Chapter 8

"That's all r-right," said Mr. Thomas Larkin, the Kerry horseshoer, who was leaning over the cigar-case, reading what Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Blaine, Mr. Edward Atkinson, and Mr. Andrew D. White had to say in a small pamphlet. "That's all r-right, Martin. But ye're talkin' like a Populist an' an anarchist an' a big bullhead gen'rally. Ye bring up two or three Jew men, an' think f'r to scare us with thim. But look here. Supposin' a man comes into my place an' lays down on th' anvil a silver dollar, an' I give it a wallop with me hammer"--

"Thin," said Mr. Dooley, "ye're knockin' th' gover'mint."

"How am I?" said Mr. Larkin. "Niver mind now: I take this here silver dollar, an' I fetch it wan with me hammer. What happens?"

"Th' man that give ye th' dollar hands ye wan in th' nose," said Mr. Dooley.

"Not at all, not at--all," said Mr. Larkin. "I take this here mutilated an' disfigured an' bum dollar down to th' three-asury, an' I hand it in; an' Carlisle says, 'What kind iv an ol' piece iv mud is this ye're flingin' at me?' he says. 'Take it away: it's nawthin' to me.'"

"True for you, Larkin," said Mr. McKenna. "You're on the right track. Carlisle couldn't take it after you'd smashed it."

"But," said Mr. Dooley, "look here: if ye had th' free an' unlimited coinage iv silver at a ratio iv sixteen to wan, ye cud take this here mass iv silver down to Carlisle, an' say, 'Here, Jawn, give me a dollar'; an' he'd have to give it to ye."

"A dollar of what?" said Mr. McKenna.

"A dollar iv what?" repeated Mr. Dooley. "A dollar iv what? Man alive, don't ye know what a dollar is? Carlisle'd hand him out a plunk, a case, a buck. He'd say, 'Here, Larkin, ye're a dam fool to be malthreatin' th' currincy iv yer adophted counthry, but I have to give ye a dollar because ye're a good fellow an' a frind iv Dooley's.'"

"He wouldn't say anything of the kind," said Mr. McKenna. "He'd give Larkin fifty cents."

"I'd push his face in if he did," said Mr. Larkin, warmly. "I'm as good a ma-an as he is anny day. I'll have no man rob me."

"But he wouldn't rob you," said Mr. McKenna. "Think of the purchasing power: you've got to always figure that out. A dollar you'd get then would be worth only half as much as it's worth now. It'd be a dollar like they run through the ringer down in Mexico."

"How can wan dollar be worth on'y half as much as another dollar, if they're both dollars an' th' man that made thim is at la-arge?" answered Mr. Dooley. "Here's a dollar, an' here's a dollar. Wan akels th' other. Now you take this here dollar, an' come into my place. 'Give me a brandy an' sody,' ye say. Thin what do I say?"

"You say you're just out of brandy and soda."

"So I do, so I do. Thin you ask f'r a little liquor with beer f'r a chaser. An' I give it to ye. Ye lay down wan iv these here quartz dollars. I return eighty-five cints. Larkin comes in later, ordhers th' same thing, an' I give him th' same threatment. I play no fav-rites. Entertainmint f'r man an' beast."

"But, if we had free silver, you'd charge thirty cents for the drink," said Mr. McKenna.

"I wud not," said Mr. Dooley, hotly. "I niver overcharged a man in my life, except durin' a campaign."

"No one accuses you of overcharging," explained Mr. McKenna. "Everybody would charge the same. It'd be the regular price."

"If it was," said Mr. Dooley, "they'd be a rivolution. But I don't believe it, Jawn. Let me tell ye wan thing. Whisky is th' standard iv value. It niver fluctuates; an' that's funny, too, seein' that so much iv it goes down. It was th' same price--fifteen cints a slug, two f'r a quarther--durin' the war; an' it was th' same price afther the war. The day befure th' crime iv sivinty-three it was worth fifteen cints: it was worth th' same th' day afther. Goold and silver fluctuates, up wan day, down another; but whisky stands firm an' strong, unchangeable as th' skies, immovable as a rock at fifteen or two f'r a quarther. If they want something solid as a standard iv value, something that niver is rajjooced in price, something ye can exchange f'r food an' other luxuries annywhere in th' civilized wurruld where man has a thirst, they'd move th' Mint over to th' internal rivinue office, and lave it stay there."

