THE FREEDOM PICNIC.
"There's wan thing about th' Irish iv this town," said Mr. Dooley.
"The police?" said Mr. McKenna.
"No," said the philosopher. "But they give picnics that does bate all. Be hivins, if Ireland cud be freed be a picnic, it 'd not on'y be free to-day, but an impire, begorra, with Tim Haley, th' Banthry man, evictin' Lord Salisbury fr'm his houldin'. 'Twud that.
"Jawn, th' la-ads have got th' thrick iv freein' Ireland down to a sinsible basis. In th' ol' days they wint over with dinnymite bumbs in their pockets, an' ayether got their rowlers on thim in Cork an' blew thimsilves up or was arristed in Queenstown f'r disordherly conduct. 'Twas a divvle iv a risky job to be a pathrite in thim days, an' none but those that had no wan dipindint on thim cud affoord it. But what was th' use? Ireland wint on bein' th' same opprissed green oil it had always been, an' th' on'y difference th' rivolutions made was ye sa-aw new faces on th' bridges an' th' Wolfe Tones passed another set iv resolutions.
"'Tis different now. Whin we 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' place at six o'clock, an' borrid a paper an' pencil. Thin he wint back, an' sat down an' wrote. 'What ar-re ye doin' there?' says I. 'I've wrote a sketch iv th' nominee f'r th' Stock-yards Sun,' he says. 'Listen to it. Willum J. O'Brien,' he says, 'was born in th' County iv Mayo forty years ago,' he says. 'He received a limited education, his parents even thin designin' him f'r th' Prisidincy. Bein' unable to complete a coorse at th' rayform school, he wint to wurruk; but soon, tired iv this, he started a saloon. Fr'm thince he dhrifted into politics, an' become noted as th' boy welter-weight iv th' South Branch. He was ilicted aldherman at a time whin comparatively nawthin' was doin' in th' council. Subsequent he become a sinitor, an' later enthered into partnership with th' Hon. Jawn Powers in th' retail liquor traffic. Mr. O'Brien is a fine built man, an' can lick anny wan iv his age west iv th' river, give 'r take tin pounds, color no bar. His heart bets up close to th' ribs iv th' common people, an' he would make opprissors iv th' poor wish they'd died early if ye give him a chance with a beer bottle. How's that?' says Hinnissy.
"'Worse,' says I. 'Foolish man,' says I. 'Don't ye know that it ain't our Bill that's been nommynated?' I says. 'This is a Nebraska man,' I says. 'Well,' he says, 'if 'tis Bill O'Brien, he'd win easy. But,' he says, 'if 'tis not,' he says, ''tis wan iv th' fam'ly,' he says. 'I'll change this here novel an' make it a sketch iv th' cousin iv th' candydate,' he says. An' he wint on with his wurruk."
A CANDIDATE'S PILLORY.
"What's this counthry comin' to, annyhow, that a man that's out f'r to be Prisident has to set up on a high chair an' be questioned on his record be a lot iv la-ads that hasn't had annything to do since th' carpetbeatin' season's ended? "said Mr. Dooley. "Ye'd think Big Bill was r-runnin' f'r chief ex-icutive iv th' Clan-na-Gael. First along comes a comity iv th' Sons iv Rest. 'Major,' says they, 'we're insthructed be th' organization to ascertain ye'er views on th' important, we may say all-important, question iv havin' wire matthresses put on th' benches in th' parks. Are we,' they says, 'goin' f'r to have to wear lumps on our backs into all eternity,' they says, 'an' have our slumbers broke be th' hot fut iv th' polisman?' they says. 'We demand an answer,' they says, 'or, be this an' be that, we won't do a thing to ye.' Well, maybe Bill has been down to th' corner playin' a game iv spoil-five with his old frind Coalsack, an' has paid no attintion to th' Sons iv Rest. 'Well,' he says, 'gintlemen, I'm in favor iv doin' ivrything in reason f'r th' hoboes,' he says. 'Th' protection iv th' home hobo again th' pauper can trade iv Europe,' he says, 'has been wan iv th' principal wurruks iv me life,' he says; an' he gives thim each a hand out, an' bows thim to th' dure.
"In comes a dillygation fr'm th' Union iv Amalgamated Pantsmakers; an' says th' chairman, 'Major,' he says, 'we have a complaint to make again thim pants iv ye'ers,' he says. 'What's th' matter with th' pants?' says th' future Prisident. 'I thought they looked all right,' he says. 'I paid four dollars f'r thim in Bucyrus las' year,' he says. 'They have no union label on thim,' says th' chairman. 'Do you know, sir,' he says, 'that thim pants riprisints th' oppression iv women an' childher?' he says. 'D'ye know that ivry thread in thim seams means a tear an' sigh?' says he. 'D'ye know that ivry time ye put on thim pants ye take a pair off some down-throdden workman?' he says. 'Glory be!' says Big Bill: 'is that thrue? Thin what am I to do?' he says in alarm. 'Do?' says th' chairman. 'Wear pants that riprisints honest toil fairly compinsated,' he says. 'Wear pants that 'll say to th' wurruld that Bill McKinley's legs are fair legs;' he says, 'that they may bow at th' knees, but they niver bow to th' opprissor,' he says; 'that niver did they wrap thimsilves in bags that bore th' curse iv monno-poly an' greed,' he says. 'An' where can I get thim?' says th' major, 'Fr'm me,' says th' frind iv labor, pullin' out a tape. 'Will ye have wan or two hip pockets?' he says.
