Chapter 6
“Th' wise ol' boys with their long whiskers discusses him over th' sivin-up game, an' says wan iv thim: 'What ye think iv th' kid's speech?' ''Twas a good speech,' says th' other. 'It carries me back to me own boyhood days. I made a speech just like that durin' th' Mexican War. Oh, thim days, thim days! I lead th' ace, Mike.' An' afther awhile th' Boy Demostheens larns that while he's polishin' off his ipigrams, an' ol' guy, that spinds all his time sleepin' on a bench, is polishin' him off. Th' man that sinds seeds to his constitooents lasts longer thin th' wan that sinds thim flowers iv iloquence, an' though th' hand iv Gawd may be in th' Ph'lippeen question, it hasn't interfered up to date in th' sergeant-at-arms question. An' whin th' young man sees this he says, 'sky,' whin he means 'sky' an' not 'th' jooled canopy iv hiven,' an' he says, 'Ph'lippeens,' an' not 'th' gloryous isles iv th' Passyfic,' an' bein' onto th' character iv his fellow-sinitors, he mintions nobody higher in their prisence thin th' steward iv th' capitol. An' he niver makes a speech but whin he wants to smoke, an' thin he moves that th' sinit go into executive session. Thin he's a rale sinitor. I've seen it manny's th' time--th' boy orator goin' into th' sinit, an' comin' out a deef mute. I've seen a man that made speeches that was set to music an' played be a silver cornet band in Ioway that hadn't been in Congress f'r a month befure he wudden't speak above a whisper or more thin an inch fr'm ye'er ear.”
“Do ye think Hiven sint us to th' Ph'lippeens?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“I don't know,” said Mr. Dooley, “th' divvle take thim.”
PUBLIC GRATITUDE
“This man Dewey--,” began Mr. Dooley.
“I thought he was ye'er cousin George,” Mr. Hennessy interrupted.
“I thought he was,” said Mr. Dooley, “but on lookin' closer at his features an' r-readin' what th' pa-apers says about him, I am convinced that I was wrong. Oh, he may be a sicond cousin iv me Aunt Judy. I'll not say he ain't. There was a poor lot, all iv them. But I have no close rilitives in this counthry. 'Tis a way I have of savin' a little money. I'm like th' good an' gr-rateful American people. Th' further ye stay away fr'm thim th' more they like ye. Sicond-cousin-iv-me Aunt-Judy-George made a mistake comin' home, or if he did come home he ought've invistigated his welcome and see that it wasn't mined. A man cud stand up all day an' lave Packy Mountjoy whale away at him, but th' affiction iv th' American people is always aimed thrue an' is invaryably fatal.”
“Th' la-ad Dougherty was in to-day, an' he exprissed th' feelin's iv this grateful raypublic. He says, says he, 'This fellow Dewey ain't what I thought he was,' he says. 'I thought he was a good, broad, lib'ral man, an' it turns out he's a cheap skate,' he says. 'We made too much fuss over him,' he says. 'To think,' he says, 'iv him takin' th' house we give him an' tur-rnin' it over to his wife,' he says. ''Tis scand'lous,' he says. 'How much did ye con-thribute?' says I. 'I didn't give annything,' he says 'The collector didn't come around, an' I'm glad now I hung on to me coin,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'I apprechate ye'er feelin's,' I says. 'Ye agree with th' other subscribers,' I says. 'But I've med up me mind not to lave annywan talk to me about Dewey,' I says, 'unless,' I says, 'he subscribed th' maximum amount iv th' subscription,' I says, 'thirty-eight cints,' I says. 'So I'll thank ye to tip-toe out,' I says, 'befure I give ye a correct imitation iv Dewey an' Mountjoy at th' battle of Manila,' I says. An' he wint away.”