Both Mr. Larkin and Mr. McKenna were diverted by this fancy.

"There's some good argumints on both sides iv th' quisthion," said the Kerry man. "I heerd a man be th' name of Doyle, a helper, compare money to th' human lungs."

"Th' lung argumint is all right," said Mr. Dooley. "Th' whole currency question is a matther iv lungs."

ON POLITICAL PARADES.

Mr. Hennessy, wearing a silver-painted stovepipe hat and a silver cape and carrying a torch, came in, looking much the worse for wear. The hat was dented, the cape was torn, and there were marks on Mr. Hennessy's face.

"Where ye been?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"Ma-archin,'" said Mr. Hennessy.

"Be th' looks iv ye, ye might have been th' line iv ma-arch f'r th' p'rade. Who's been doin' things to ye?"

"I had a currency debate with a man be th' name iv Joyce, a towny iv mine, in th' Audjiotoroom Hotel," said Mr. Hennessy. "Whin we got as far as th' price iv wheat in th' year iv th' big wind, we pushed each other. Give me a high glass iv beer. I'm as dhry as a gravel roof."

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, handing over the glass, "ye're an ol' man; an', as th' good book says, an ol' fool is th' worst yet. So I'll not thry to con-vince ye iv th' error iv ye'er ways. But why anny citizen that has things in his head shud dhress himself up like a sandwich-man, put a torch on his shoulder, an' toddle over this blessid town with his poor round feet, is more than I can come at with all me intelligence.

"I agree with ye perfectly, Hinnissy, that this here is a crisis in our histhry. On wan hand is arrayed th' Shylocks an' th' pathrites, an' on th' other side th' pathrites an' th' arnychists. Th' Constitution must be upheld, th' gover'mint must be maintained, th' down-throdden farmer an' workin'man must get their rights. But do ye think, man alive, that ye're goin' to do this be pourin' lard ile frim ye'er torch down ye'er spine or thrippin' over sthreet-car tracks like a dhray-horse thryin' to play circus? Is th' Constitution anny safer to-night because ye have to have ye'er leg amputated to get ye'er boot off, or because Joyce has made ye'er face look like th' back dure-step iv a German resthrant?

"Jawnny Mack took me down in th' afthernoon f'r to see th' monsthrous p'rade iv th' goold men. It was a gloryous spectacle. Th' sthreets were crowded with goold bugs an' women an' polismin an' ambulances. Th' procission was miles an' miles long. Labor an' capital marched side be side, or annyhow labor was in its usual place, afther th' capitalists. It was a noble sight f'r to see th' employer iv workin'men marchin' ahead iv his band iv sturdy toilers that to rest thimsilves afther th' layboryous occupations iv th' week was reelin' undher banners that dhrilled a hole in their stomachs or carryin' two-be-four joists to show their allegance to th' naytional honor. A man that has to shovel coke into a dhray or shove lumber out iv th' hole iv a barge or elevate his profession be carryin' a hod iv mort to th' top iv a laddher doesn't march with th' grace iv an antelope, be a blamed sight. To march well, a man's feet have to be mates; an', if he has two left feet both runnin' sideways, he ought to have interference boots to keep him fr'm settin' fire to his knees. Whin a man walks as if he expected to lave a leg stuck in th' sthreet behind him, he has th' gait proper f'r half-past six o'clock th' avenin' before pay-day. But 'tis not th' prance iv an American citizen makin' a gloryous spectacle iv himsilf."

"They were coerced," said Mr. Hennessy, gloomily.

