Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen Read online

  "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, butthere was no compensatory flow of coins from the door.

  "Perhaps the money is bad," suggested Mr. Dooley. "It won't open f'rbad money."

  Thereupon he returned to his newspaper, observing which Mr. McKennadrew from his pocket a nickel attached to a piece of string anddropped it into the slot repeatedly. After a while the door poppedopen, and Mr. McKenna thrust in his hand expectantly. There was noresponse, and he turned in great anger to Mr. Dooley.

  "There ain't any money there," he said.

  "Ye're right, Jawn," responded Mr. Dooley. "If ye expect to dhraw annycoin fr'm that there masheen, ye may call on some iv ye'er roughfrinds down town f'r a brace an' bit an' a jimmy. Jawn, me la-ad, Isee th' nickel with th' string before; an', to provide again it, Iimproved th' masheen. Thim nickels ye dhropped in are all in th'dhrawer iv that there table, an' to-morrow mornin' ye may see mehavin' me hair cut be means iv thim. An' I'll tell ye wan thing, JawnMcKenna, an' that's not two things, that if ye think ye can come uphere to Ar-rchey Road an' rob an honest man, by gar, ye've made th'mistake iv ye'er life. Goowan, now, before I call a polisman."

  Mr. McKenna stopped at the door only long enough to shake his fist atthe proprietor, who responded with a grin of pure contentment.

  WHEN THE TRUST IS AT WORK.

  "Which d'ye think makes th' best fun'ral turnout, th' A-ho-aitches orth' Saint Vincent de Pauls, Jawn?" asked Mr. Dooley.

  "I don't know," said Mr. McKenna. "Are you thinking of leaving us?"

  "Faith, I am not," said Mr. Dooley. "Since th' warm weather's come an'th' wind's in th' south, so that I can tell at night that A-armoor an'me ol' frind, Jawn Brinnock, are attindin' to business, I have a gripon life like th' wan ye have on th' shank iv that shell iv malt.Whether 'tis these soft days, with th' childher beginnin' to playbarefutted in th' sthreet an' th' good women out to palaver over th'fence without their shawls, or whether 'tis th' wan wurrud EasterSundah that comes on me, an' jolts me up with th' thoughts iv th'la-ads goin' to mass an' th' blackthorn turnin' green beyant, Idinnaw. But annyhow I'm as gay as a babby an' as fresh as a lark. I amso.

  "I was on'y thinkin'. Ol' Gran'pah Grogan died las' Mondah,--as good aman as e'er counted his beads or passed th' plate. A thrue man.Choosdah a Connock man up back iv th' dumps laid down th' shovel.Misther Grogan had a grand notice in th' pa-apers: 'Grogan, at hislate risidence, 279 A-archoor Avnoo, Timothy Alexander, belovedhusband iv th' late Mary Grogan, father iv Maurice, Michael, Timothy,Edward, James, Peter, Paul, an' Officer Andrew Grogan, iv CologneSthreet station, an' iv Mrs. Willum Sarsfield Cassidy, nee Grogan'(which manes that was her name befure she marrid Cassidy, who wurruksdown be Haley's packin'-house). 'Fun'ral be carriages fr'm his laterisidence to Calv'ry cimithry. Virginia City, Nivada; St. Joseph,Mitchigan; an' Clonmel Tipp'rary pa-apers please copy.'

  "I didn't see e'er a nee about th' fam'ly iv th' little man back ivth' dumps, though maybe he had wan to set aroun' th' fire in th' darkan' start at th' tap iv a heel on th' dure-step. Mebbe he had afam'ly, poor things. A fun'ral is great la-arks f'r th' neighbors, an''tis not so bad f'r th' corpse. But in these times, Jawn dear, a-hoth' gray hearts left behind an' th' hungry mouths to feed. They doneth' best they cud f'r th' Connock man back iv th' dumps,--give him allth' honors, th' A-ho-aitches ma-archin' behind th' hearse an' th' bandplayin' th' Dead March, 'Twas almost as good a turnout as Grogan had,though th' Saint Vincents had betther hats an' looked more like theirfam'lies kept a cow.

