Observations By Mr. Dooley by Finley Peter Dunne (english novels to improve english txt) 📕

'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