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

  "Hinnissy an' me got a seat be some dhroll ol' boys fr'm out in Iaway.Afther a man be th' name iv Martin, a sergeant-iv-arms, had addhressedth' meetin' twinty or thirty times,--I kep no count iv him,--th'chairman inthrojooced th' dillygates to nommynate th' big men. It wintall right with Hinnissy for a little while till a man got up an' shookhis fist at th' chairman. 'What's that? what's that?' says Hinnissy.'What's that?' he says. 'Hurroo, hurroo,' he says, lammin' th' manfr'm Iaway with his goold-headed cane. 'What ails ye, man alive?' saysI. 'Why,' he says, 'they've nommynated Billy,' he says. 'Billy who?'says I. 'Why, Willum J. O'Brien,' he says.

  "'A sthrong man,' says he, addhressin' th' man fr'm Iaway. 'I shud sayhe was,' says th' man. 'Th' sthrongest man that iver come down th'road,' says Hinnissy. 'Why,' he says, 'I see that man put up an' eightiv beer with wan hand,' he says, 'holdin' it be th' rim,' he says.'None sthronger,' he says. 'But will he carry Illinye?' says th' ladfr'm Iaway. 'Will he carry Illinye?' says Hinnissy. 'Why, man alive,'he says, 'I've see him carry a prim'ry in th' sixth precint,' he says.'Is that enough f'r ye?' he says. 'He's a good speaker,' says th'Iaway man. 'He is that,' says Hinnissy; 'an' he was wan iv th' bestwaltzers that flung a foot at th' County Dimocracy picnic,' he says.'But will he make a good fight?' says th' man. 'Will he?' saysHinnissy. 'Will he make a good fight?' he says. 'Dooley,' he says,'this here Dimmycrat wants to know if Bill 'll make a good fight. Why,'he says, 'if he iver gets to Washington an' wan iv th' opprissors ivth' people goes again him, give him Jackson Park or a clothes closet,gun or soord, ice-pick or billyard cue, chair or stove leg, an'Bill 'll make him climb a tree,' he says. 'I'd like to see wan iv thimsupreme justices again Bill O'Brien on an income tax or anny otherord-nance,' he says. 'He'd go in an' lame thim with th' RevisedStatutes.' 'I presume,' says th' lad, 'that ye'er fr'm Omaha.' 'I'lltear ye'er hair out,' says Hinnissy.'

  "'Ye idjit,' says I, whin I had him in th' sthreet, 'it wasn't BillO'Brien was nommynated,' says I. 'What ar-re ye talkin' about?' sayshe. 'I seen him on th' flure,' he says. 'He had th' sinitor ivMissoury be th' throat whin ye took me away,' he says.

  "I left him there; but he come into th' place at six o'clock, an'borrid a paper an' pencil. Thin he wint back, an' sat down an' wrote.'What ar-re ye doin' there?' says I. 'I've wrote a sketch iv th'nominee f'r th' Stock-yards Sun,' he says. 'Listen to it. Willum J.O'Brien,' he says, 'was born in th' County iv Mayo forty years ago,'he says. 'He received a limited education, his parents even thindesignin' him f'r th' Prisidincy. Bein' unable to complete a coorse atth' rayform school, he wint to wurruk; but soon, tired iv this, hestarted a saloon. Fr'm thince he dhrifted into politics, an' becomenoted as th' boy welter-weight iv th' South Branch. He was ilictedaldherman at a time whin comparatively nawthin' was doin' in th'council. Subsequent he become a sinitor, an' later enthered intopartnership with th' Hon. Jawn Powers in th' retail liquor traffic.Mr. O'Brien is a fine built man, an' can lick anny wan iv his age westiv th' river, give 'r take tin pounds, color no bar. His heart bets upclose to th' ribs iv th' common people, an' he would make opprissorsiv th' poor wish they'd died early if ye give him a chance with a beerbottle. How's that?' says Hinnissy.