  "But they was two hacks back iv th' pall-bearers. I wondhered what waspassin' behind th' faces I seen again their windys. 'Twas well f'rhimself, too. Little odds to him, afther th' last screw was twisted beGavin's ol' yellow hands, whether beef was wan cint or a hundherddollars th' pound. But there's comin' home as well as goin' out.There's more to a fun'ral thin th' lucks parpitua, an' th' clod ivsullen earth on th' top iv th' crate. Sare a pax vobiscum is there f'rthim that's huddled in th' ol' hack, sthragglin' home in th' dust toth' empty panthry an' th' fireless grate.

  "Mind ye, Jawn, I've no wurrud to say again thim that sets back intheir own house an' lot an' makes th' food iv th' people dear. They'regood men, good men. Whin they tilt th' price iv beef to where wanpound iv it costs as much as manny th' man in this Ar-rchey Road 'dwurruk fr'm th' risin' to th' settin' iv th' sun to get, they have nothought iv th' likes iv you an' me. 'Tis aisy come, aisy go with thim;an' ivry cint a pound manes a new art musoom or a new church, to taketh' edge off hunger. They're all right, thim la-ads, with their ownpork-chops delivered free at th' door. 'Tis, 'Will ye have a newspring dhress, me dear? Willum, ring thim up, an' tell thim to histth' price iv beef. If we had a few more pitchers an' statoos in th'musoom, 'twud ilivate th' people a sthory or two. Willum, afther thissteak 'll be twinty cints a pound.' Oh, they're all right, on'y I wasthinkin' iv th' Connock man's fam'ly back iv th' dumps."

  "For a man that was gay a little while ago, it looks to me as if you'dgrown mighty solemn-like," said Mr. McKenna.

  "Mebbe so," said Mr. Dooley. "Mebbe so. What th' 'ell, annyhow. Mebbe'tis as bad to take champagne out iv wan man's mouth as round steakout iv another's. Lent is near over. I seen Doherty out shinin' up hispipe that's been behind th' clock since Ash Winsdah. Th' girls 'll belayin' lilies on th' altar in a day or two. Th' spring's come on. Th'grass is growin' good; an', if th' Connock man's children back iv th'dumps can't get meat, they can eat hay."

  A BRAND FROM THE BURNING.

  "I see be th' pa-apers," said Mr. Dooley, "that Boss have flew th'coop. 'Tis too bad, too bad. He wa-as a gr-reat man."

  "Is he dead?" asked Mr. McKenna.

  "No, faith, worse thin that; he's resigned. He calls th' la-ads abouthim, an' says he: 'Boys,' he says, 'I'm tired iv politics,' he says.'I'm goin' to quit it f'r me health,' he says. 'Do ye stay in, an' getar-rested f'r th' good iv th' party.' Ye see thim mugwumps is aftherth' Boss, an' he's gettin' out th' way Hogan got out iv Connock. Wanday he comes over to me fa-ather's house, an' says he, 'Dooley,' hesays, 'I'm goin' to lave this hole iv a place,' he says. 'F'r why?'says th' ol' man; 'I thought ye liked it.' 'Faith,' says Hogan, 'Iniver liked a blade iv grass in it,' he says. 'I'm sick iv it,' hesays. 'I don't want niver to see it no more.' And he wint away. Th'next mornin' th' polis was lookin' f'r him to lock him up f'r stealin'joo'lry in the fair town. Yes, by dad.

  "'Tis th' way iv th' boss, Jawn. I seen it manny's th' time. Therewas wanst a boss in th' Sixth Wa-ard, an' his name was Flannagan; an'he came fr'm th' County Clare, but so near th' bordher line that nowan challenged his vote, an' he was let walk down Ar-rchey Road just'sthough he come fr'm Connock. Well, sir, whin I see him first, he'd th'smell iv Castle Garden on him, an' th' same is no mignonette, d'yemind; an' he was goin' out with pick an' shovel f'r to dig in th'canal,--a big, shtrappin', black-haired lad, with a neck like a bull'san' covered with a hide as thick as wan's, fr'm thryin' to get a cropiv oats out iv a Clare farm that growed divvle th' thing but nice, bigboldhers.