"An' so it goes. Ivry day a rayporther comes to th' house with a list iv questions. 'What are ye'er views on th' issue iv eatin' custard pie with a sponge? Do ye believe in side-combs? If called upon to veto a bill f'r all mimbers iv th' Supreme Coort to wear hoop-skirts, wud ye veto it or wudden't ye? If so, why? If not, why not? If a batted ball goes out iv th' line afther strikin' th' player's hands, is it fair or who? Have ye that tired feelin'? What is your opinion iv a hereafther? Where did you get that hat? If a man has eight dollars an' spends twelve iv it, what will th' poor man do? An' why an' where an' how much?'
"Thin, if he don't answer, ivry wan says he's a thrimmer, an' ought to be runnin' a sthreet-car an' not thryin' to poke his ondecided face into th' White House. I mind wanst, whin me frind O'Brien was a candydate f'r aldherman, a comity iv tax-payers waited on him f'r to get his views on th' issues iv th' day. Big Casey, th' housemover, was th' chairman; an' he says, says he, 'Misther O'Brien,' he says, 'we are desirous,' he says, 'iv larnin' where ye stand on th' tariff, th' currency question, pensions, an' th' intherstate commerce act,' he says, with a wave iv his hand. 'Well,' says O'Brien, he says, 'th' issue on which I'm appealin' to th' free an' intilligent suffrages of Ar-rchey Road an' th' assistance iv Deerin' Sthreet Station,' he says, 'is whether little Mike Kelly will have th' bridge or not,' he says. 'On that I stand,' he says. 'As f'r th' minor issues,' he says, 'I may have me opinions on thim an' I may not. Anny information I possess I'll keep tucked away in this large an' commodjous mind cage, an' not be dealin' it out to th' likes iv ye, as though I was a comity iv th' Civic Featheration,' he says. 'Moreover,' he says, 'I'd like to know, you, Casey, what business have you got comin' roun' to my house and pryin' into my domestic affairs,' he says. ''Tis th' intherstate commerce act now, but th' nex' thing 'll be where I got th' pianny,' he says; 'an', f'r fear ye may not stop where ye are, here goes to mount ye.' An' he climbed th' big man, an' rolled him. Well, sir will ye believe me, ivry man on th' comity but wan voted f'r him. Casey was still in bed iliction day.
"I met Tom Dorsey afther th' comity called. 'Well,' says I, 'I heerd ye was up to O'Brien's questionin' him on th' issues iv th' day,' I says. 'We was,' says he. 'Was his answers satisfacthry?' says I. 'Perfectly so,' he says. 'Whin th' comity left, we were all convinced that he was th' strongest man that cud be nommynated,' he says."
THE DAY AFTER THE VICTORY.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "didn't we give it to thim?"
"Give it to who?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"To th' Dimmycrats," said Mr. Dooley.
"Go on," said Mr. McKenna. "You're a Democrat yourself."
"Me?" said Mr. Dooley, "not on your life. Not in wan hundherd thousand years. Me a Dimmycrat? I shud say not, Jawn, me buck. I'm the hottest kind iv a Raypublican, me an' Maloney. I suppose they ain't two such Raypublicans annywhere. How can anny wan be annything else? Who was it that saved the Union, Jawn? Who was it? Who are th' frinds iv th' Irish? Who protecks th' poor wurrukin'man so that he'll have to go on wurrukin'? We do, Jawn. We Raypublicans, by dad.
"They ain't a Dimmycrat fr'm wan end iv th' road to th' other. I just was over makin' a visit on Docherty, an' he'd took down th' picture iv Jackson an' Cleveland an' put up wan iv Grant an' Lincoln. Willum Joyce have come out f'r McKinley f'r Prisident, an' th' polisman on th' beat told me las' night that th' left'nant told him that 'twas time f'r a change. Th' Dimmycrats had rooned th' counthry with their free trade an' their foreign policy an' their I dinnaw what, an' 'twas high time an honest man got a crack at a down-town precinct with a faro bank or two in it. Th' polisman agreed with him that Cleveland have raised th' divvle with th' Constitootion; an', by gar, he's right, too. He's right, Jawn. He have a boy in th' wather office.
"Ye mind Maloney, th' la-ad with th' game eye? He tends a bridge over be Goose Island way, but he was down here iliction day. Two weeks before iliction day he was again Winter. 'He's no good,' he says. 'He's a Boohemian,' he says. 'An' whin they come to ilictin' Boohemians f'r mayor,' he says, 'I'll go back to me ol' thrade iv shovellin' mud,' he says. 'Besides,' says he, 'if this here Winter wint in,' he says, 'ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Street an' hand him a peach on a window pole, he'd be that stuck up,' he says.
"Some wan must 've spoke to him; f'r, whin he come in th' next time, he says, 'They'se no use talkin',' he says, 'that there Dutchman is sthrong,' he says. 'I thought he was a Boolgahrian,' says I. 'No,' says he, 'he's a German man,' says he. 'An' th' Germans is with him to th' bitther end,' he says. 'D'ye know,' he says, 'I believe he'll give th' little bald-headed duck a run f'r his money,' he says. 'Thim Germans stand together,' he says. 'They're th' most clannish people on earth,' he says. 'I'm goin' over to th' Wolfe Tones to see what th' la-ads think about it.' Sundah night he come an' give a ca-ard f'r Winter to ivry man in th' place. 'He'll sweep th' town like a whirlwind,' he says. 'They can't beat him.' 'Who?' says I. 'Winter, iv coorse.' 'Is he a nice man?' says I. 'Wan iv th' finest men on earth,' he says. 'A spoort, too,' he says. 'An' liberal.'