  "'Worse,' says I. 'Foolish man,' says I. 'Don't ye know that it ain'tour Bill that's been nommynated?' I says. 'This is a Nebraska man,' Isays. 'Well,' he says, 'if 'tis Bill O'Brien, he'd win easy. But,' hesays, 'if 'tis not,' he says, ''tis wan iv th' fam'ly,' he says. 'I'llchange this here novel an' make it a sketch iv th' cousin iv th'candydate,' he says. An' he wint on with his wurruk."

  A CANDIDATE'S PILLORY.

  "What's this counthry comin' to, annyhow, that a man that's out f'r tobe Prisident has to set up on a high chair an' be questioned on hisrecord be a lot iv la-ads that hasn't had annything to do since th'carpetbeatin' season's ended? "said Mr. Dooley. "Ye'd think Big Billwas r-runnin' f'r chief ex-icutive iv th' Clan-na-Gael. First alongcomes a comity iv th' Sons iv Rest. 'Major,' says they, 'we'reinsthructed be th' organization to ascertain ye'er views on th'important, we may say all-important, question iv havin' wirematthresses put on th' benches in th' parks. Are we,' they says,'goin' f'r to have to wear lumps on our backs into all eternity,' theysays, 'an' have our slumbers broke be th' hot fut iv th' polisman?'they says. 'We demand an answer,' they says, 'or, be this an' be that,we won't do a thing to ye.' Well, maybe Bill has been down to th'corner playin' a game iv spoil-five with his old frind Coalsack, an'has paid no attintion to th' Sons iv Rest. 'Well,' he says,'gintlemen, I'm in favor iv doin' ivrything in reason f'r th' hoboes,'he says. 'Th' protection iv th' home hobo again th' pauper can tradeiv Europe,' he says, 'has been wan iv th' principal wurruks iv melife,' he says; an' he gives thim each a hand out, an' bows thim toth' dure.

  "In comes a dillygation fr'm th' Union iv Amalgamated Pantsmakers; an'says th' chairman, 'Major,' he says, 'we have a complaint to makeagain thim pants iv ye'ers,' he says. 'What's th' matter with th'pants?' says th' future Prisident. 'I thought they looked all right,'he says. 'I paid four dollars f'r thim in Bucyrus las' year,' he says.'They have no union label on thim,' says th' chairman. 'Do you know,sir,' he says, 'that thim pants riprisints th' oppression iv women an'childher?' he says. 'D'ye know that ivry thread in thim seams means atear an' sigh?' says he. 'D'ye know that ivry time ye put on thimpants ye take a pair off some down-throdden workman?' he says. 'Glorybe!' says Big Bill: 'is that thrue? Thin what am I to do?' he says inalarm. 'Do?' says th' chairman. 'Wear pants that riprisints honesttoil fairly compinsated,' he says. 'Wear pants that 'll say to th'wurruld that Bill McKinley's legs are fair legs;' he says, 'that theymay bow at th' knees, but they niver bow to th' opprissor,' he says;'that niver did they wrap thimsilves in bags that bore th' curse ivmonno-poly an' greed,' he says. 'An' where can I get thim?' says th'major, 'Fr'm me,' says th' frind iv labor, pullin' out a tape. 'Willye have wan or two hip pockets?' he says.

  "An' so it goes. Ivry day a rayporther comes to th' house with a listiv questions. 'What are ye'er views on th' issue iv eatin' custard piewith a sponge? Do ye believe in side-combs? If called upon to veto abill f'r all mimbers iv th' Supreme Coort to wear hoop-skirts, wud yeveto it or wudden't ye? If so, why? If not, why not? If a batted ballgoes out iv th' line afther strikin' th' player's hands, is it fair orwho? Have ye that tired feelin'? What is your opinion iv a hereafther?Where did you get that hat? If a man has eight dollars an' spendstwelve iv it, what will th' poor man do? An' why an' where an' howmuch?'

