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Updated: April 30, 2025
"'Twould not be shoes, Casey," he said gravely. "Thim dongolas was ricomminded by th' landscape-gardener from New Yorrk. 'Twould not be sinsible t' ricommind us put a pair of laced shoes in th' park lake fer th' kids t' ride on." "'Twould not seem so," said Toole, shaking his head wisely. "I wisht me mind was like it always is. 'Tis a pity " "Stop!" cried Casey. "I have it! Thim was kid shoes.
Casey wouldn't be givin' ye annything that wasn't good for ye. Casey wouldn't be givin' ye knock-out drops." "No?" whispered Mike angrily. "No? Wouldn't he, Dugan? An' what has he done t' me mimory, then, Dugan? What has he put in th' drink t' rob me of me mimory? Wan minute ago I knew as well anny other man what a dongola is like, an' now I have no mimory of anny dongolas at all.
'Twas dongola shoes wan of me kids had, last winter, an' no good they were, too. Dongolas is shoes, Grevemeyer laced shoes dongolas is laced shoes." The big mayor leaned his head far back and laughed long and loud. He pounded on the bar with his fist, and slapped Toole on the back. "Laced shoes!" he cried, wiping his eyes, and then he became suddenly serious.
The sun was setting when the Jeffersonville messenger delivered it to Alderman Toole. "Mike Toole, Jeffersonville," it said. "Quit fooling, yourself. Don't you know young dongolas are always water-shy at first? Tie them in the lake and let them soak, and they will learn to swim fast enough. If I didn't know any more about dongolas than you do I would keep clear of them. Dennis Toole."
He laid the telegram across his knees and looked at it as if it was some strange communication from another sphere. He pushed his hat to one side of his head and scratched the tuft of red hair thus bared. "'Dongolas won't swim!" he repeated slowly. "An' how do I make thim swim? I wonder does Cousin Mike take th' goat t' be a fish, or what?
He had no time to think of dongolas, and he did not want to think of them Toole was the committee on dongolas, and it was his duty to think of them, and to worry about them, if any worry was necessary. But Toole did not worry. He sat down and wrote a letter to his cousin Dennis, official keeper of the zoo in Idlewild Park at Franklin, Iowa. "Dear Dennis," he wrote.
In hot, quick accents he told him the untimely fate of the dongola water goats, and the mayor with an eye for everything on that important day saw the red face of Alderman Toole grow longer and redder; saw the look of pain and horror that overspread it. A chilling fear gripped his own heart. "Mike," he said. "What's th' matter with th' dongolas?"
"Ye have done good, Mike," said the mayor again. "Thim dongolas will be a big surprise for th' people." They were. They surprised the Keeper of the Goats first of all. The day before the park was to be opened to the public the goats were taken to the park and turned over to their official keeper.
Let th' water goats soak over night, Fagan, an by mornin' they will be ready t' swim like a trout. We will anchor thim in th' lake, Fagan an' we will say nawthin' t' Dugan. 'Twould be a blow t' Dugan was he t' learn th' dongolas provided fer th' park was young an' wather-shy."
"Mike," said the mayor, "about thim dongolas, now; have ye thought anny about where ye would be gettin' thim?" "I have not," said Toole. "I was thinkin' 'twould be good t' think it over a bit, Dugan. Mebby 'twould be best t' git thim at Chicagy." He looked anxiously at the mayor's face, hoping for some sign of approval or disapproval, but the mayor's face was noncommittal.
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