"He was in here iliction day, an' I had Hinnissy's kid runnin' fr'm th' station with rayturns. Maloney was talkin' to th' crowd an' buyin' dhrinks. 'Ye'd be surprised,' says he, 'to know what a nice fellow this here Winter is,' he says. 'Ye'd niver take him f'r a German,' he says. 'He have no more accint thin mesilf.' The kid come in, an' says he, 'Th' loot says tin precincts show Swift have a majority as big as what th' Raypublicans got las' fall.' 'That's bad,' says I. 'Not at all,' says Maloney. 'Thim's th' down-town wa-ards,' he says. 'Wait till ye hear fr'm th' Germans,' he says. Th' nex' booletin said Swift was gainin', an' had tin thousand majority. 'Niver mind,' says Maloney. 'Th' Germans 'll wipe that out,' he says. Thin we heerd it was twinty thousand f'r Swift. 'Glory be,' says Maloney, 'th' Germans is slow comin' in,' he says. 'Maybe,' says I, 'they forgot to vote,' says I. 'Maybe they're havin' a schootzenfist,' I says, 'an' are out killin' clay pigeons instid iv attendin' to business,' I says. Just thin th' loot come in. 'Well,' says he, ''tis quite a Waterloo,' says he. 'F'r who?' says I. 'Oh,' he says, 'Swift got it be forty thousand.'
"Maloney wiped his face, and took off his hat an' swabbed it inside. Thin says he: 'D'ye raymimber me meetin' ye down-town a week ago on Dorney's place, loot?' he says. 'Yes,' says th' loot. 'D'ye mind what I said thin?' he says, 'I don't call it just now,' says the loot. 'Well, I just come fr'm a meetin' iv th' Swift Marchin' Club, an' I niver seen so much enthusyasm; an' I says to ye, I says: 'Loot,' I says, 'Swift 'll bate him aisy,' I says. 'I knew he would fr'm th' beginnin'. Ye take an' put up a good broad liberal man like George B., a man that has frinds an' knows how to be a good fellow, an' run him again a Boohemian gazabo who gives ivry man th' marble heart an' 'd turn down his own brother, an' anny fool cud tell who 'd win. They'll be some chance f'r a man with Swift over there; but, if this here Winter wint in, ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Sthreet an' hand him a peach on th' end iv a window pole,' he says.
"Will he lose his job? Not much, Jawn. That la-ad 'll be swingin' bridges an' throwin' away th' crust iv his pie whin you an' me are atin' ha-ard coal. He will that. But what do I care? Machs nix aus, Jawn; an' that being translated manes, 'What th' 'ell.'"
A VISIT TO JEKYL ISLAND.
"I'd like to been there," said Mr. Dooley.
"Where's that?" Mr. Hennessy asked.
"At Shekel Island," said Mr. Dooley, "seein' me frind Mack an' me frind Tom Reed meetin' be th' sad sea waves.
"Ye see, Mack was down there with Mark Hanna. He was tired out with expandin', an' anxiety f'r fear me frind Alger 'd raysign; an' says Hanna, he says, 'Come down,' he says, 'with me,' he says, 'to Shekel Island,' he says. ''Tis th' home iv rayfinemint an' riches,' he says, 'where us millyionaires rest fr'm takin' care iv th' counthry,' he says. 'There in th' shade iv th' coupon threes,' he says, 'we watch th' sea waves, an' wondher,' he says, 'whin th' goold that's in thim can be exthracted,' he says. 'They'se nawthin' to break th' silence,' he says, 'but th' roarin' iv th' ocean,' he says; 'an' that sounds nat'ral,' he says, 'because 'tis almost like th' sound iv th' stock exchange,' he says. 'A man,' he says, 'that has th' ticker eye,' he says, 'or th' coupon thumb,' he says, 'is cured in no time,' he says. 'Come,' he says, 'fly with me,' he says. 'They'se nawthin' to keep ye here,' he says. 'Ivry wan iv th' cab'net, includin' th' Sicrety iv War, 'll stick to his place,' he says, 'like a man,' he says.
"An' Mack wint with him. He was settin' on th' beach in a goold chair, surrounded be millyionaires, with th' prisident iv a bank fannin' him an' th' threeasurer iv a dimon' mine poorin' his dhrink; an', though he was feelin' well, they was something on his mind. 'What ails ye?' ast Hanna. 'I was thinkin',' says Mack, 'how pleasant 'twud be if me ol' frind Tom Reed was here,' he says. ''Twud be Paradise if he was here,' he says, whin, lo an' behold, who shud come acrost th' dimon'-studded beach, wadin' through th' bank-notes that 'd been dropped be th' good farmers iv Shekel Island, but Tom Reed.
