Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen by Finley Peter Dunne (best e reader for epub TXT) 📕

wants to smash th' Sassenach an' restore th' land iv th' birth iv some iv us to her thrue place among th' nations, we gives a picnic. 'Tis a dam sight asier thin goin' over with a slug iv joynt powder an' blowin' up a polis station with no wan in it. It costs less; an', whin 'tis done, a man can lep aboord a sthreet ca-ar, an' come to his family an' sleep it off.

"I wint out last Choosdah, an' I suppose I must 've freed as much as eight counties in Ireland. All th' la-ads was there. Th' first ma-an I see was Dorgan, the sanyor guarjeen in the Wolfe Tone Lithry Society. He's th' la-ad that have made th' Prince iv Wales thrimble in his moccasins. I heerd him wanst makin' a speech that near injooced me to take a bumb in me hand an' blow up Westminsther Cathedral. 'A-re ye,' he says, 'men, or a-re ye slaves?' he says. 'Will ye,' he says, 'set idly by,' he says, 'while th' Sassenach,' he says, 'has th' counthry iv Immitt an' O'Connell,' he says, 'an' Jawn Im Smyth,' he says, 'undher his heel?' he says. 'Arouse,' he says, 'slaves an' despots!' he says. 'Clear th' way!' he says. 'Cowards an' thraitors!' he says. 'Faugh-a-ballagh!' he says. He had th' beer privilege at th' picnic, Jawn.

"Hinnissy, th' plumber, who blew wan iv his fingers off with a bumb intinded f'r some iv th' archytecture iv Liverpool, had th' conthract f'r runnin' th' knock-th'-babby-down-an'-get-a-nice-seegar jint. F'r th' good iv th' cause I knocked th' babby down, Jawn, an' I on'y wish th' Queen iv England 'r th' Prince iv Wales cud be injooced to smoke wan iv th' seegars. Ye might as well go again a Roman candle. Th' wan I got was made iv baled hay, an' 'twas rumored about th' pa-ark that Hinnissy was wurrukin' off his surplus stock iv bumbs on th' pathrites. His cousin Darcey had th' shootin' gallery privilege, an' he done a business th' like iv which was niver knowed be puttin' up th' figure iv an Irish polisman f'r th' la-ads to shoot at. 'Twas bad in th' end though, f'r a gang iv Tipp'rary lads come along behind th' tent an' begun thrown stones at th' copper. Wan stone hit a Limerick man, an' th' cry 'butthermilk' wint around; an' be hivins, if it hadn't been that th' chief iv polis, th' wise la-ad, sint none but German polismen to th' picnic, there 'd not been a man left to tell th' tale."

"What's that all got to do with freeing Ireland?" asked Mr. McKenna.

"Well, 'tis no worse off thin it was befure, annyhow," said Mr. Dooley.


THE IDLE APPRENTICE.

"They hanged a man to-day," said Mr. Dooley.

"They did so," said Mr. McKenna.

"Did he die game?"

"They say he did."

"Well, he did," said Mr. Dooley. "I read it all in th' pa-apers. He died as game as if he was wan iv th' Christyan martyrs instead iv a thief that 'd hit his man wan crack too much. Saint or murdherer, 'tis little difference whin death comes up face front.

"I read th' story iv this man through, Jawn; an', barrin' th' hangin', 'tis th' story iv tin thousan' like him. D'ye raymimber th' Carey kid? Ye do. Well, I knowed his grandfather; an' a dacinter ol' man niver wint to his jooty wanst a month. Whin he come over to live down be th' slip, 'twas as good a place as iver ye see. Th' honest men an' honest women wint as they pleased, an' laid hands on no wan. His boy Jim was as straight as th' r-roads in Kildare, but he took to dhrink; an', whin Jack Carey was born, he was a thramp on th' sthreets an' th' good woman was wurrukin' down-town, scrubbin' away at th' flures in th' city hall, where Dennehy got her.

"Be that time around th' slip was rough-an'-tumble. It was dhrink an' fight ivry night an' all day Sundah. Th' little la-ads come together under sidewalks, an' rushed th' can over to Burke's on th' corner an' listened to what th' big lads tol' thim. Th' first instruction that Jack Carey had was how to take a man's pocket handkerchief without his feelin' it, an' th' nex' he had was larnin' how to get over th' fence iv th' Reform School at Halsted Sthreet in his stockin' feet.

"He was a thief at tin year, an' th' polis 'd run f'r him if he'd showed his head. At twelve they sint him to th' bridewell f'r breakin' into a freight car. He come out, up to anny game. I see him whin he was a lad hardly to me waist stand on th' roof iv Finucane's Hall an' throw bricks at th' polisman.

"He hated th' polis, an' good reason he had f'r it. They pulled him out iv bed be night to search him. If he turned a corner, they ran him f'r blocks down th' sthreet. Whin he got older, they begun shootin' at him; an' it wasn't manny years befure he begun to shoot back. He was right enough whin he was in here. I cud conthrol him. But manny th' night whin he had his full iv liquor I've see him go out with his gun in his outside pocket; an' thin I'd hear shot after shot down th' sthreet, an' I'd know him an' his ol' inimy Clancy 'd met an' was exchangin' compliments. He put wan man on th' polis pension fund with a bullet through his thigh.

"They got him afther a while. He'd kept undher cover f'r months, livin' in freight cars an' hidin' undher viadocks with th' pistol in his hand. Wan night he come out, an' broke into Schwartzmeister's place. He sneaked through th' alley with th' German man's damper in his arms, an' Clancy leaped on him fr'm th' fence. Th' kid was tough, but Clancy played fut-ball with th' Finerty's on Sundah, an' was tougher; an', whin th' men on th' other beats come up, Carey was hammered so they had to carry him to th' station an' nurse him f'r trile.

