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Updated: May 20, 2025
"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."
"What for?" asked Susan. "For pay, and for hours," the older woman said. "They want regular pay for overtime, wanst-and-a-half regular rates. And they want the Chinymen to go, sure, they come in on every steamer," said Mrs. Cudahy indignantly, "and they'll work twelve hours for two bits!
Seems's if I never saw such long tacks; I do believe whoever put 'em down drove 'em clean through the center of the earth and let the Chinymen clinch 'em on t'other side. I haul up a chunk of the cellar floor with every one. Ah, hum!" with a sigh, "I cal'late they ain't any more anxious to leave home than I am.
"Did you see anybody just ahead of me come this way?" I panted. "Yep," returned the grocer. "Fellow came running across those lots not five minutes ago. Three other fellows waiting for him on the corner here." "Three others!" I exclaimed. I had n't the least idea what it all meant. "Yep," said the grocer. "When he came there were four. The whole bunch caught a down car. They was Chinymen."
Bether hours," she went on, checking off the requirements on fat, square fingers, "overtime pay, no Chinymen, and and oh, yes, a risin' scale of wages, if you know what that is? And last, they want the union recognized!" "Well, that's not much!" Susan said generously. "Will they get it?" "The old man is taking his time," Mrs. Cudahy's lips shut in a worried line.
Th' enthusyasm iv this counthry, Hinnissy, always makes me think iv a bonfire on an ice-floe. It burns bright so long as ye feed it, an' it looks good, but it don't take hold, somehow, on th' ice." "Well, sir," said Mr. Hennessy, "to think iv th' audacity iv thim Chinymen! It do bate all." "It do that," said Mr. Dooley. "It bates th' wurruld. An' what's it comin' to?
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