“Th' throuble with Dewey is he was so long away he lost his undherstanding iv th' thrue feelin' iv th' American people. George r-read th' newspapers, an' he says to himself: 'Be hivins, they think well iv what I done. I guess I'll put a shirt in me thrunk an' go home, f'r 'tis hot out here, an' ivrybody'll be glad f'r to see me,' he says. An' he come along, an' New York was r-ready f'r him. Th' business in neckties had been poor that summer, an' they was necessity f'r pullin' it together, an' they give George a welcome an' invited his admirers fr'm th' counthry to come in an' buy something f'r th' little wans at home. An' he r-rode up Fifth Avnoo between smilin' rows iv hotels an' dhrug stores, an' tin-dollar boxes an' fifty-cint seats an' he says to himsilf: 'Holy smoke, if Aggynaldoo cud on'y see me now.' An' he was proud an' happy, an' he says: 'Raypublics ar-re not always ongrateful.' An' they ain't. On'y whin they give ye much gratichood ye want to freeze some iv it, or it won't keep.”
“'Tis unsafe f'r anny man alive to receive th' kind wurruds that ought to be said on'y iv th' dead. As long as George was a lithograph iv himsilf in a saloon window he was all r-right. Whin people saw he cud set in a city hall hack without flowers growin' in it an' they cud look at him without smoked glasses they begin to weaken in their devotion. 'Twud've been th' same, almost, if he'd married a Presbyteeryan an' hadn't deeded his house to his wife. 'Dewey don't look much like a hero,' says wan man. 'I shud say not,' says another. 'He looks like annybody else.' 'He ain't a hero,' says another. 'Why, annybody cud've done what he did. I got an eight-year-old boy, an' if he cudden't take a baseball club an' go in an' bate that Spanish fleet into junk in twinty minyits I'd call him Alger an' thrade him off f'r a bicycle,' he says. 'I guess that's r-right. They say he was a purty tough man befure he left Wash'n'ton.' 'Sure he was. Why, so-an'-so-an'-so-an'-so.' 'Ye don't tell me!' 'Is there annything in that story about his beatin' his poor ol' aunt an' her iliven childher out iv four dollars?' 'I guess that's straight. Ye can tell be th' looks iv him he's a mean man. I niver see a man with squintin' eyes an' white hair that wudden't rob a church!' 'He's a cow'rd, too. Why, he r-run away at th' battle iv Manila. Ivrybody knows it. I r-read what Joe What's-His-Name wrote--th' br-rave corryspondint. He says this feller was sick at his stummick an' retired befure th' Spanish fire. Why, what'd he have to fight but a lot iv ol' row-boats? A good swimmer with sharp teeth cud've bit his way through th' whole Spanish fleet. An' he r-run away. I tell ye, it makes me tired to think iv th' way we abused th' Spanyards not long ago. Why, say, they done a lot betther thin this fellow Dewey, with his forty or fifty men-iv-war an' this gran' nation, miles away, standin' shoulder to shoulder at his back. They niver tur-rned over their property to their wives.' 'Yes,' says wan man, 'Dewey was a cow'rd. Let's go an' stone his house.' 'No,' says the crowd, 'he might come out. Let's go down to th' v'riety show an' hiss his pitcher in th' kinetoscope.' Well!'”
“Well what?” demanded Mr. Hennessy.
“Well,” Mr. Dooley continued, “I was on'y goin' to say, Hinnissy, that in spite iv me hathred iv George as a man--a marrid man--an' me contimpt f'r his qualities as a fighter, in spite iv th' chickens he has stole an' the notes he has forged an' th' homes he has rooned, if he was to come r-runnin' up Archey road, as he might, pursooed be ladies an' gintlemen an' th' palajeem iv our liberties peltin him with rotten eggs an' ol' cats, I'd open th' dure f'r him, an' whin he come in I'd put me fut behind it an' I'd say to th' grateful people: 'Fellow-citizens,' I'd say, 'lave us,' I'd say. 'They'se another hero down in Halstead Sthreet that's been marrid. Go down an' shivaree him. An' you, me thrusted collagues iv th' press, disperse to ye'er homes,' I'd say. 'Th' keyholes is closed f'r th' night, I'd say. An' thin I'd bolt th' dure an' I'd say, 'George, take off ye'er coat an' pull up to th' fire. Here's a noggin' iv whisky near ye'er thumb an' a good seegar f'r ye to smoke. 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. Set here an' r-rest fr'm th' gratichood iv ye'er fellow-counthrymen, that, as Shakspere says, biteth like an asp an' stingeth like an adder. R-rest here, as ye might r-rest at th' hearth iv millyons iv people that cud give ye no house but their own!”