"Don't ye believe it," replied the philosopher. "It niver requires coercion to get a man to make a monkey iv himsilf in a prisidintial campaign. He does it as aisily as ye dhrink ye'er liquor, an' that's too aisy. Don't ye believe thim lads with lumber ya-ards on their necks an' bar'ls on their feet was coerced. There wasn't wan iv thim that wudden't give his week's wages f'r a chanst to show how many times he cud thrip over a manhole in a mile. No more coerced than ye are whin ye r-run down town an' make an ape iv ye-ersilf. I see ye marchin' away fr'm Finucane's with th' Willum J. O'Briens. Th' man nex' to ye had a banner declarin' that he was no slave. 'Twas th' la-ad Johnson. He was r-right. He is no slave, an' he won't be wan as long as people have washin' to give to his wife. Th' man I see ye takin' a dhrink with had a banner that said if th' mines was opened th' mills would be opened, too. He meant be that, that if money was plenty enough f'r him to get some without wurrukin', he'd open a gin mill. An' ye ma-arched afther Willum J. O'Brien, didn't ye? Well, he's a good la-ad. If I didn't think so, I wudden't say it until I got me strenth back or cud buy a gun. But did Willum J. O'Brien march? Not Willie. He was on horseback; an', Hinnissy, if dollars was made out iv Babbit metal, an' horses was worth sixty-sivin cints a dhrove, ye cudden't buy a crupper."

"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "annyhow, I proved me hathred iv capital."

"So ye did," said Mr. Dooley. "So ye did. An' capital this afthernoon showed its hatred iv ye. Ye ought to match blisters to see which hates th' worst. Capital is at home now with his gams in a tub iv hot wather; an' whin he comes down to-morrah to oppriss labor an' square his protisted notes, he'll have to go on all fours. As f'r you, Hinnissy, if 'twill aise ye anny, ye can hang f'r a few minyits fr'm th' gas fixtures. Did th' goold Dimmycrats have a p'rade?"

"No," said Mr. Hennessy. "But they rayviewed th' day procission fr'm th' Pammer House. Both iv thim was on th' stand."

ON CHARITY.

"Br-r-r!" cried Mr. McKenna, entering stiffly and spreading his hands over the potbellied stove. "It's cold."

"Where?" asked Mr. Dooley. "Not here."

"It's cold outside," said Mr. McKenna. "It was ten below at Shannahan's grocery when I went by, and the wind blowing like all possessed. Lord love us, but I pity them that's got to be out to-night."

"Save ye'er pity," said Mr. Dooley, comfortably. "It ain't cowld in here. There's frost on th' window, 'tis thrue for ye; an' th' wheels has been singin' th' livelong day. But what's that to us? Here I am, an' there ye are, th' stove between us an' th' kettle hummin'. In a minyit it'll bile, an' thin I'll give ye a taste iv what'll make a king iv ye.

"Well, tubby sure, 'tis thryin' to be dhrivin' a coal wagon or a sthreet-car; but 'tis all in a lifetime. Th' diff'rence between me an' th' man that sets up in th' seat thumpin' his chest with his hands is no more thin th' diff'rence between him an' th' poor divvle that walks along behind th' wagon with his shovel on his shoulder, an' 'll thank th' saints f'r th' first chanst to put tin ton iv ha-ard coal into a cellar f'r a quarther iv a dollar. Th' lad afoot invies th' dhriver, an' th' dhriver invies me; an' I might invy big Cleveland if it wasn't f'r th' hivinly smell iv this here noggin. An' who does Cleveland invy? Sure, it'd be sacreliege f'r me to say.

"Me ol' father, who was as full iv sayin's as an almanac, used to sink his spoon into th' stirabout, an' say, 'Well, lads, this ain't bacon an' greens an' porther; but it'll be annything ye like if ye'll on'y think iv th' Cassidys.' Th' Cassidys was th' poorest fam'ly in th' parish. They waked th' oldest son in small beer, an' was little thought of. Did me father iver ask thim in to share th' stirabout? Not him. An' he was the kindest man in th' wurruld. He had a heart in him as big as a lump iv turf, but he'd say, 'Whin ye grow up, take no wan's sorrows to ye'ersilf,' he says. ''Tis th' wise man that goes through life thinkin' iv himsilf, fills his own stomach, an' takes away what he can't ate in his pocket.' An' he was r-right, Jawn. We have throubles enough iv our own. Th' wurruld goes on just th' same, an' ye can find fifty men to say th' lit'ny f'r ye to wan that'll give ye what'll relieve a fastin' spit. Th' dead ar-re always pop'lar. I knowed a society wanst to vote a monyment to a man an' refuse to help his fam'ly, all in wan night. 'Tis cowld outside th' dure, ye say, but 'tis war-rum in here; an' I'm gettin' in me ol' age to think that the diff'rence between hivin an' hell is no broader"--

Mr. Dooley's remarks were cut short by a cry from the back room. It was unmistakably a baby's cry. Mr. McKenna turned suddenly in amazement as Mr. Dooley bolted.