  "He was de-termined, though, an' th' first man that made a face at himhe walloped in th' jaw; an' he'd been on th' canal no more thin a monthbefore he licked ivry man in th' gang but th' section boss, who'd beena Dublin jackeen, an' weighed sixteen stone an' was great with a thripan' a punch. Wan day they had some wurruds, whin me bold Dublin mansails into Flannagan. Well, sir, they fought fr'm wan o'clock till tinin th' night, an' nayther give up; though Flannagan had th' best ivit, bein' young. 'Why don't ye put him out?' says wan iv th' la-ads.'Whisht,' says Flannagan. 'I'm waitin' f'r th' moon to come up,' hesays, 'so's I can hit him right,' he says, 'an' scientific.' Well,sir, his tone was that fierce th' section boss he dhropped right thereiv sheer fright; an' Flannagan was cock iv th' walk.

  "Afther a while he begun f'r to go out among th' other gangs, lookin'f'r fight; an', whin th' year was over, he wa
s knowed fr'm wan end ivth' canal to th' other as th' man that no wan cud stand befure. He gotso pop'lar fr'm lickin' all his frinds that he opened up a liquorstore beyant th' bridge, an' wan night he shot some la-ads fr'm th'ya-ards that come over f'r to r-run him. That made him sthronger still.When they got up a prize f'r th' most pop'lar man in th' parish, heloaded th' ballot box an' got th' goold-headed stick, though he wasr-runnin' against th' aldherman, an' th' little soggarth thried hisbest to down him. Thin he give a cock fight in th' liquor shop, an'that atthracted a gang iv bad men; an' he licked thim wan aftheranother, an' made thim his frinds. An' wan day lo an' behold, whin th'aldherman thried f'r to carry th' prim'ries that 'd niver failed himbefure, Flannagan wint down with his gang an' illicted his owndilligate ticket, an' thrun th' aldherman up in th' air!

  "Thin he was a boss, an' f'r five years he r-run th' ward. He niverwint to th' council, d'ye mind; but, whin he was gin'rous, he give th'aldhermen tin per cint iv what they made. In a convintion, whin annyiv th' candydates passed roun' th' money, 'twas wan thousand dollarsf'r Flannagan an' have a nice see-gar with me f'r th' rest iv thim.Wan year fr'm th' day he done th' aldherman he sold th' liquor shop.Thin he built a brick house in th' place iv th' little frame wan hehad befure, an' moved in a pianny f'r his daughter. 'Twas about thistime he got a dimon as big as ye'er fist, an' begun to dhrive downtown behind a fast horse. No wan knowed what he done, but his wifesaid he was in th' r-rale estate business. D'ye mind, Jawn, that th'r-rale estate business includes near ivrything fr'm vagrancy tomanslaughter?

  "Whativer it was he done, he had money to bur-rn; an' th' littlesoggarth that wanst despised him, but had a hard time payin' th' debtiv th' church, was glad enough to sit at his table. Wan day withoutth' wink iv th' eye he moved up in th' avnoo, an' no wan seen him inBridgeport afther that. 'Twas a month or two later whin a lot iv th'la-ads was thrun into jail f'r a little diviltry they'd done f'r him.A comity iv th' fathers iv th' la-ads wint to see him. He raceivedthim in a room as big as wan iv their whole houses, with pitchers onth' walls an' a carpet as deep an' soft as a bog. Th' comity asked himto get th' la-ads out on bail.

  "'Gintlemen,' he says, 'ye must excuse me,' he says, 'in suchmatthers.' 'D'ye mane to say,' says Cassidy, th' plumber, 'that yewon't do annything f'r my son?' 'Do annything,' says Flannagan. (I'llsay this f'r him: a more darin' man niver drew breath; an', whin histime come to go sthandin' off th' mob an' defindin' his sthone quarryin th' rites iv sivinty-sivin, he faced death without a wink.) 'Do?'he says, risin' an' sthandin' within a fut iv Cassidy's big cane.'Do?' he says. 'Why,' he says, 'yes,' he says; 'I've subscribed wanthousand dollars,' he says, 'to th' citizen's comity,' he says, 'f'rto prosecute him; an',' he says, 'gintlemen,' he says, 'there's th'dure.'

