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Updated: June 17, 2025
The easiest part of this task was that of reading humorous books to J. P. When he was in the right mood and would submit to the process, I read to him the greater part of "Dooley," of Artemus Ward, of Max Adler, and portions of W. W. Jacobs, of Lorimer's Letters of a Self-made Merchant to His Son, of Mrs. Anne Warner's Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs.
He dropped a nickel and it rattled down the slot, but it did not open the door. "Doesn't it open?" said Mr. Dooley. "It does not." "Shake it thin," said Mr. Dooley. "Something must be wrong." Mr. McKenna shook the machine when he inserted the next nickel, but there was no compensatory flow of coins from the door. "Perhaps the money is bad," suggested Mr. Dooley. "It won't open f'r bad money."
'Tis only f'r women an' childher now, an' thim that can't get away. Will th' good days ever come again? says ye. Who knows!" "By dad, if it wasn't f'r that there Molly Donahue," said Mr. Dooley to Mr. McKenna, "half th' life 'd be gone out iv Bridgeport." "What has Molly Donahue been doin'?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Iv coorse he's wrong," said Mr. Dooley. "He starts wrong. An' th' dimmycrats ar-re r-right. They're always r-right. Tis their position. Th' dimmycrats ar-re right an' the raypublicans has th' jobs. It all come up because our vinerated party, Hinnissy, ain't quick at th' count.
"That's the idea," said Dooley. And so it was settled by all. Peter said the best thing would be to put it in the savings bank. "Perhaps later we'll find something better." They all went around to a well-known institution on the Bowery, and Peter interviewed the cashier. It proved feasible to endorse over the check to the bank, and credit the proper share to each.
'Didn't ye promise to invist two dollars ivry month? he says. 'I'm doin' it, says Dinnis. 'I've kept me wurrud. 'An' what are ye invistin' it in? says Hogan. 'In lotthry tickets, says th' imp'dent kid." While delivering these remarks, Mr. Dooley was peeping over his glasses at Mr. McKenna, who was engaged in a struggle with the machine.
"I believe it," said Mr. McKenna; "for my mother told me so." "Sure," said Mr. Dooley, "I know it is an old story. Th' wurruld's been full iv it fr'm th' beginnin'; an' 'll be full iv it till, as Father Kelly says, th' pay-roll's closed. But I was thinkin' more iv it th' other night thin iver before, whin I wint to see Shaughnessy marry off his on'y daughter.
Dooley to th' modhren improvements iv th' corset an' th' hat with th' blue bur-rd onto it, an' put shame into her because she hasn't let her feet grow, while th' head mission'ry reads me a pome out iv th' Northwesthren Christyan Advocate. 'Well, says I, 'look here, me good fellow, I says.
The Widow M'Gurk said one day that you might as well be living at the bottom of the boghole for any company you got the chance of seeing; but this was an exaggeration. She was vexed when she made the remark, because Mrs. Dooley, old Dan O'Beirne's married daughter, then staying at the forge, had promised to come and inspect a pair of marketable chickens, in anticipation of which Mrs.
"Niver fear. They're too near th' fodder." "Well," said Mr. Hennessy, in tones of chastened joy: "Dewey didn't do a thing to thim. I hope th' poor la-ad ain't cooped up there in Minneapolis." "Niver fear," said Mr. Dooley, calmly. "Cousin George is all r-right." "Cousin George?" Mr. Hennessy exclaimed. "Sure," said Mr. Dooley. "Dewey or Dooley, 'tis all th' same.
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