Mr. Dooley's Philosophy by Finley Peter Dunne (ebooks that read to you TXT) 📕

“I don't think,” said Mr. Dooley, “that me frind Willum Jennings Bryan is as good an orator as he was four years ago.”

“He's th' grandest talker that's lived since Dan'l O'Connell,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“Ye've heerd thim all an' ye know,” said Mr. Dooley. “But I tell ye he's gone back. D'ye mind th' time we wint down to th' Coleesyum an' he come out in a black alapaca coat an' pushed into th' air th' finest wurruds ye iver heerd spoke in all ye'er bor-rn days? 'Twas a balloon ascinsion an' th' las' days iv Pompey an' a blast on th' canal all in wan. I had to hold on to me chair to keep fr'm goin' up in th' air, an' I mind that if it hadn't been f'r a crack on th' head ye got fr'm a dillygate fr'm Westconsin ye'd 've been in th' hair iv Gin'ral Bragg. Dear me, will ye iver f'rget it, th' way he pumped it into th' pluthocrats? 'I tell ye here an' now,' he says, 'they'se as good business men in th' quite counthry graveyards iv Kansas as ye can find in the palathial lunch-counthers iv Wall street,' he says. 'Whin I see th' face iv that man who looks like a two-dollar pitcher iv Napolyeon at Saint Heleena,' he says, 'I say to mesilf, ye shall not—ye shall not'—what th' divvle is it ye shall not do, Hinnissy?”

“Ye shall not crucify mankind upon a crown iv thorns,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“Right ye ar-re, I forgot,” Mr. Dooley went on. “Well, thim were his own wurruds. He was young an' he wanted something an' he spoke up. He'd been a rayporther on a newspaper an' he'd rather be prisidint thin write anny longer f'r th' pa-aper, an' he made th' whole iv th' piece out iv his own head.

“But nowadays he has tin wurruds f'r Thomas Jefferson an' th' rest iv th' sage crop to wan f'r himsilf. 'Fellow-dimmycrats,' he says, 'befure goin' anny farther, an' maybe farin' worse, I reluctantly accipt th' nommynation f'r prisidint that I have caused ye to offer me,' he says, 'an' good luck to me,' he says. 'Seein' th' counthry in th' condition it is,' he says, 'I cannot rayfuse,' he says. 'I will now lave a subject that must be disagreeable to manny iv ye an' speak a few wurruds fr'm th' fathers iv th' party, iv whom there ar-re manny,' he says, 'though no shame to th' party, f'r all iv that,' he says. 'Thomas Jefferson, th' sage iv Monticello, says: “Ye can't make a silk purse out iv a sow's ear,” a remark that will at wanst recall th' sayin' iv Binjamin Franklin, th' sage iv Camden, that “th' fartherest way ar-round is th' shortest way acrost.” Nawthin' cud be thruer thin that onliss it is th' ipygram iv Andhrew Jackson, th' sage iv Syr-acuse, that “a bur-rd in th' hand is worth two in th' bush.” What gran' wurruds thim ar-re, an' how they must torture th' prisint leaders iv th' raypublican party. Sam'l Adams, th' sage iv Salem, says: “Laugh an' the wurruld laughs with ye,” while Pathrick Hinnery, th' sage iv Jarsey City, puts it that “ye shud always bet aces befure th' dhraw.” Turnin' farther back into histhry we find that Brian Boru, th' sage iv Munsther, said: “Cead mille failthé,” an' Joolyus Caesar, th' sage iv Waukeesha, says, “Whin ye're in Rome, do th' Romans.” Nebuchedneezar—there's a name f'r ye—th' sage iv I-dinnaw-where, says: “Ye can't ate ye'er hay an' have it.” Solomon, th' sage iv Sageville, said, “Whin a man's marrid his throubles begins,” an' Adam, th' sage iv Eden, put it that “A snake in th' grass is worth two in th' boots.” Ye'll see be this, me good an' thrue frinds, that th' voices fr'm th' tombs is united in wan gran' chorus f'r th' ticket ye have nommynated. I will say no more, but on a future occasion, whin I've been down in southern Injyanny, I'll tell ye what th' sages an' fathers iv th' party in th' Ancient an' Hon'rable Association iv Mound-Builders had to say about th' prisint crisis.'”

“'Tisn't Bryan alone, Mack's th' same way. They're both ancesther worshippers, like th' Chinese, Hinnissy. An' what I'd like to know is what Thomas Jefferson knew about th' throubles iv ye an' me? Divvle a wurrud have I to say again' Thomas. He was a good man in his day, though I don't know that his battin' av'rage 'd be high again' th' pitchin' iv these times. I have a gr-reat rayspict f'r the sages an' I believe in namin' sthreets an' public schools afther thim. But suppose Thomas Jefferson was to come back here now an' say to himsilf: 'They'se a good dimmycrat up in Ar-rchy road an' I think I'll dhrop in on him an' talk over th' issues iv th' day.' Well, maybe he cud r-ride his old gray mare up an' not be kilt be the throlley cars, an' maybe th' la-ads'd think he was crazy an' not murdher him f'r his clothes. An' maybe they wudden't. But annyhow, suppose he got here, an' afther he'd fumbled ar-round at th' latch—f'r they had sthrings on th' dure in thim days—I let him in. Well, whin I've injooced him to take a bowl iv red liquor—f'r in his time th' dhrink was white—an' explained how th' seltzer comes out an' th' cash raygisther wurruks, an' wather is dhrawn fr'm th' fassit, an' gas is lighted fr'm th' burner, an' got him so he wud not bump his head again' th' ceilin' ivry time th' beer pump threw a fit—afther that we'd talk iv the pollytical situation.”

“'How does it go?' says Thomas. 'Well,' says I, 'it looks as though Ioway was sure raypublican,' says I. 'Ioway?' says he. 'What's that?' says he. 'Ioway,' says I, 'is a state,' says I. 'I niver heerd iv it,' says he. 'Faith ye did not,' says I. 'But it's a state just th' same, an' full iv corn an' people,' I says. 'An' why is it raypublican?' says he. 'Because,' says I, 'th' people out there is f'r holdin' th' Ph'lippeens,' says I. 'What th' divvle ar-re th' Ph'lippeens?' says he. 'Is it a festival,' says he, 'or a dhrink?' he says. 'Faith, 'tis small wondher ye don't know,' says I, 'f'r 'tis mesilf was weak on it a year ago,' I says. 'Th'