"Well, sir, to see th' affection that those two great men showed at th' encounther 'd dhraw tears fr'm th' eyes iv a hear-rt iv sthone. 'Tom,' says Mack, in faltherin' accints, 'where have ye been? F'r days an' days I've skinned yon blue horizon f'r anny sign iv ye,' he says. 'An' ye come not,' he says. 'I didn't think I cud miss ye so,' he says. 'Embrace me,' he says, 'if ye ar-re not ar-rmed,' he says. 'Mack,' says me frind Tom Reed, with tears in his eyes, 'this,' he says, 'is th' happiest moment iv me life,' he says. 'I cudden't,' he says, 'I cudden't stay in Wash'nton,' he says, 'with you so far away,' he says, 'where I cudden't watch ye,' he says. 'Ye're th' on'y man in th' wurruld I care f'r,' he says, 'but mesilf.' he says. 'An',' he says, 'I'd fall weepin' on ye'er shoulder this minyit,' he says; 'but I don't want to be disrayspectful be turnin' me back on Misther Hanna,' he says.
"'Well,' says Mack, 'sit down,' he says. 'Rockyfeller,' he says, 'tell Morgan f'r to fetch up a kag iv sherry wine,' he says. 'Tom,' he says, 'we've been frinds f'r years,' he says. 'We have,' says Tom. 'We've concealed it fr'm th' vulgar an' pryin' public,' he says; 'but in our hear-rts we've been frinds, barrin' th' naygur dillygates at th' convintion,' he says. ''Twas a mere incident,' says Mack. 'We've been frinds,' he says; 'an' I've always wanted,' he says, 'to do something f'r ye,' he says. 'Th' time has come,' he says, 'whin I can realize me wish,' he says. 'I offer ye,' he says, 'th' Prisidincy, to succeed me,' he says. 'No, no,' he says, 'I'll not be rayfused,' he says. 'I'm tired iv it,' he says. ''Twas foorced on me be foolish frinds,' he says; 'but I'm not th' man f'r th' place,' he says. 'I haven't dhrawn a comfortable breath, not to speak iv salary, since I wint in,' he says.
"Th' speaker iv th' house burrid his face in his hands, an' sobs shook him partly f'r manny minyits. Thin he raised his head, an' says he, 'Mack,' he says, 'I can't take it,' he says. ''Tis most gin'rous iv ye,' he says, 'but me hear-rt fails me,' he says. 'What is it to be Prisident?' says he. 'Th' White House,' he says, 'is a prison,' he says, 'to which a man is condimned,' he says, 'f'r fine wurruk at th' polls,' he says. 'Th' life iv a Prisident is slavery,' he says. 'If I was to take th' job,' he says, 'I'd be tortured day an' night,' he says, 'be th' fear iv assassination,' he says. 'Think,' he says, 'iv some arnychist shootin' thirteen-inch shells at me,' he says, 'an' maybe,' he says, 'dentin' me,' he says. 'No,' he says, 'I have a good job where I am,' he says. 'All I've got to do,' he says, 'is to set up at th' desk,' he says, 'an' not recall th' names iv th' gintlemen on th' flure, an' me jooty's done,' he says. 'I thank ye kindly, Willum; but I cannot accept ye'er gin'rous offer,' he says. 'Go back to th' cell,' he says, 'an' slave like a convict,' he says. 'I will not rob me frind,' he says, 'iv such an honor. But,' he says, 'tell me whin ye thought iv throwin' up th' job, an' lavin' me br-reak into this hateful prison,' he says. 'About th' year two thousan' an' eight, dear frind,' says Mack. 'No, no,' says Tom Reed. 'I cannot accept it,' he says, pressin' Mack's hand. ''Tis too much,' he says, 'an' too long,' he says.
"'I lave ye,' he says, 'but I'll call on ye,' he says. 'Take,' he says, 'this little silver-mounted bottle iv broomo-caffeen,' he says, 'an' think iv me,' he says. 'I will,' says Mack. 'Ar-ren't ye tired iv ye'er long journey?' he says. 'Wudden't ye like to take a bath in th' shark pond before ye go?' he says. An' so they backed away fr'm each other, th' tears rollin' down their cheeks. Frindship, Hinnissy, is a sacred thing."
"It is," said Mr. Hennessy, "if they are; but I don't b'lieve wan wurrud ye tol' me."
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "if they ain't both frinds, wan iv thim is. An', annyhow, I'm glad to know Tom Reed ain't thryin' to break into jail."
SLAVIN CONTRA WAGNER.
"Ol' man Donahue bought Molly a pianny las' week," Mr. Dooley said in the course of his conversation with Mr. McKenna. "She'd been takin' lessons fr'm a Dutchman down th' sthreet, an' they say she can play as aisy with her hands crossed as she can with wan finger. She's been whalin' away iver since, an' Donahue is dhrinkin' again.
"Ye see th' other night some iv th' la-ads wint over f'r to see whether they cud smash his table in a frindly game iv forty-fives. I don't know what possessed Donahue. He niver asked his frinds into the parlor befure. They used to set in th' dining-room; an', whin Mrs. Donahue coughed at iliven o'clock, they'd toddle out th' side dure with their hats in their hands. But this here night, whether 'twas that Donahue had taken on a dhrink or two too much or not, he asked thim all in th' front room, where Mrs. Donahue was settin' with Molly. 'I've brought me frinds,' he says, 'f'r to hear Molly take a fall out iv th' music-box,' he says. 'Let me have ye'er hat, Mike,' he says. 'Ye'll not feel it whin ye get out,' he says.
