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Updated: May 13, 2025
I knowed him whin he was with Schwartzmeister. A good la-ad, a good lad." "But what about th' opera?" asked Mr. McKenna. "Th' op'ra wus gr-reat," said Mr. Dooley; "but I think Mulcahey was right. Dorsey can't win." "Wanst I knew a man," said Mr. Dooley, laying down his newspaper, "be th' name iv Burke, that come fr'm somewhere around Derry, though he was no Presbyteryan. He was iv th' right sort.
But 'tis th' divvle's own hardship f'r a coon to step out iv th' rooms iv th' S'ciety f'r th' Brotherhood iv Ma-an where he's been r-readin' a pome on th' 'Future of th' Moke' an' be pursooed be a mob iv abolitionists till he's dhriven to seek polis protection, which, Hinnissy, is th' polite name f'r fracture iv th' skull. "I was f'r sthrikin' off th' shackles iv th' slave, me la-ad.
I'm no hero-worshiper. I'm too old. But I know a man whin I see wan, an' though we cudden't come out an' help ye whin th' subscription list wint wild, be sure we think as much iv ye as we did whin ye'er name was first mintioned be th' stanch an' faithful press. Set here, ol' la-ad, an' warrum ye'er toes by th' fire.
"Well, sir, I started up Ar-rchey Road afther th' meetin', forgettin' about Brennan's ordhers, whin a man jumps out fr'm behind a tree near th' gas-house. 'Melia murther! says I to mesilf. ''Tis a highwayman! Thin, puttin' on a darin' front an' reachin' f'r me handkerchief, I says, 'Stand back, robber! I says. 'Stand back, robber! I says. 'Stand back! I says. "'Excuse me, says th' la-ad.
That's what me father done unto me gran'dad in eighteen six. At this p'int he coughs but ye sees he knew what was goin' on, bein' taught in secret be a lady iv th' stage fr'm whom manny a la-ad cud larn th' truth about his father. "Still he can't be persuaded f'r to apply f'r th' vacant improrship on account iv his lungs, till wan day a tailor shows up to measure him f'r some clothes.
Th' amount iv sympathy that goes out f'r a sthrugglin' people is reg'lated, Hinnissy, be th' amount iv sthrugglin' th' people can do. Th' wurruld, me la-ad, is with th' undher dog on'y as long as he has a good hold an' a chanst to tur-rn over."
"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.
He was standin' be th' dure, with white gloves over his hands; an', whin we come, he give th' office to th' la-ad on th' gate, an' says th' la-ad, 'Sure thing, he says. 'Sure thing, an' in we goes. They was a lot iv Gazoorios there, some iv thim settin' in seats an' some iv thim in bur-rd cages up above, an' more standin'. Thim standin' was th' la-ads that Doheny rushed in.
Th' ol' man come home an' found her: she was settin' in a big chair with her apron in her hands an th' picture iv th' la-ad in her lap." "Well," said Mr. Dooley, "th' European situation is becomin' a little gay." "It 'tis so," said Mr. Hennessy. "If I was conthrollin' anny iv the gr-reat powers, I'd go down to th' Phosphorus an' take th' sultan be th' back iv th' neck an' give him wan, two, three.
An' th' gin'ral r-reads: 'At iliven o'clock at th' church iv Nothre Dame in th' prisince iv th' followin' princes , 'Cut out th' princes, says th' la-ad. 'An' kings 'F'rget th' kings, says th' lad. 'Th' son iv th' Impror 'He's dead, says th' doctor. 'Put on his white soot, says th' Main Thing among th' Austhreeches that was again him fr'm th' beginnin'. An' there ye ar-re."
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