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"I thought me frind Casey 'd be taken up f'r histin' a polisman f'r sure, though, to be fair with him, I niver knowed him to do but wan arnychist thing, and that was to make faces at Willum Joyce because he lived in a two-story an' bay-window brick house. Doolan said that was goin' too far, because Willum Joyce usually had th' price. Wan day Casey disappeared, an' I heerd he was married.
Nowadays an arnychist dhrops into a lunch-room at th' railroad depot an' sees a man settin' on a stool atin' a quarther section iv a gooseb'ry pie an' dhrinkin' a glass iv buttermilk. 'D'ye know who that is? says th' lunch-counter lady. 'I do not, says th' arnychist, 'but be th' look iv him he ain't much. 'That's th' king, says th' lady. 'Th' king, is it, says th' arnychist.
'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.
There came a policeman, shoving through. "What's all this about?" The fellow with the kerosene can spoke up: "Here's this damn Arnychist prophet been incitin' the crowd and preachin' sedition! You better take him along, officer, and put him somewhere he'll be safe, because me and my buddies won't stand no more Bolsheviki rantin'."
Did ye iver see an American or an Irishman an arnychist? No, an' ye niver will. Whin an Irishman thinks th' way iv thim la-ads, he goes on th' polis force an' dhraws his eighty-three-thirty-three f'r throwin' lodgin'-house bums into th' pathrol wagon. An' there ye a-are. "I niver knowed but th' wan arnychist, an' he was th' divvle an' all f'r slaughtherin' th' rich.
I won't work!" this being our Mobland nickname for the I.W.W. Some one had daubed the letters on the sides of the wagon, using the red paint; and a drunken fellow standing near me shook his clenched fist at the wretch on top and bellowed in a fog-horn voice: "Hey, there, you goddam Arnychist, if you're a prophet, come down from that there wagon and cure my venereal disease!"
"I was all through the Argonne," I said quickly. "And I belong to the Brigade." "Oh ho! Well, pitch in here, and help carry out this bloody Arnychist literature!" I was about to answer, but Carpenter's voice rang out again. He had turned and stretched out his arms to the crowd, and we both stopped to listen to his words. "Shall ye be wolves, or shall ye be men?
An' between you an' me, Hinnissy, ivry arnychist I've knowed, an' I've met manny in me time, an' quite, law-abidin' citizens they was, too, had th' makin' iv a thradeejan in him. If they was no newspapers they'd be few arnychists. They want to get their pitchers in th' pa-apers an' they can't do it be wheelin' bananas through th' sthreets or milkin' a cow, so they go out an' kill a king.
Mark Hanna rings f'r his sicrety an', says he: 'Have ye got off th' letther fr'm George Fred Willums advisin' Aggynaldoo to pizen th' wells? 'Yes sir. 'An' th' secret communication fr'm Bryan found on an arnychist at Pattherson askin' him to blow up th' White House? 'It's in th' hands iv th' tyepwriter. 'Thin call up an employmint agency an' have a dillygation iv Jesuites dhrop in at Lincoln, with a message fr'm th' pope proposin' to bur-rn all Protestant churches th' night befure iliction."
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