"At anny other time Mrs. Donahue 'd give him th' marble heart. But they wasn't a man in th' party that had a pianny to his name, an' she knew they'd be throuble whin they wint home an' tould about it. ''Tis a mel-odjious insthrument,' says she. 'I cud sit here be the hour an' listen to Bootoven and Choochooski,' she says.
"'What did thim write?' says Cassidy. 'Chunes,' says Donahue, 'chunes: Molly,' he says, 'fetch 'er th' wallop to make th' gintlemen feel good,' he says. 'What 'll it be, la-ads?' 'D'ye know "Down be th' Tan-yard Side"?' says Slavin. 'No,' says Molly. 'It goes like this,' says Slavin. 'A-ah, din yadden, yooden a-yadden, arrah yadden ay-a.' 'I dinnaw it,' says th' girl. ''Tis a low chune, annyhow,' says Mrs. Donahue. 'Misther Slavin ividintly thinks he's at a polis picnic,' she says. 'I'll have no come-all-ye's in this house,' she says. 'Molly, give us a few ba-ars fr'm Wagner.' 'What Wagner's that?' says Flannagan. 'No wan ye know,' says Donahue; 'he's a German musician.' 'Thim Germans is hot people f'r music,' says Cassidy. 'I knowed wan that cud play th' "Wacht am Rhine" on a pair iv cymbals,' he says, 'Whisht!' says Donahue. 'Give th' girl a chanst.'
"Slavin tol' me about it. He says he niver heerd th' like in his born days. He says she fetched th' pianny two or three wallops that made Cassidy jump out iv his chair, an' Cassidy has charge iv th' steam whistle at th' quarry at that. She wint at it as though she had a gredge at it. First 'twas wan hand an' thin th' other, thin both hands, knuckles down; an' it looked, says Slavin, as if she was goin' to leap into th' middle iv it with both feet, whin Donahue jumps up. 'Hol' on!' he says. 'That's not a rented pianny, ye daft girl,' he says. 'Why, pap-pah,' says Molly, 'what d'ye mean?' she says. 'That's Wagner,' she says. ''Tis th' music iv th' future,' she says. 'Yes,' says Donahue, 'but I don't want me hell on earth. I can wait f'r it,' he says, 'with th' kind permission iv Mrs. Donahue,' he says. 'Play us th' "Wicklow Mountaineer,"' he says, 'an' threat th' masheen kindly,' he says, 'She'll play no "Wicklow Mountaineer,"' says Mrs. Donahue. 'If ye want to hear that kind iv chune, ye can go down to Finucane's Hall,' she says, 'an' call in Crowley, th' blind piper,' she says. 'Molly,' she says, 'give us wan iv thim Choochooski things,' she said. 'They're so ginteel.'
"With that Donahue rose up. 'Come on,' says he. 'This is no place f'r us,' he says. Slavin, with th' politeness iv a man who's gettin' even, turns at th' dure. I'm sorry I can't remain,' he says. 'I think th' wurruld an' all iv Choochooski,' he says. 'Me brother used to play his chunes,' he says,—'me brother Mike, that run th' grip ca-ar,' he says. 'But there's wan thing missin' fr'm Molly's playing', he says. 'And what may that be?' says Mrs. Donahue. 'An ax,' says Slavin, backin' out.
"So Donahue has took to dhrink."
GRAND OPERA.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "'tis a gr-reat thing to be a polisman. Me frind Doheny, what used to be at Deerin' Sthreet, have got on th' crossin' an' they've planted him down be th' Audjitooroom. He was up here las' week, an' says he, 'Run in, an' look at th' op'ra,' says he. 'Run in, an' take a flash iv it,' he says. ''Tis gr-reat,' he says. So I takes Duggan, an' we goes down together.
"Well, Doheny does be gr-reat paper with thim. He was standin' be th' dure, with white gloves over his hands; an', whin we come, he give th' office to th' la-ad on th' gate, an' says th' la-ad, 'Sure thing,' he says. 'Sure thing,' an' in we goes. They was a lot iv Gazoorios there, some iv thim settin' in seats an' some iv thim in bur-rd cages up above, an' more standin'. Thim standin' was th' la-ads that Doheny rushed in. Ye niver see such a lot iv thim,—Cassidy, O'Regan, Hogan, Mulcahey, Shay, Mullaney, Mullvihill, an' th' eight O'Neills,—all sint through be Doheny without cridintials. Sure, it looked like a meetin' iv th' Wolf Tones. It did that.
"Th' op'ra was on whin we wint in, an' they was whalin' away in Eyetallian. Duggan listened; an' says he, 'What's the man sayin'?' he says. 'I dinnaw,' I says. 'He's talkin' Chinese, an',' says I, 'they're goin' to sind him to th' laundhry,' says I. 'Look,' I says. 'They're puttin' him in th' clothes-basket,' I says. 'If they do,' says he, 'he'll niver come back,' he says, 'or else he'll have another name,' he says. 'Let's buy a scoor ca-ard,' says he. So he bought wan, an' was r-readin' it an' lookin' over th' top iv it at th' women in th' boxes, an' wondhrin' why some wan didn't tell thim their dhresses was slippin' down, whin over comes Cassidy, and says he, 'What's th' news in th' Sixth?' 'Nawthin,' says Duggan. 'Will O'Brien win?' says Cassidy. 'They can't beat him,' says Duggan. 'I dinnaw,' says Cassidy. 'Come over here, an' I'll tell ye,' says Duggan. Dinny Shay an' Hogan an' Mullaney jined us, an' we wint an' set on the steps.
