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Updated: June 20, 2025
As for Father Pat, he complained about himself. "If I only had me lungs!" he mourned. To and fro he walked, to and fro. "If only I could do annything except talk! Dear! dear! dear! dear!" The cowboy, blinder than ever, comforted himself with praising the absent scoutmaster. "That young feller's O. K.," he asserted. "I can tell it by the way he grabbed my paw. Yas, ma'am!
Come here, like a good boy, an' help me off. Dooley, he roars to me, 'ain't ye goin' to do annything? he says. 'Ne'er a thing, says I, 'but go home. 'But how 'm I goin' to cross? he says. 'Go down on ye'er knees an' crawl, says I. 'Foolish man! I says. An' he done it, Jawn. It took him tin minyits to get down in sections, but he done it.
Ye needn't think I'm proud iv me business. I only took to it because I am too selfish to be a mechanic an' too tender-hearted to be a banker or a lawyer. No, sir, I wudden't care a sthraw if all th' dhrink in th' wurruld was dumped to-morrah into th' Atlantic Ocean, although f'r a week or two afther it was I'd have to get me a diving suit if I wanted to see annything iv me frinds.
He says nawthin' to ye an' ye feel like th' prisoner while th' foreman iv th' jury is fumblin' in his inside pocket f'r th' verdict. Ye can stand it no longer. 'Dock, says he, 'is it annything fatal? I'm not fit to die but tell me th' worst an' I will thry to bear it. 'Well, says he, 'ye have a slight interioritis iv th' semi-colon. But this purscription ought to fix ye up all right.
I'll have to pay ye back th' money I took fr'm ye f'r ye'er schoolin'. It was obtained be false pretences. "How can I know annything, whin I haven't puzzled out what I am mesilf. I am Dooley, ye say, but ye're on'y a casual obsarver. Ye don't care annything about me details. Ye look at me with a gin'ral eye. Nawthin' that happens to me really hurts ye.
Panics an' circuses, as Father Kelly says, are f'r th' amusement iv th' poor. An' a time iv this kind is fine f'r ivrybody who hasn't too much. A little while ago ye niver r-read in th' pa-aper annything about th' fellow that had his money in th' bank anny more thin ye'd read about th' spectators at a prize fight.
"'Gintlemen, he says, 'ye must excuse me, he says, 'in such matthers. 'D'ye mane to say, says Cassidy, th' plumber, 'that ye won't do annything f'r my son? 'Do annything, says Flannagan. 'Do? he says.
"Well, Goold Bonds ended up in th' coal cellar, an' they was a cab'net council f'r to see what was to be done. 'Sind f'r Doctor Heinegagubler, says th' Sicrety iv War. 'He's wan iv th' gr-reatest surgeons iv our time, he says, 'an' can cure annything fr'm pips to glanders, he says. Th' famous Doctor Honeycooler was summoned.
I don't agree with Uncle Joe Cannon, who says it is trashy. It is light, perhaps even frivolous. But it has gr-reat merit. I can't think iv annything that wud be more agreeable thin lyin' in a hammock, with a glass iv somethin' in ye'er hand on a hot day an' readin' this little jim iv pure English an' havin' a profissor fr'm colledge within aisy call to tell ye what it all meant.
All they want is a chanst to go out to th' cimitry; an', faith, who doesn't enjoy that? No wan that's annything iv a spoort. "I know hundherds iv thim. Ye know Pat Doherty, th' little man that lives over be Grove Sthreet. He inlisted three times, by dad, an' had to stand on his toes three times to pass. He was that ager.
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