"Well, in the name of the saints, what's all this?" he cried, following his friend into the back room. He found the philosopher, with an expression of the utmost sternness, sitting on the side of his bed, with a little girl of two or three in his arms. The philosopher was singing:----

Ar-rah rock-a-bye, babby, on th' three top: Whin th' wind blo-ows, th' cradle ull r-rock; An', a-whin th' bough breaks, th' cradle ull fa-a-a-ll, An' a-down ull come babby, cradle, an' all.

Then he sang:----

In th' town iv Kilkinny there du-wilt a fair ma-aid, In th' town iv Kilkinny there du-wilt a fair ma-aid. She had cheeks like th' roses, an' hair iv th' same, An' a mouth like ripe sthrawburries burrid in crame.

He rocked the child to and fro, and its crying ceased while he sang:----

Chip, chip, a little horse; Chip, chip, again, sir. How manny miles to Dublin? Threescure an' tin, sir.

The little girl went to sleep on Mr. Dooley's white apron. He lifted her tenderly, and carried her over to his bed. Then he tiptoed out with an apprehensive face, and whispered: "It's Jawn Donahue's kid that wandherd away fr'm home, an' wint to sleep on me dure-step. I sint th' Dorsey boy to tell th' mother, but he's a long time gone. Do ye run over, Jawn, an' lave thim know."

ON NANSEN.

"I see," said Mr. Dooley, "that Doc Nansen has come back."

"Yes," said Mr. McKenna. "It's a wonder he wouldn't stay till winter. If I was setting on an iceberg in latitude umpty-ump north of Evanston these days, they couldn't pry me off it with a crowbar. Not they."

"He had to come back," explained Mr. Hennessy. "He got as far as he cud, an' thin he was foorced be th' inclimincy iv th' weather to return to his home in Feechoold, Norway."

"To where?" Mr. Dooley asked contemptuously.

"To Foocheeld, Norway," said Mr. Hennessy, with some misgivings.

"Ye don't know what ye're talkin' about," retorted the philosopher. "Ye ought to go back to school an' study gee-ography. Th' place he come back to was Oostoc, Norway, between Coopenhaagen an'--an' Rogers Park."

"Maybe ye're right," said Mr. Hennessy. "Annyhow, he come back, chased be a polar bear. It must iv been a thrillin' experience, leppin' fr'm iceberg to iceberg, with a polar bear grabbin' at th' seat iv his pants, an' now an' thin a walrus swoopin' down fr'm a three an' munchin' his hat."

"What ta-alk have ye?" Mr. Dooley demanded. "A walrus don't fly, foolish man!"

"What does he do, thin?" asked Mr. Hennessy. "Go 'round on crutches?"

"A walrus," said Mr. Dooley, "is an animal something like a hor-rse, but more like a balloon. It doesn't walk, swim, or fly. It rowls whin pur-suin' its prey. It whirls 'round an' 'round at a speed akel to a railroad injine, meltin' th' ice in a groove behind it. Tame walruses are used be th' Eskeemyoos, th' old settlers iv thim parts, as lawnmowers an' to press their clothes. Th' wild walrus is a mos' vicious animal, which feeds on snowballs through th' day, an' thin goes out iv nights afther artic explorers, which for-rms its principal diet. Theyse a gr-reat demand among walruses f'r artic explorers, Swedes preferred; an' on account iv th' scarcity iv this food it isn't more than wanst in twinty years that th' walrus gets a square meal. Thin he devours his victim, clothes, collar-buttons, an' all."