"'Can Winter beat Swift?' says Shay. 'I'd like to know,' says Hogan. 'I don't know who to vote f'r,' he says; 'an' Mike is in th' wather office,' he says. ''Tis a cinch Hinky 'll win out in th' First,' says Mullaney. 'He have a sthrong man again him,' says Hogan. 'Gleason have wan or two lodgin'-houses.' 'Three,' says Shay; 'but Hinkey knows all th' lodgers,' he says. ''Twas a mane thing th' main guy done with Callaghan,' says Hogan. 'What's that?' says Shay. 'Thrun him off th' bridge,' says Hogan, 'because he come fr'm Kerry,' he says. 'I don't believe wan wurrud iv it,' says Mullaney. 'They're more Kerry men on bridges thin anny other counties,' he says. 'What has bet Hopkins,' he says, 'is his frindship fr'm th' Mayo men,' he says. 'Th' Mayo men is great f'r carryin' prim'ries, afther they're over,' he says. 'But did anny wan iver hear iv thim doin' anny good whin th' votes was bein' cast?' 'I knowed wan that did,' says Cassidy, as black as ye'er boot. 'His name was Cassidy,' he says; 'an' he done some good,' he says, 'be privintin' a man be th' name iv Mullaney,' he says, 'fr'm bein' a dilligate.' 'Ye had th' polis with ye,' says Mullaney. 'Ye was supported be th' fire departmint,' says Cassidy.
"'Let's change th' subject,' says Duggan, 'What show has Dorsey got in th' Twinty-ninth? 'None at all,' says wan iv th' O'Neills who 'd come over. 'He have th' Civic Featheration again him.' 'Who cares f'r th' Civic Featheration?' says Mulcahey. 'They don't vote,' he says. 'What 'll kill Dorsey,' he says, 'is his bein' an Apee-a.' 'He's no Apee-a,' says Mike O'Neill. 'I wint to th' Brothers' school with him,' he says. 'Whiniver a man comes up that can't be downed anny way, he's called an Apee-a,' he says. 'He's no more an Apee-a thin ye are,' he says. 'D'ye mean to call me that?' says Mulcahey. 'Come out, an' have a dhrink,' I says; an' we wint down.
"Well, Jawn, we had wan iv th' liveliest political argumints ye iver see without so much as a blow bein' sthruck. Evenly matched, d'ye mind, with a chair f'r ivry man. An' th' bar-tinder was a frind iv mine. I knowed him whin he was with Schwartzmeister. A good la-ad,—a good lad."
"But what about th' opera?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Th' op'ra wus gr-reat," said Mr. Dooley; "but I think Mulcahey was right. Dorsey can't win."
THE CHURCH FAIR.
"Wanst I knew a man," said Mr. Dooley, laying down his newspaper, "be th' name iv Burke, that come fr'm somewhere around Derry, though he was no Presbyteryan. He was iv th' right sort. Well, he was feelin' how-come-ye-so, an' he dhrifted over to where we was holdin' a fair. They was a band outside, an' he thought it was a grand openin'. So he come in with a cigar in th' side iv his mouth an' his hat hangin' onto his ear. It was th' last night iv th' fair, an' ivrything was wide open; f'r th' priest had gone home, an' we wanted f'r to break th' record. This Burke was f'r lavin' whin he see where he was; but we run him again th' shootin' gallery, where ye got twinty-five cints, a quarther iv a dollar, f'r ivry time ye rang th' bell. Th' ol' gun we had was crooked as a ram's horn, but it must 've fitted into Burke's squint; f'r he made that there bell ring as if he was a conducthor iv a grip-car roundin' a curve. He had th' shootin' gallery on its last legs whin we run him again th' wheel iv fortune. He broke it. Thin we thried him on th' grab-bag. They was four goold watches an' anny quantity iv brickbats an' chunks iv coal in th' bag. He had four dives, an' got a watch each time. He took a chanst on ivrything; an' he won a foldin'-bed, a doll that cud talk like an old gate, a pianny, a lamp-shade, a Life iv St. Aloysius, a pair iv shoes, a baseball bat, an ice-cream freezer, an' th' pomes iv Mike Scanlan.
"Th' comity was disthracted. Here was a man that 'd break th' fair, an' do it with th' best iv humor; f'r he come fr'm another parish. So we held a private session. 'What 'll we do?' says Dorgan, th' chairman. They was a man be th' name iv Flaherty, a good man thin an' a betther now; f'r he's dead, may he rest in peace! An' Flaherty says: 'We've got to take th' bull be th' horns,' he says. 'If ye lave him to me,' he says, 'I'll fix him,' he says.
"So he injooced this man Burke to come down back iv th' shootin' gallery, an' says he to Burke, 'Ye're lucky to-night.' 'Not so very,' says Burke. ''Twud be a shame to lave ye get away with all ye won,' says Flaherty. ''Twill be a great inconvanience,' says Burke. 'I'll have to hire two or three dhrays,' he says; 'an' 'tis late.' 'Well,' says Flaherty, 'I'm appinted be th' parish to cut th' ca-ards with ye,' he says, 'whether ye're to give back what ye won or take what's left.' ''Tis fair,' says Burke; 'an', whoiver wins, 'tis f'r a good cause.' An' he puts th' watches an' th' money on th' table.