  "I seen Cassidy that night, an' he was as white as a ghost. 'What ailsye?' says I. 'Have ye seen th' divvle?' 'Yes,' he says, bendin' hishead over th' bar, an' lookin' sivinty years instead iv forty-five."

  A WINTER NIGHT.

  Any of the Archey Road cars that got out of the barns at all werepulled by teams of four horses, and the snow hung over the shouldersof the drivers' big bearskin coats like the eaves of an old-fashionedhouse on the blizzard night. There was hardly a soul in the road fromthe red bridge, west, when Mr. McKenna got laboriously off theplatform of his car and made for the sign of somebody's celebratedMilwaukee beer over Mr. Dooley's tavern. Mr. Dooley, being a man ofsentiment, arranges his drinks to conform with the weather. Nowanybody who knows anything at all knows that a drop of "J.J." and awhisper (subdued) of hot water and a lump of sugar and lemon peel (ifyou care for lemon peel) and nutmeg (if you are a "jood ") is a drinkcalculated to tune a man's heart to the song of the wind slapping abeer-sign upside down and the snow drifting in under the door. Mr.Dooley was drinking this mixture behind his big stove when Mr. McKennacame in.

  "Bad night, Jawn," said Mr. Dooley.

  "It is that," said Mr. McKenna.

  "Blowin' an' storming', yes," said Mr. Dooley. "There hasn' been a canin tonight but wan, an' that was a pop bottle. Is the snow-ploughsout, I dinnaw?"

  "They are," said Mr. McKenna.

  "I suppose Doherty is dhrivin'," said Mr. Dooley. "He's a gooddhriver. They do say he do be wan iv the best dhrivers on th' road.I've heerd that th' prisident is dead gawn on him. He's me cousin. Yecan't tell much about what a man 'll be fr'm what th' kid is. Thatthere Doherty was th' worst omadhon iv a boy that iver I knowed. Heniver cud larn his a-ah-bee, abs. But see what he made iv himsilf! Th'best dhriver on th' road; an', by dad, 'tis not twinty to wan he won'tbe stharter befure he dies. 'Tis in th' fam'ly to make their names.There niver was anny fam'ly in th' ol' counthry that turned out morepriests than th' Dooleys. By gar, I believe we hol' th' champeenshipiv th' wurruld. At M'nooth th' profissor that called th' roll got sofr'm namin' th' Dooley la-ads that he came near bein' tur-rned down onth' cha-arge that he was whistlin' at vespers. His mouth, d'ye mind,took that there shape fr'm sayin' 'Dooley,' 'Dooley,' that he'd lookedas if he was whistlin'. D'ye mind? Dear, oh dear, 'tis th' divvle'sown fam'ly f'r religion."

  Mr. McKenna was about to make a jeering remark to the effect that thealleged piety of the Dooley family had not penetrated to the ArcheyRoad representative, when a person, evidently of wayfaring habits,entered and asked for alms. Mr. Dooley arose, and, picking ahalf-dollar from the till, handed it to the visitor with greatunconcern. The departure of the wayfarer with profuse thanks wasfollowed by a space of silence.

  "Well, Jawn," said Mr. Dooley.

  "What did you give the hobo?" asked Mr. McKenna.

  "Half a dollar," said Mr. Dooley.

  "And what for?"

  "Binivolence," said Mr. Dooley, with a seraphic smile.

  "Well," said Mr. McKenna, "I should say that was benevolence."

  "Well," said Mr. Dooley, "'tis a bad night out, an' th' poor divvlelooked that miserable it brought th' tears to me eyes, an'"--

  "But," said Mr. McKenna, "that ain't any reason why you should givehalf a dollar to every tramp who comes in."

  "Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "I know th' ma-an. He spinds all his money atSchneider's, down th' block."

  "What of that?" asked Mr. McKenna.

  "Oh, nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "on'y I hope Herman won't thry tobite that there coin. If he does"--

  THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.