"Well, well," said Mr. Hennessy. "I had no idee they was that ferocious. I thought they were like bur-rds. Don't they lay eggs?"

"Don't they lay eggs?" Mr. Dooley replied. "Don't they lay eggs? Did ye iver hear th' like iv that, Jawn? Why, ye gaby, ye might as well ask me does a pianny lay eggs. Iv coorse not."

"I'd like to know what the objict of these here arctic explorations is," interposed Mr. McKenna, in the interests of peace.

"Th' principal objict is to get rid iv an over-supply iv foolish people," said Mr. Dooley. "In this counthry, whin a man begins f'r to see sthrange things, an' hitch up cockroaches, an' think he's Vanderbilt dhrivin' a four-in-hand, we sind him to what me ol' frind Sleepy Burk calls th' brain college. But in Norway an' Sweden they sind him to th' North Pole, an' feed him to th' polar bears an' th' walruses. A man that scorches on a bicycle or wears a pink shirt or is caught thryin' to fry out a stick iv dinnymite in a kitchen stove is given a boat an' sint off to play with Flora an' Fauna in th' frozen North."

"That's what I'd like to know," said Mr. Hennessy. "Who ar-re these Flora an' Fauna? I see be th' pa-aper that Doc Nansen stopped at Nootchinchoot Islands, an' saw Flora an' Fauna; an' thin, comin' back on th' ice, he encountherd thim again."

"I suppose," said Mr. Dooley, "ye think Flora an' Fauna is two little Eskeemy girls at skip-rope an' 'London bridge is fallin' down' on th' icebergs an' glaziers. It's a pretty idee ye have iv th' life in thim parts. Little Flora an' little Fauna playin' stoop-tag aroun' a whale or rushin' th' can f'r their poor tired father just home fr'm th' rollin'-mills, where he's been makin' snowballs f'r th' export thrade, or engagin' in some other spoort iv childhood! Go wan with ye!"

"But who are they, annyhow?"

"I make it a rule in me life not to discuss anny woman's charac-ter," replied Mr. Dooley, sternly. "If Doc Nansen was off there skylarkin' with Flora an' Fauna, it's his own business, an' I make no inquiries. A lady's a lady, be she iver so humble; an', as Shakespeare says, cursed be th' man that'd raise an ax to her, save in th' way iv a joke. We'll talk no scandal in this house, Hinnissy."

But, after his friend had gone, Mr. Dooley leaned over confidentially, and whispered to Mr. McKenna, "But who are Flora an' Fauna, Jawn?"

"I don't know," said Mr. McKenna.

"It sounds mighty suspicious, annyhow," said the philosopher. "I hope th' doc'll be able to square it with his wife."

ON A POPULIST CONVENTION.

"Keep ye'er eye on th' Pops, Jawn. They're gr-reat people an' a gr-reat pa-arty. What is their principles? Anny ol' thing that th' other pa-arties has rijected. Some iv thim is in favor iv coining money out iv baled hay an' dhried apples at a ratio iv sixteen to wan, an' some is in favor iv coinin' on'y th' apples. Thim are th' inflationists. Others want th' gover'mint to divide up the rivinues equally among all la-ads that's too sthrong to wurruk. Th' Pops is again th' banks an' again the supreme court an again havin' gas that can be blowed out be th' human lungs. A sthrong section is devoted to th' principal iv separatin' Mark Hanna fr'm his money.