"'High man,' says Flaherty. 'High man,' says Burke. Flaherty cut th' king iv spades. Burke, th' robber, cut th' ace iv hearts. He was reachin' out f'r th' money, whin Flaherty put his hands over it. 'Wud ye take it?' says he. 'I wud,' says Burke. 'Wud ye rob th' church?' says Flaherty. 'I wud,' says Burke. 'Thin,' says Flaherty, scoopin' it in, 'ye're a heretic; an' they'se nawthin' comin' to ye.'
"Burke looked at him, an' he looked at th' comity; an' he says, 'Gintlemen, if iver ye come over in th' Sixth Ward, dhrop in an' see me,' he says. 'I'll thry an' make it plisint f'r ye,' he says. An' he wint away.
"Th' story got out, an' th' good man heerd iv it. He was mighty mad about it; an' th' nex' sermon he preached was on th' evils iv gamblin', but he asked Flaherty f'r to take up th' colliction."
THE WANDERERS.
"Poor la-ads, poor la-ads," said Mr. Dooley, putting aside his newspaper and rubbing his glasses. "'Tis a hard lot theirs, thim that go down into th' sea in ships, as Shakespeare says. Ye niver see a storm on th' ocean? Iv coorse ye didn't. How cud ye, ye that was born away fr'm home? But I have, Jawn. May th' saints save me fr'm another! I come over in th' bowels iv a big crazy balloon iv a propeller, like wan iv thim ye see hooked up to Dempsey's dock, loaded with lumber an' slabs an' Swedes. We watched th' little ol' island fadin' away behind us, with th' sun sthrikin' th' white house-tops iv Queenstown an' lightin' up th' chimbleys iv Martin Hogan's liquor store. Not wan iv us but had left near all we loved behind, an' sare a chance that we'd iver spoon th' stirabout out iv th' pot above th' ol' peat fire again. Yes, by dad, there was wan,—a lad fr'm th' County Roscommon. Divvle th' tear he shed. But, whin we had parted fr'm land, he turns to me, an' says, 'Well, we're on our way,' he says. 'We are that,' says I. 'No chanst f'r thim to turn around an' go back,' he says. 'Divvle th' fut,' says I. 'Thin,' he says, raisin' his voice, 'to 'ell with th' Prince iv Wales,' he says. 'To 'ell with him,' he says.
"An' that was th' last we see of sky or sun f'r six days. That night come up th' divvle's own storm. Th' waves tore an' walloped th' ol' boat, an' th' wind howled, an' ye cud hear th' machinery snortin' beyant. Murther, but I was sick. Wan time th' ship 'd be settin' on its tail, another it 'd be standin' on its head, thin rollin' over cow-like on th' side; an' ivry time it lurched me stummick lurched with it, an' I was tore an' rint an' racked till, if death come, it 'd found me willin'. An' th' Roscommon man,—glory be, but he was disthressed. He set on th' flure, with his hands on his belt an' his face as white as stone, an' rocked to an' fro. 'Ahoo,' he says, 'ahoo, but me insides has torn loose,' he says, 'an' are tumblin' around,' he says. 'Say a pather an' avy,' says I, I was that mad f'r th' big bosthoon f'r his blatherin'. 'Say a pather an' avy,' I says; f'r ye're near to death's dure, avick.' 'Am I?' says he, raising up. 'Thin,' he says, 'to 'ell with the whole rile fam'ly,' he says. Oh, he was a rebel!
"Through th' storm there was a babby cryin'. 'Twas a little wan, no more thin a year ol'; an' 'twas owned be a Tipp'rary man who come fr'm near Clonmel, a poor, weak, scarey-lookin' little divvle that lost his wife, an' see th' bailiff walk off with th' cow, an' thin see him come back again with th' process servers. An' so he was comin' over with th' babby, an' bein' mother an' father to it. He'd rock it be th' hour on his knees, an' talk nonsense to it, an' sing it songs, 'Aha, 'twas there I met a maiden,' an' 'Th' Wicklow Mountaineer,' an' 'Th' Rambler fr'm Clare,' an' 'O'Donnel Aboo,' croonin' thim in th' little babby's ears, an' payin' no attintion to th' poorin' thunder above his head, day an' night, day an' night, poor soul. An' th' babby cryin' out his heart, an' him settin' there with his eyes as red as his hair, an' makin' no kick, poor soul.
"But wan day th' ship settled down steady, an' ragin' stummicks with it; an' th' Roscommon man shakes himself, an' says, 'To 'ell with th' Prince iv Wales an' th' Dook iv Edinboroo,' an' goes out. An' near all th' steerage followed; f'r th' storm had done its worst, an' gone on to throuble those that come afther, an' may th' divvle go with it. 'Twill be rest f'r that little Tipp'rary man; f'r th' waves was r-runnin' low an' peaceful, an' th' babby have sthopped cryin'.
"He had been settin' on a stool, but he come over to me. 'Th' storm,' says I, 'is over. 'Twas wild while it lasted,' says I. 'Ye may say so,' says he. 'Well, please Gawd,' says I, 'that it left none worse off thin us.' 'It blew ill f'r some an' aise f'r others,' says he. 'Th' babby is gone.'
"An' so it was, Jawn, f'r all his rockin' an' singin'. An' in th' avnin' they burried it over th' side into th' sea. An' th' little man see thim do it."
MAKING A CABINET.
"I suppose, Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "ye do be afther a governmint job. Is it council to Athlone or what, I dinnaw?"