“I dinnaw about that,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I like Dewey, but I think he oughtn't to've give away th' gift iv th' nation.”
“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “if 'twas a crime f'r an American citizen to have his property in his wife's name they'd be close quarthers in th' pinitinchry.”
MARRIAGE AND POLITICS
“I see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “that wan iv thim New York joods says a man in pollytics oughtn't to be marrid.”
“Oh, does he?” said Mr. Dooley.
“Well, 'tis little he knows about it. A man in pollytics has got to be marrid. If he ain't marrid where'll he go f'r another kind iv throuble? An' where'll he find people to support? An unmarrid man don't get along in pollytics because he don't need th' money. Whin he's in th' middle iv a prim'ry, with maybe twinty or thirty iv th' opposite party on top iv him, thinks he to himsilf: 'What's th' good iv fightin' f'r a job? They'se no wan depindant on me f'r support,' an' he surrinders. But a marrid man says: 'What'll happen to me wife an' twelve small childher if I don't win out here today?' an' he bites his way to th' top iv th' pile an' breaks open th' ballot box f'r home and fireside. That's th' thruth iv it, Hinnissy. Ye'll find all th' big jobs held be marrid men an' all th' timpry clerkships be bachelors.”
“Th' reason th' New York jood thinks marrid men oughtn't to be in pollytics is because he thinks pollytics is spoort. An' so it is. But it ain't amachoor spoort, Hinnissy. They don't give ye a pewter mug with ye'er name on it f'r takin' a chanst on bein' kilt. 'Tis a profissional spoort, like playin' base-ball f'r a livin' or wheelin' a thruck. Ye niver see an amachoor at annything that was as good as a profissional. Th' best amachoor ball team is beat be a bad profissional team; a profissional boxer that thrains on bock beer an' Swiss cheese can lam the head off a goold medal amachoor champeen that's been atin' moldy bread an' dhrinkin' wather f'r six months, an' th' Dago that blows th' cornet on th' sthreet f'r what annywan 'll throw him can cut the figure eight around Dinnis Finn, that's been takin' lessons f'r twinty year. No, sir, pollytics ain't dhroppin' into tea, an' it ain't wurrukin' a scroll saw, or makin' a garden in a back yard. 'Tis gettin' up at six o'clock in th' mornin' an' r-rushin' off to wurruk, an' comin' home at night tired an' dusty. Double wages f'r overtime an' Sundahs.”
“So a man's got to be marrid to do it well. He's got to have a wife at home to make him oncomfortable if he comes in dhrunk, he's got to have little prattlin' childher that he can't sind to th' Young Ladies' academy onless he stuffs a ballotbox properly, an' he's got to have a sthrong desire f'r to live in th' av'noo an' be seen dhrivin' downtown in an open carredge with his wife settin' beside him undher a r-red parasol. If he hasn't these things he won't succeed in pollytics--or packin' pork. Ye niver see a big man in pollytics that dhrank hard, did ye? Ye never will. An' that's because they're all marrid. Th' timptation's sthrong, but fear is sthronger.”
“Th' most domestic men in th' wurruld ar-re politicians, an' they always marry early. An' that's th' sad part iv it, Hinnissy. A pollytician always marries above his own station. That's wan sign that he'll be a successful pollytician. Th' throuble is, th' good woman stays planted just where she was, an' he goes by like a fast thrain by a whistlin' station. D'ye mind O'Leary, him that's a retired capitalist now, him that was aldherman, an' dhrainage thrustee, an' state sinitor f'r wan term? Well, whin I first knew O'Leary he wurruked down on a railroad section tampin' th' thrack at wan-fifty a day. He was a sthrong, willin' young fellow, with a stiff right-hand punch an' a schamin' brain, an' anny wan cud see that he was intinded to go to th' fr-ront. Th' aristocracy iv th' camp was Mrs. Cassidy, th' widdy lady that kept th' boordin'-house. Aristocracy, Hinnissy, is like rale estate, a matther iv location. I'm aristocracy to th' poor O'Briens back in th' alley, th' brewery agent's aristocracy to me, his boss is aristocracy to him, an' so it goes, up to the czar of Rooshia. He's th' pick iv th' bunch, th' high man iv all, th' Pope not goin' in society. Well, Mrs. Cassidy was aristocracy to O'Leary. He niver see such a stylish woman as she was whin she turned out iv a Sundah afthernoon in her horse an' buggy. He'd think to himsilf, 'If I iver can win that I'm settled f'r life,' an' iv coorse he did. 'Twas a gran' weddin'; manny iv th' guests didn't show up at wurruk f'r weeks.”
