he says, 'I've con-cluded that I'd be more comfortable hatin' ye thin havin' ye f'r a frind,' says he. 'Ye're a man iv taste,' says I. An' we backed away fr'm each other. He's a Tip, an' can throw a stone like a rifleman; an', Hinnissy, I'm somethin' iv an amachoor shot with a half-brick mesilf.

"Well, I've been thinkin' it over, an' I've argied it out that life'd not be worth livin' if we didn't keep our inimies. I can have all th' frinds I need. Anny man can that keeps a liquor sthore. But a rale sthrong inimy, specially a May-o inimy,--wan that hates ye ha-ard, an' that ye'd take th' coat off yer back to do a bad tur-rn to,--is a luxury that I can't go without in me ol' days. Dorsey is th' right sort. I can't go by his house without bein' in fear he'll spill th' chimbly down on me head; an', whin he passes my place, he walks in th' middle iv th' sthreet, an' crosses himsilf. I'll swear off on annything but Dorsey. He's a good man, an' I despise him. Here's long life to him."

ON GOLD-SEEKING.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Hennessy, "that Alaska's th' gr-reat place. I thought 'twas nawthin' but an iceberg with a few seals roostin' on it, an' wan or two hundherd Ohio politicians that can't be killed on account iv th' threaty iv Pawrs. But here they tell me 'tis fairly smothered in goold. A man stubs his toe on th' ground, an lifts th' top off iv a goold mine. Ye go to bed at night, an' wake up with goold fillin' in ye'er teeth."

"Yes," said Mr. Dooley, "Clancy's son was in here this mornin', an' he says a frind iv his wint to sleep out in th' open wan night, an' whin he got up his pants assayed four ounces iv goold to th' pound, an' his whiskers panned out as much as thirty dollars net."

"If I was a young man an' not tied down here," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd go there: I wud so."

"I wud not," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin I was a young man in th' ol' counthry, we heerd th' same story about all America. We used to set be th' tur-rf fire o' nights, kickin' our bare legs on th' flure an' wishin' we was in New York, where all ye had to do was to hold ye'er hat an' th' goold guineas'd dhrop into it. An' whin I got to be a man, I come over here with a ham and a bag iv oatmeal, as sure that I'd return in a year with money enough to dhrive me own ca-ar as I was that me name was Martin Dooley. An' that was a cinch.

"But, faith, whin I'd been here a week, I seen that there was nawthin' but mud undher th' pavement,--I larned that be means iv a pick-axe at tin shillin's th' day,--an' that, though there was plenty iv goold, thim that had it were froze to it; an' I come west, still lookin' f'r mines. Th' on'y mine I sthruck at Pittsburgh was a hole f'r sewer pipe. I made it. Siven shillin's th' day. Smaller thin New York, but th' livin' was cheaper, with Mon'gahela rye at five a throw, put ye'er hand around th' glass.

"I was still dreamin' goold, an' I wint down to Saint Looey. Th' nearest I come to a fortune there was findin' a quarther on th' sthreet as I leaned over th' dashboord iv a car to whack th' off mule. Whin I got to Chicago, I looked around f'r the goold mine. They was Injuns here thin. But they wasn't anny mines I cud see. They was mud to be shovelled an' dhrays to be dhruv an' beats to be walked. I choose th' dhray; f'r I was niver cut out f'r a copper, an' I'd had me fill iv excavatin'. An' I dhruv th' dhray till I wint into business.

"Me experyence with goold minin' is it's always in th' nex' county. If I was to go to Alaska, they'd tell me iv th' finds in Seeberya. So I think I'll stay here. I'm a silver man, annyhow; an' I'm contint if I can see goold wanst a year, whin some prominent citizen smiles over his newspaper. I'm thinkin' that ivry man has a goold mine undher his own dure-step or in his neighbor's pocket at th' farthest."

"Well, annyhow," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd like to kick up th' sod, an' find a ton iv goold undher me fut."

"What wud ye do if ye found it?" demanded Mr. Dooley.