"I haven't picked out the place yet," said Mr. McKenna. "Bill wrote me the day after election about it. He says: 'John,' he says, 'take anything you want that's not nailed to the wall,' he says. He heard of my good work in the Twenty-ninth. We rolled up eight votes in Carey's precinct, and had five of them counted; and that's more of a miracle than carrying New York by three hundred thousand."
"It is so," said Mr. Dooley. "It is f'r a fact. Ye must 've give the clerks an' judges morphine, an' ye desarve great credit. Ye ought to have a place; an' I think ye'll get wan, if there's enough to go round among th' Irish Raypublicans. 'Tis curious what an effect an iliction has on th' Irish Raypublican vote. In October an Irish Raypublican's so rare people point him out on th' sthreet, an' women carry their babies to see him. But th' day afther iliction, glory be, ye run into thim ivrywhere,—on th' sthreet-car, in the sthreet, in saloons principally, an' at th' meetin's iv th' Raypublican Comity. I've seen as manny iv them as twinty in here to-day, an' ivry wan iv thim fit to run anny job in th' governmint, fr'm directin' th' Departmint iv State to carryin' ashes out an' dumpin thim in th' white lot.
"They can't all have jobs, but they've got to be attinded to first; an', whin Mack's got through with thim, he can turn in an' make up that cabinet iv his. Thin he'll have throuble iv his own, th' poor man, on'y comin' into fifty thousand a year and rint free. If 'twas wan iv th' customs iv th' great raypublic iv ours, Jawn, f'r to appoint th' most competent men f'r th' places, he'd have a mighty small lot f'r to pick fr'm. But, seein' that on'y thim is iligible that are unfit, he has th' divvle's own time selectin'. F'r Sicrety iv State, if he follows all iv what Casey calls recent precidints, he's limited to ayether a jack-leg counthry lawyer, that has set around Washington f'r twinty years, pickin' up a dollar or two be runnin' errands f'r a foreign imbassy, or a judge that doesn't know whether th' city of Booloogne-sure-Mere, where Tynan was pinched, is in Boolgahria or th' County Cavan. F'r Sicrety iv th' Threasury he has a choice iv three kinds iv proud and incompetent fi-nanceers. He can ayether take a bank prisident, that 'll see that his little bank an' its frinds doesn't get th' worst iv it, or a man that cudden't maintain th' par'ty iv a counthry dhry-good store long enough to stand off th' sheriff, or a broken-down Congressman, that is full iv red liquor half the year, an' has remorse settin' on his chest th' other half.
"On'y wan class is iligible f'r Attorney-gin'ral. To fill that job, a man's got to be a first-class thrust lawyer. If he ain't, th' Lord knows what 'll happen. Be mistake he might prosecute a thrust some day, an' th' whole counthry 'll be rooned. He must be a man competint f'r to avoid such pitfalls an' snares, so 'tis th' rule f'r to have him hang on to his job with th' thrust afther he gets to Washington. This keeps him in touch with th' business intherests.
"F'r Sicrety iv War, th' most like wan is some good prisident iv a sthreet-car company. 'Tis exthraordinney how a man learns to manage military affairs be auditin' thrip sheets an' rentin' signs in a sthreet-car to chewin' gum imporyums. If Gin'ral Washington iv sacred mimory 'd been under a good sthreet-car Sicrety iv War, he'd 've wore a bell punch to ring up ivry time he killed a Hessian. He wud so, an' they'd 've kep' tab on him, an', if he thried to wurruk a brother-in-law on thim, they'd give him his time.
"F'r th' Navy Departmint ye want a Southern Congressman fr'm th' cotton belt. A man that iver see salt wather outside iv a pork bar'l 'd be disqualified f'r th' place. He must live so far fr'm th' sea that he don't know a capstan bar fr'm a sheet anchor. That puts him in th' proper position to inspect armor plate f'r th' imminent Carnegie, an' insthruct admirals that's been cruisin' an' fightin' an' dhrinkin' mint juleps f'r thirty years. He must know th' difference bechune silo an' insilage, how to wean a bull calf, an' th' best way to cure a spavin. If he has that information, he is fixed f'r th' job.
"Whin he wants a good Postmaster-gin-'ral, take ye'er ol' law partner f'r awhile, an', be th' time he's larned to stick stamps, hist him out, an' put in a school-teacher fr'm a part iv th' counthry where people communicate with each other through a conch. Th' Sicrety iv th' Interior is an important man. If possible, he ought to come fr'm Maine or Florida. At anny rate, he must be a resident iv an Atlantic seacoast town, an' niver been west iv Cohoes. If he gets th' idee there are anny white people in Ann Arbor or Columbus, he loses his job.
"Th' last place on th' list is Sicrety iv Agriculture. A good, lively business man that was born in th' First Ward an' moved to th' Twinty-foorth after th' fire is best suited to this office. Thin he'll have no prejudices against sindin' a farmer cactus seeds whin he's on'y lookin' f'r wheat, an' he will have a proper understandin' iv th' importance iv an' early Agricultural Bureau rayport to th' bucket-shops.
"No Prisident can go far away that follows Cleveland's cabinet appintmints, although it may be hard f'r Mack, bein' new at th' business, to select th' right man f'r th' wrong place. But I'm sure he'll be advised be his frinds, an' fr'm th' lists iv candydates I've seen he'll have no throuble in findin' timber."