“O'Leary done well, an' she was a good wife to him. She made money an' kept him sthraight an' started him for constable. He won out, bein' a sthrong man. Thin she got him to r-run f'r aldher-man, an' ye shud've seen her th' night he was inaugurated! Be hivins, Hinnissy, she looked like a fire in a pawnshop, fair covered with dimons an' goold watches an' chains. She was cut out to be an aldherman's wife, and it was worth goin' miles to watch her leadin' th' gran' march at th' Ar-rchy Road Dimmycratic Fife an' Dhrum Corps ball.”
“But there she stopped. A good woman an' a kind wan, she cudden't go th' distance. She had th' house an' th' childher to care f'r an' her eddy-cation was through with. They isn't much a woman can learn afther she begins to raise a fam'ly. But with O'Leary 'twas diffrent. I say 'twas diff'rent with O'Leary. Ye talk about ye'er colleges, Hinnissy, but pollytics is th' poor man's college. A la-ad without enough book larnin' to r-read a meal-ticket, if ye give him tin years iv polly-tical life, has th' air iv a statesman an' th' manner iv a jook, an' cud take anny job fr'm dalin' faro bank to r-runnin th' threasury iv th' United States. His business brings him up again' th' best men iv th' com-munity, an' their customs an' ways iv speakin' an' thinkin' an robbin' sticks to him. Th' good woman is at home all day. Th' on'y people she sees is th' childher an' th' neighbors. While th' good man in a swallow-tail coat is addhressin' th' Commercial club on what we shud do f'r to reform pollytics, she's discussin' th' price iv groceries with th' plumber's wife an' talkin' over th' back fince to the milkman. Thin O'Leary moves up on th' boolyvard. He knows he'll get along all r-right on th' boolyvard. Th' men'll say: 'They'se a good deal of rugged common sinse in that O'Leary. He may be a robber, but they's mighty little that escapes him.' But no wan speaks to Mrs. O'Leary. No wan asts her opinion about our foreign policy. She sets day in an' day out behind th' dhrawn curtains iv her three-story brownstone risidence prayin' that somewan'll come in an' see her, an if annywan comes she's frozen with fear. An' 'tis on'y whin she slips out to Ar-rchey r-road an' finds th' plumber's wife, an' sets in th' kitchen over a cup iv tay, that peace comes to her. By an' by they offer O'Leary th' nommynation f'r congress. He knows he's fit for it. He's sthronger thin th' young lawyer they have now. People'll listen to him in Wash'nton as they do in Chicago. He says: 'I'll take it.' An' thin he thinks iv th' wife an' they's no Wash'nton f'r him. His pollytical career is over. He wud niver have been constable if he hadn't marrid, but he might have been sinitor if he was a widower.”
“Mrs. O'Leary was in to see th' Dargans th' other day. 'Ye mus' be very happy in ye'er gran' house, with Mr. O'Leary doin' so well,' says Mrs. Dargan. An' th' on'y answer th' foolish woman give was to break down an' weep on Mrs. Dargan's neck.”
“Yet ye say a pollytician oughtn't to get marrid,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“Up to a certain point,” said Mr. Dooley, “he must be marrid. Afther that--well, I on'y say that, though pollytics is a gran' career f'r a man, 'tis a tough wan f'r his wife.”
ALCOHOL AS FOOD
“If a man come into this saloon--” Mr. Hennessy was saying.
