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'Hogan, he says, 'I'll go into th' battle with a prayer book in wan hand an' a soord in th' other, he says; 'an' if th' wurruk calls f'r two hands, 'tis not th' soord I'll dhrop, he says. 'Don't ye believe in prayer? says Hogan. 'I do, says th' good man; 'but, he says, 'a healthy person ought, he says, 'to be ashamed, he says, 'to ask f'r help in a fight, he says."
We'll git to the ould sod, will we?" "Yes, but ye'll do it yerselves, mind ye. No kicks, no scraps. Ye'll do as yer told, and pull ropes, and wark." "We'll wurruk," they declared, noisily. "It's not the loikes o' you th't'll foind the wurruk we can't do, nayther." "We'll see," said Murphy, nodding his head portentously.
"And what did Miss Margaret say to that?" "She said that all she wanted was to be left alone." "What else?" "Oi didn't hear anything more, as Oi wint to the ciller fer coal. By an' by Oi see Miss Margaret in the garden cryin'. Oi wanted to go to her, but Mrs. Langmore kim to the kitchen an' Oi had to attind to me wurruk." "How did Mrs. Langmore seem to appear when she came to the kitchen?"
"'Tis an ol' problem an' I've seen it arise an' shake its gory head ivry few years whiniver th' Swede popylation got wurruk an' begun bein' marrid, thus rayjoocin' th' visible supply iv help. But it seems 'tis deeper thin that.
No great leader iv fi-nance has turned green to see wan iv thim thryin' to do th' leap f'r life through a closed payin' teller's window. Th' fellow that with wan whack iv a hammer can convart a steer into an autymobill or can mannyfacther a pearl necklace out iv two dollars' worth iv wurruk on a slag pile, has throubled no wan. Ye're th' boy in this imergency, Hinnissy.
They quit Myrtle an' Clarence an' th' wrong done to Oscar Lumlovitch be th' brutal foreman iv lard tank nine, an' wint to wurruk on th' onhappy love affairs iv Carrie Boo, th' deer, an' th' throubles in th' domestic relations iv th' pan fish an' th' skate. F'r th' last year th' on'y books that Hogan has told me about have been wrote about animiles.
"No, sir, don't ask me to weep over th' downthrodden wurrukin' man whin he's out on sthrike. Ye take these here tillygraft op'rators that have laid off wurruk f'r th' summer. Do they look as though they were sufferin'? Ye bet they don't. Th' tired tillygraft op'rator come home last week with a smile on his face. 'I have good news f'r ye, mother, says he.
Wurruk, or ye can't be unhappy; an', if th' wurruld isn't unhappy, they'se no such a thing as Prosperity. "That's wan thing I can't understand," Mr. Dooley went on. "Th' newspapers is run be a lot iv gazabos that thinks wurruk is th' ambition iv mankind.
Th' style has changed. There ar-re fifty thousand backward men in th' fair isles iv th' Passyfic fightin' to free th' Philippeen fr'm himsilf an' becomin' a casualty in th' operation, but no one is charterin' ar-rmy hospital ships f'r thim." "No one is convartin' anny steam yachts f'r thim. No wan is sindin' eighty tons iv plum puddin' to complete th' wurruk iv destruction.
'Get up, says Prosperity. 'Get up, an' hustle over to th' rollin' mills: there's a man over there wants ye to carry a ton iv coal on ye'er back. 'But I don't want to wurruk, says th' lad. 'I'm very comfortable th' way I am. 'It makes no difference, says Prosperity. 'Ye've got to do ye'er lick. Wurruk, f'r th' night is comin'. Get out, an' hustle.
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