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'Th' newspaper, instead iv bein' a pow'rful agent f'r th' salvation iv mankind, has become something that they want to r-read, he says. 'Ye can all go home, he says. 'I'll stay here an' write th' paper mesilf, he says. 'I'm th' best writer ar-round here, annyhow, an' I'll give thim something that'll prepare thim f'r death, he says. "An' he did, Hinnissy, he did. 'Twas a gran' paper.
Th' other lads that dies because they cudden't r-run away, not because they wudden't, they dies on their backs, an' calls f'r th' docthor or th' priest. It depinds where they're shot. "But, annyhow, no wan iv thim lads come back to holler because he was in th' war or to war again th' men that shot him. They wint to wurruk, carryin' th' hod 'r shovellin' cindhers at th' rollin' mills.
"They won't be anny Chinymen left whin Imp'ror Willum gets through." "Mebbe not," says Mr. Dooley. "He's a sthrong man. But th' Chinymen have been on earth a long time, an' I don't see how we can push so manny iv thim off iv it. Annyhow, 'tis a good thing f'r us they ain't Christyans an' haven't larned properly to sight a gun."
"We ought to do it, annyhow," said Mr. Hennessy stoutly. "We wud," said Mr. Dooley, "if we were sure we cud lave it aftherwards." "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.
"He's nawthin' but a kid, annyhow, no oldher thin me oldest boy; an' I know what a fool he'd be if anny wan ast him to be more iv a fool thin he is. Hobson 'll be famous, no matther what foolish things he does." "I dinnaw," said Mr. Dooley. "It was headed f'r him; but I'm afraid, as th' bull-yard players 'd say, fame's been kissed off." "What ar-re ye goin' to do Patrick's Day?" asked Mr.
McKenna, "But who are Flora an' Fauna, Jawn?" "I don't know," said Mr. McKenna. "It sounds mighty suspicious, annyhow," said the philosopher. "I hope th' doc'll be able to square it with his wife." "Keep ye'er eye on th' Pops, Jawn. They're gr-reat people an' a gr-reat pa-arty. What is their principles? Anny ol' thing that th' other pa-arties has rijected.
'But whin a poor gintleman an' a poor lady fall out, the poor lady puts all her anger into rubbin' th' zinc off th' wash-boord an' th' poor gintleman aises his be murdhrin' a slag pile with a shovel, an' be th' time night comes ar-round he says to himself: Well, I've got to go home annyhow, an' it's no use I shud be onhappy because I'm misjudged, an' he puts a pound iv candy into his coat pocket an' goes home an' finds her standin' at th' dure with a white apron on an' some new ruching ar-round her neck, he says.
Little Flora an' little Fauna playin' stoop-tag aroun' a whale or rushin' th' can f'r their poor tired father just home fr'm th' rollin'-mills, where he's been makin' snowballs f'r th' export thrade, or engagin' in some other spoort iv childhood! Go wan with ye!" "But who are they, annyhow?" "I make it a rule in me life not to discuss anny woman's charac-ter," replied Mr. Dooley, sternly.
Dooley, "that arnychy's torch do be lifted, an' what it means I dinnaw; but this here I know, Jawn, that all arnychists is inimies iv governmint, an' all iv thim ought to be hung f'r th' first offence an' bathed f'r th' second. Who are they, annyhow, but foreigners, an' what right have they to be holdin' torchlight procissions in this land iv th' free an' home iv th' brave?
Swear Gin'ral Billot, Gin'ral Boisdeffer, Gin'ral Chammy, an' th' former mimbers iv th' governmint. "'I object to thim bein' sworn, says Matther Blamange. "'They must be sworn, says th' prisident. 'How th' divvle can they perjure thimsilves if they ain't sworn? An' who ar-re ye, annyhow? "'I'm th' counsel f'r th' pris'ner, says Matther Blamange. 'Get out ye'ersilf, says Matther Blamange.
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