“This ain't no saloon,” Mr. Dooley interrupted. “This is a resthrant.”
“A what?” Mr. Hennessy exclaimed.
“A resthrant,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ye don't know, Hinnissy, that liquor is food. It is though. Food--an' dhrink. That's what a doctor says in the pa-apers, an' another doctor wants th' gover'mint to sind tubs iv th' stuff down to th' Ph'lipeens. He says 'tis almost issintial that people shud dhrink in thim hot climates. Th' prespiration don't dhry on thim afther a hard pursoot iv Aggynaldoo an' th' capture iv Gin'ral Pantaloons de Garshy; they begin to think iv home an' mother sindin' down th' lawn-sprinkler to be filled with bock, an' they go off somewhere, an' not bein' able to dhry thimsilves with dhrink, they want to die. Th' disease is called nostalgia or home-sickness, or thirst.”
“'What we want to do f'r our sojer boys in th' Ph'lipeens besides killin' thim,' says th' ar-rmy surgeon, 'is make th' place more homelike,' he says. 'Manny iv our heroes hasn't had th' deleeryum thremens since we first planted th' stars an' sthripes,' he says, 'an' th' bay'nits among th' people,' he says. 'I wud be in favor iv havin' th' rigimints get their feet round wanst a week, at laste,' he says. 'Lave us,' he says, 'reform th' reg'lations,' he says, 'an' insthruct our sojers to keep their powdher dhry an' their whistles wet,' he says.”
“Th' idee ought to take, Hinnissy, f'r th' other doctor la-ad has discovered that liquor is food. 'A man,' says he, 'can live f'r months on a little booze taken fr'm time to time,' he says 'They'se a gr-reat dale iv nourishment in it,' he says. An' I believe him, f'r manny's th' man I know that don't think iv eatin' whin he can get a dhrink. I wondher if the time will iver come whin ye'll see a man sneakin' out iv th' fam'ly enthrance iv a lunch-room hurridly bitin' a clove! People may get so they'll carry a light dinner iv a pint iv rye down to their wurruk, an' a man'll tell ye he niver takes more thin a bottle iv beer f'r breakfast. Th' cook'll give way to th' bartinder and th' doctor 'll ordher people f'r to ate on'y at meals. Ye'll r-read in th' pa-apers that 'Anton Boozinski, while crazed with ham an' eggs thried to kill his wife an' childher.' On Pathrick's day ye'll see th' Dr. Tanner Anti-Food Fife an' Drum corpse out at th' head iv th' procession instead iv th' Father Macchews, an' they'll be places where a man can be took whin he gets th' monkeys fr'm immodhrate eatin'. Th' sojers 'll complain that th' liquor was unfit to dhrink an' they'll be inquiries to find out who sold embammin' flood to th' ar-rmy--Poor people 'll have simple meals--p'raps a bucket iv beer an' a little crame de mint, an' ye'll r-read in th' pa-apers about a family found starvin' on th' North side, with nawthin' to sustain life but wan small bottle iv gin, while th' head iv th' family, a man well known to the polis, spinds his wages in a low doggery or bakeshop fuddlin' his brains with custars pie. Th' r-rich 'll inthrajoose novelties. P'raps they'll top off a fine dinner with a little hasheesh or proosic acid. Th' time'll come whin ye'll see me in a white cap fryin' a cocktail over a cooksthove, while a nigger hollers to me: 'Dhraw a stack iv Scotch,' an' I holler back: 'On th' fire.' Ye will not.”
{Illustration}
“That's what I thought,” said Mr. Hennessy.
