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I can't make this out at all. 'Oh, says th' chemist, layin' down his spoon, 'that's his old cure f'r th' bellyache. Ye'll find a bucket iv it in th' back room next to th' coal scuttle. "It's a gr-reat medicine he give ye. It will do ye good no matther what ye do with it. I wud first thry poorin' some iv it in me hair. If that don't help ye see how far ye can throw th' bottle into th' river.
Th' rest raymained an' see th' two gr-reat fortunes get into their carredge, pursued be th' guests to th' amount iv five hundherd millyions, peltin' thim with seed pearls." "Sure," said Mr. Hennessy, "mebbe 'twasn't as bad as th' pa-apers let on. Ye can't always thrust thim." "P'rhaps not," said Mr. Dooley.
"It will be a gr-reat race," he announced, "and I may have to kill a stoker. But " Then he dived below again.
It don't make anny difference if all she knew about her marital hero was that he was a consistent feeder, a sleepy husband, an' indulgent to his childher an' sometimes to himsilf, an' that she had to darn his socks. Nearly all th' gr-reat men had something th' matther with their wives. I always thought Mrs.
Hinnissy, tell me, wud ye condim this gr-reat man to such a slavery just because he'd made a rash promise whin he didn't have a cent in th' wurruld? Th' law said no. Whin th' Gr-reat Fi-nanceer cud stand it no longer he called upon th' Judge to sthrike off th' chains an' make him a free man. He got a divoorce. "I dare ye to come down to my house an' say thim things," said Mr. Hennessy.
Thim wondherful boardhin'-house smiles that our gifted leaders wears, did ye iver see annythin' so entrancin'? Whin th' las' photygrapher has packed his ar-ms homeward I can see th' gr-reat men retirin' to their rooms an' lettin' their faces down f'r a few minyits befure puttin' thim up again in curl-pa-apers f'r th' nex' day display.
Nowadays they talk about th' edycation iv th' child befure they choose th' name. 'Tis: 'Th' kid talks in his sleep. 'Tis th' fine lawyer he'll make. Or, 'Did ye notice him admirin' that photygraph? He'll be a gr-reat journalist. Or, 'Look at him fishin' in Uncle Tim's watch pocket. We must thrain him f'r a banker. Or, 'I'm afraid he'll niver be sthrong enough to wurruk.
"It shows th' fortitude iv th' Gin'ral an' that he was as gr-reat a liar as I have indicated in th' precedin' pages, that with th' cheers iv his sojers ringin' in his ears, he cud still write home to his wife: 'Ol' girl I can't find annything fit to dhrink down here.
But if I have anny griefs I must bear thim alone. If a bachelor complains iv his throubles people say: 'Oh, he's a gay dog. Sarves him right. An' if he goes on complainin' he's liable to be in gr-reat peril. I wudden't dare to tell me woes to ye'er wife. If I did she'd have a good cry, because she injyes cryin', an' thin she'd put on her bonnet an' r-run over an' sick th' widow O'Brien on me.
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