"A ma-an be th' name iv Cassidy, that thravels f'r a liquor-house, was in to see me this mornin'; an' he come fr'm Saint Looey. He said it beat all he iver see or heerd tell of. Whin th' convintion come to ordher, th' chairman says, 'La-ads, we'll open proceedin's be havin' th' Hon'rable Rube Spike, fr'm th' imperyal Territ'ry iv Okalahoma, cough up his famous song, "Pa-pa Cleveland's Teeth are filled with Goold."' 'Mr. Chairman,' says a delegate fr'm New Mexico, risin' an' wavin' his boots in th' air, 'if th' skate fr'm Okalahoma is allowed f'r to belch anny in this here assimblage, th' diligates fr'm th' imperyal Territ'ry iv New Mex-ico'll lave th' hall. We have,' he says, 'in our mist th' Hon'rable Lafayette Hadley, whose notes,' he says, 'falls as sweetly on th' ear,' he says, 'as th' plunk iv hivin's rain in a bar'l,' he says. 'If annywan has a hemorrhage iv anthems in this hall, it'll be Lafe Hadley, th' Guthrie batsoon,' he says. 'Ye shall not,' he says, 'press down upon our bleedin' brows,' he says, 'this cross iv thorns,' he says. 'Ye shall not crucify th' diligates fr'm th' imperyal Territ'ry iv New Mexico on this cross iv a Mississippi nigger an' Crow Injun fr'm Okalahoma,' he says. Thereupon, says me frind Cassidy, th' New Mexico diligation left th' hall, pursued be th' diligation from Okalahoma.

"Th' chairman knowed his business. 'In ordher,' he says, 'that there may be no disordher,' he says, 'I will call upon th' imperyal States,' he says, 'an Territ'ries,' he says, 'beginnin' with th' imperyal State iv Alabama,' he says, 'to each sind wan singer to th' platform,' he says, 'f'r to wring our hear-rts with melodies,' he says. 'Meantime,' says he, 'pathrites who have differences iv opinyon on anny questions can pro-cure ex-helves be applyin' to th' sergeant-at-arms,' he says. 'Now,' he says, 'if th' gintleman fr'm th' imperyal State of Mizzoury'll hand me up a cheek full iv his eatin' tobacco,' he says, 'we'll listen to Willyum G. Rannycaboo, th' boy melodjun iv th' imperyal State iv Alabama,' he says, 'who'll discourse his well-known ballad, 'Th' Supreme Court is Full iv Standard Ile,' he says.

"Whin th' singin' had con-cluded, so me frind Cassidy says, th' chair announced that speakin' would be in ordher, an' th' convintion rose as wan man. Afther ordher had been enforced be th' sergeant-at-arms movin' round, an' lammin' diligates with a hoe, a tall man was seen standin' on a chair. F'r some moments th' chairman was onable to call his name, but he fin'lly found a place to spill; an' in a clear voice he says, 'F'r what purpose does th' gintleman fr'm the imperyal State iv Texas arise?' 'I arise,' says th' ma-an, 'f'r th' purpose iv warnin' this convintion that we have a goold-bug in our mist,' he says. Cries iv 'Throw him out!' 'Search him!' 'Hang him!' arose. 'In wandhrin' through th' hall, I just seen a man with a coat on,' he says. Great excitement ensood, says me frind Cassidy; an' th' thremblin' victim was brought down th' aisle. 'What have ye to say f'r ye'ersilf?' demands th' chairman in thundhrin' tones. 'On'y this,' says th' goold-bug. 'I wandhered in here, lookin' f'r frinds,' he says. 'I am not a goold-bug,' he says. 'I wear me coat,' he says, 'because I have no shirt,' he says. 'Gintlemen,' says th' chairman, 'a mistake has been made,' he says. 'This here person, who bears th' appearance iv a plutocrat, is all right underneath,' he says. 'He's a diligate to th' silver convintion,' he says. 'Go in peace,' he says.

"Be this time 'twas gr-rowin' late, an' th' convintion adjourned. 'Befure ye lave,' says th' chairman, 'I have to announce that on account iv th' chairman of the comity havin' been imprisoned in a foldin'-bed an' th' sicrity havin' mistook th' fire extinguisher f'r a shower bath, they'll be no meeting' iv th' comity on rules till to-morrow night. Durin' th' interval,' he says, 'th' convintion'll continue ketch-as-ketch can,' he says."

"Well," said Mr. McKenna, "to think of taking this here country out of the hands of William C. Whitney and Grover Cleveland and J. Pierpont Morgan and Ickleheimer Thalmann, and putting it in the hands of such men. What do you think about it?"

"I think," said Mr. Dooley, "that Cassidy lied."

ON A FAMILY REUNION.

"Why aren't you out attending the reunion of the Dooley family?" Mr. McKenna asked the philosopher.