  "A-ho," said Mr. Dooley, "th' blue an' th' gray, th' blue an' th'gray. Well, sir, Jawn, d'ye know that I see Mulligan marchin' aheadwith his soord on his side, an' his horse dancin' an' backin' into th'crowd; an' th' la-ads chowlder arms an' march, march away. Ye shud 'vebeen there. Th' women come down fr'm th' pee-raries with th' childherin their arms, an' 'twas like a sind-off to a picnic. 'Good-by, Mike.''Timothy, darlin', don't forget your prayers.' 'Cornalius, if ye dobut look out f'r th' little wans, th' big wans 'll not harm ye.''Teddy, lad, always wear ye'er Agnus Day.' An', whin th' time come f'rth' thrain to lave, th' girls was up to th' lines; an' 'twas, 'Mike,love, ye'll come back alive, won't ye?' an' 'Pat, there does be a pairiv yarn socks in th' hoomp on ye'er back. Wear thim, lad. They'll begood f'r ye'er poor, dear feet.' An' off they wint.

  "Well, some come back, an' some did not come back. An' some come backwith no rale feet f'r to put yarn socks on thim. Mulligan quit downsomewhere in Kentucky; an' th' las' wurruds he was heard to utter was,'Lay me down, boys, an' save th' flag.' An there was manny th' otherthat had nawthin' to say but to call f'r a docthor; f'r 'tis on'y,d'ye mind, th' heroes that has somethin' writ down on typewriter f'rto sind to th' newspapers whin they move up. Th' other lads that diesbecause they cudden't r-run away,--not because they wudden't,--theydies on their backs, an' calls f'r th' docthor or th' priest. Itdepinds where they're shot.

  "But, annyhow, no wan iv thim lads come back to holler because he wasin th' war or to war again th' men that shot him. They wint to wurruk,carryin' th' hod 'r shovellin' cindhers at th' rollin' mills. Some ivthim took pinsions because they needed thim; but divvle th' wan ivthim ye'll see paradin' up an' down Ar-rchey Road with a
blue coat on,wantin' to fight th' war over with Schwartzmeister's bar-tinder thatniver heerd iv but wan war, an' that th' rites iv sivinty-sivin. Sarea wan. No, faith. They'd as lave decorate a confeatherate's grave as athrue pathrite's. All they want is a chanst to go out to th' cimitry;an', faith, who doesn't enjoy that? No wan that's annything iv aspoort.

  "I know hundherds iv thim. Ye know Pat Doherty, th' little man thatlives over be Grove Sthreet. He inlisted three times, by dad, an' hadto stand on his toes three times to pass. He was that ager. Well, helooks to weigh about wan hundherd an' twinty pounds; an' he weighs wanfifty be raison iv him havin' enough lead to stock a plumber in hisstomach an' his legs. He showed himsilf wanst whin he was feelin' gay.He looks like a sponge. But he ain't. He come in here Thursdah nightto take his dhrink in quite; an' says I, 'Did ye march to-day?''Faith, no,' he says, 'I can get hot enough runnin' a wheelbarrowwithout makin' a monkey iv mesilf dancin' around th' sthreets behind aband.' 'But didn't ye go out to decorate th' graves?' says I. 'Ihadn't th' price,' says he, 'Th' women wint out with a gyranium to putover Sarsfield, the first born,' he says.

  "Just thin Morgan O'Toole come in, an' laned over th' ba-ar. He's beena dillygate to ivry town convention iv th' Raypublicans since I dinnawwhin. 'Well,' says he, 'I see they're pilin' it on,' he says. 'On th'dead?' says I, be way iv a joke. 'No,' he says; 'but did ye seethey're puttin' up a monnymint over th' rebils out here be Oakwoods?'he says. 'By gar,' he says, ''tis a disgrace to th' mim'ries iv thimdevoted dead who died f'r their counthry,' he says. 'If,' he says, 'Icud get ninety-nine men to go out an' blow it up, I'd be th'hundherth,' he says. 'Yes,' says I, 'ye wud,' I says. 'Ye'd be th'last,' I says.