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Whisky wudden't be so much iv a luxury if'twas more iv a necissity. I don't believe 'tis a food, though whin me frind Schwartzmeister makes a cocktail all it needs is a few noodles to look like a biled dinner. No, whisky ain't food. I think betther iv it thin that. I wudden't insult it be placin' it on th' same low plane as a lobster salad. Father Kelly puts it r-right, and years go by without him lookin' on it even at Hallowe'en. 'Whisky,' says he, 'is called the divvle, because,' he says, ''tis wan iv the fallen angels,' he says. 'It has its place,' he says, 'but its place is not in a man's head,' says he. 'It ought to be th' reward iv action, not th' cause iv it,' he says. 'It's f'r th' end iv th' day, not th' beginnin',' he says. 'Hot whisky is good f'r a cold heart, an' no whisky's good f'r a hot head,' he says. 'Th' minyit a man relies on it f'r a crutch he loses th' use iv his legs. 'Tis a bad thing to stand on, a good thing to sleep on, a good thing to talk on, a bad thing to think on. If it's in th' head in th' mornin' it ought not to be in th' mouth at night. If it laughs in ye, dhrink; if it weeps, swear off. It makes some men talk like good women, an' some women talk like bad men. It is a livin' f'r orators an' th' death iv bookkeepers. It doesn't sustain life, but, whin taken hot with wather, a lump iv sugar, a piece iv lemon peel, and just th' dustin' iv a nutmeg-grater, it makes life sustainable.”
“D'ye think ye-ersilf it sustains life?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“It has sustained mine f'r many years,” said Mr. Dooley.
HIGH FINANCE
“I think,” said Mr. Dooley, “I'll go down to th' stock yards an' buy a dhrove iv Steel an' Wire stock.”
“Where wud ye keep it?” asked the unsuspecting Hennessy.
“I'll put it out on th' vacant lot,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' lave it grow fat by atin' ol' bur-rd cages an' tin cans. I'll milk it hard, an' whin 'tis dhry I'll dispose iv it to th' widdies an' orphans iv th' Sixth Ward that need household pets. Be hivins, if they give me half a chanst, I'll be as gr-reat a fi-nanceer as anny man in Wall sthreet.
“Th' reason I'm so confident iv th' value iv Steel an' Wire stock, Hinnissy, is they're goin' to hur-rl th' chairman iv th' comity into jail. That's what th' pa-apers calls a ray iv hope in th' clouds iv dipression that've covered th' market so long. 'Tis always a bull argymint. 'Snowplows common was up two pints this mornin' on th' rumor that th' prisidint was undher ar-rest.' 'They was a gr-reat bulge in Lobster preferred caused be th' report that instead iv declarin' a dividend iv three hundhred per cint. th' comp'ny was preparin' to imprison th' boord iv directors.' 'We sthrongly ricommind th' purchase iv Con and Founder. This comp'ny is in ixcillint condition since th' hangin' iv th' comity on reorganization.'”
“What's th' la-ad been doin', Hinnissy? He's been lettin' his frinds in on th' groun' flure--an' dhroppin' thim into th' cellar. Ye know Cassidy, over in th' Fifth, him that was in th' ligislachure? Well, sir, he was a gr-reat frind iv this man. They met down in Springfield whin th' la-ad had something he wanted to get through that wud protect th' widdies an' orphans iv th' counthry again their own avarice, an' he must've handed Cassidy a good argymint, f'r Cassidy voted f'r th' bill, though threatened with lynchin' be stockholders iv th' rival comp'ny. He come back here so covered with dimons that wan night whin he was standin' on th' rollin' mill dock, th' captain iv th' Eliza Brown mistook his shirt front f'r th' bridge lights an' steered into a soap facthry on th' lee or gas-house shore.”
“Th' man made a sthrong impression on Cassidy. 'Twas: 'As me frind Jawn says,' or 'I'll ask Jawn about that,' or 'I'm goin' downtown to-day to find out what Jawn advises.' He used to play a dollar on th' horses or sivin-up f'r th' dhrinks, but afther he met Jawn he wanted me to put in a ticker, an' he wud set in here figurin' with a piece iv chalk on how high Wire'd go if hoopskirts come into fashion again. 'Give me a dhrop iv whisky,' he says, 'f'r I'm inthrested in Distillers,' he says, 'an' I'd like to give it a shove,' he says. 'How's Gas?' he says. 'A little weak, to-day,'” says I.
“Twill be sthronger,' he says. 'If it ain't,' says I, 'I'll take out th' meter an' connect th' pipe with th' ventilator. I might as well bur-rn th' wind free as buy it,'” I says.