"He wint over th' road, an' come back gray an' stooped, I was afraid iv th' boy with his black eyes; an' wan night he see me watchin' him, an' he says: 'Ye needn't be afraid,' he says. 'I won't hurt ye. Ye're not Clancy,' he says,

"I tol' Clancy about it, but he was a brave man; an' says he: ''Tis wan an' wan, an' a thief again an' honest man. If he gets me, he must get me quick.' Th' nex' night about dusk he come saunterin' up th' sthreet, swingin' his club an' jokin with his frind, whin some wan shouted, 'Look out, Clancy.' He was not quick enough. He died face forward, with his hands on his belt; an' befure all th' wurruld Jack Carey come across th' sthreet, an' put another ball in his head.

"They got him within twinty yards iv me store. He was down in th' shadow iv th' house, an' they was shootin' at him fr'm roofs an' behind barns. Whin he see it was all up, he come out with his eyes closed, firin' straight ahead; an' they filled him so full iv lead he broke th' hub iv th' pathrol wagon takin' him to th' morgue."

"It served him right," said Mr. McKenna.

"Who?" said Mr. Dooley. "Carey or Clancy?"


THE O'BRIENS FOREVER.

"I think, by dad," said Mr. Dooley, "that Hinnissy's crazy."

"I always thought so," said Mr. McKenna, amiably. "But what's he been doin' of late?"

"Well, I took him down to see th' good la-ads havin' fun with th' opprissors iv th' people at th' Colliseem,' said Mr. Dooley. "I had no ticket, an' he had none. Th' frinds iv honest money had give thim all to Jawn P. Hopkins's la-ads. They're frinds iv honest money, whin they'se no other in sight. But I'd like to see anny goold-bug or opprissor iv th' people keep th' likes iv me an' Hinnissy out iv a convintion. We braced up to wan iv th' dures, an' a man stopped Hinnissy. 'Who ar-re ye?' he says. "I am a Dimmycrat,' says Hinnissy. 'Is ye'er name Hill?' says th' la-ad. 'It is not,' says Hinnissy. 'I tol' ye I'm a Dimmycrat; an',' he says, 'I'll have no man call me out iv me name.' Hinnissy was f'r rollin' him on th' flure there an' thin f'r an insult, but I flagged a polisman. 'Is ye'er name Sullivan?' says I. 'It is,' says he. 'Roscommon?' says I, fr'm th' way he spoke. 'Sure ye're right,' he says. 'Me name's Dooley,' I says. 'Here,' say he to th' dure-keeper, 'don't stand in th' way iv th' sinitor iv th' State iv Mitchigan,' he says. 'Lave him an' his frind go in,' he says. I minded afther I was good to him whin Simon O'Donnell was chief iv polis, may he rest in peace!

"Hinnissy an' me got a seat be some dhroll ol' boys fr'm out in Iaway. Afther a man be th' name iv Martin, a sergeant-iv-arms, had addhressed th' meetin' twinty or thirty times,--I kep no count iv him,--th' chairman inthrojooced th' dillygates to nommynate th' big men. It wint all right with Hinnissy for a little while till a man got up an' shook his fist at th' chairman. 'What's that? what's that?' says Hinnissy. 'What's that?' he says. 'Hurroo, hurroo,' he says, lammin' th' man fr'm Iaway with his goold-headed cane. 'What ails ye, man alive?' says I. 'Why,' he says, 'they've nommynated Billy,' he says. 'Billy who?' says I. 'Why, Willum J. O'Brien,' he says.

"'A sthrong man,' says he, addhressin' th' man fr'm Iaway. 'I shud say he was,' says th' man. 'Th' sthrongest man that iver come down th' road,' says Hinnissy. 'Why,' he says, 'I see that man put up an' eight iv beer with wan hand,' he says, 'holdin' it be th' rim,' he says. 'None sthronger,' he says. 'But will he carry Illinye?' says th' lad fr'm Iaway. 'Will he carry Illinye?' says Hinnissy. 'Why, man alive,' he says, 'I've see him carry a prim'ry in th' sixth precint,' he says. 'Is that enough f'r ye?' he says. 'He's a good speaker,' says th' Iaway man. 'He is that,' says Hinnissy; 'an' he was wan iv th' best waltzers that flung a foot at th' County Dimocracy picnic,' he says. 'But will he make a good fight?' says th' man. 'Will he?' says Hinnissy. 'Will he make a good fight?' he says. 'Dooley,' he says, 'this here Dimmycrat wants to know if Bill 'll make a good fight. Why,' he says, 'if he iver gets to Washington an' wan iv th' opprissors iv th' people goes again him, give him Jackson Park or a clothes closet, gun or soord, ice-pick or billyard cue, chair or stove leg, an' Bill 'll make him climb a tree,' he says. 'I'd like to see wan iv thim supreme justices again Bill O'Brien on an income tax or anny other ord-nance,' he says. 'He'd go in an' lame thim with th' Revised Statutes.' 'I presume,' says th' lad, 'that ye'er fr'm Omaha.' 'I'll tear ye'er hair out,' says Hinnissy.'

"'Ye idjit,' says I, whin I had him in th' sthreet, 'it wasn't Bill O'Brien was nommynated,' says I. 'What ar-re ye talkin' about?' says he. 'I seen him on th' flure,' he says. 'He had th' sinitor iv Missoury be th' throat whin ye took me away,' he says.

"I left him there; but he come into th'