  "Thin, if he don't answer, ivry wan says he's a thrimmer, an' ought tobe runnin' a sthreet-car an' not thryin' to poke his ondecided faceinto th' White House. I mind wanst, whin me frind O'Brien was acandydate f'r aldherman, a comity iv tax-payers waited on him f'r toget his views on th' issues iv th' day. Big Casey, th' housemover, wasth' chairman; an' he says, says he, 'Misther O'Brien,' he says, 'weare desirous,' he says, 'iv larnin' where ye stand on th' tariff, th'currency question, pensions, an' th' intherstate commerce act,' hesays, with a wave iv his hand. 'Well,' says O'Brien, he says, 'th'issue on which I'm appealin' to th' free an' intilligent suffrages ofAr-rchey Road an' th' assistance iv Deerin' Sthreet Station,' he says,'is whether little Mike Kelly will have th' bridge or not,' he says.'On that I stand,' he says. 'As f'r th' minor issues,' he says, 'I mayhave me opinions on thim an' I may not. Anny information I possessI'll keep tucked away in this large an' commodjous mind cage, an' notbe dealin' it out to th' likes iv ye, as though I was a comity iv th'Civic Featheration,' he says. 'Moreover,' he says, 'I'd like to know,you, Casey, what business have you got comin' roun' to my house andpryin' into my domestic affairs,' he says. ''Tis th' intherstatecommerce act now, but th' nex' thing 'll be where I got th' pianny,'he says; 'an', f'r fear ye may not stop where ye are, here goes tomount ye.' An' he climbed th' big man, an' rolled him. Well, sir willye believe me, ivry man on th' comity but wan voted f'r him. Casey wasstill in bed iliction day.

  "I met Tom Dorsey afther th' comity called. 'Well,' says I, 'I heerdye was up to O'Brien's questionin' him on th' issues iv th' day,' Isays. 'We was,' says he. 'Wa
s his answers satisfacthry?' says I.'Perfectly so,' he says. 'Whin th' comity left, we were all convincedthat he was th' strongest man that cud be nommynated,' he says."

  THE DAY AFTER THE VICTORY.

  "Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, "didn't we give it to thim?"

  "Give it to who?" asked Mr. McKenna.

  "To th' Dimmycrats," said Mr. Dooley.

  "Go on," said Mr. McKenna. "You're a Democrat yourself."

  "Me?" said Mr. Dooley, "not on your life. Not in wan hundherd thousandyears. Me a Dimmycrat? I shud say not, Jawn, me buck. I'm the hottestkind iv a Raypublican, me an' Maloney. I suppose they ain't two suchRaypublicans annywhere. How can anny wan be annything else? Who was itthat saved the Union, Jawn? Who was it? Who are th' frinds iv th'Irish? Who protecks th' poor wurrukin'man so that he'll have to go onwurrukin'? We do, Jawn. We Raypublicans, by dad.

  "They ain't a Dimmycrat fr'm wan end iv th' road to th' other. I justwas over makin' a visit on Docherty, an' he'd took down th' pictureiv Jackson an' Cleveland an' put up wan iv Grant an' Lincoln. WillumJoyce have come out f'r McKinley f'r Prisident, an' th' polisman onth' beat told me las' night that th' left'nant told him that 'twastime f'r a change. Th' Dimmycrats had rooned th' counthry with theirfree trade an' their foreign policy an' their I dinnaw what, an' 'twashigh time an honest man got a crack at a down-town precinct with afaro bank or two in it. Th' polisman agreed with him that Clevelandhave raised th' divvle with th' Constitootion; an', by gar, he'sright, too. He's right, Jawn. He have a boy in th' wather office.

  "Ye mind Maloney, th' la-ad with th' game eye? He tends a bridge overbe Goose Island way, but he was down here iliction day. Two weeksbefore iliction day he was again Winter. 'He's no good,' he says.'He's a Boohemian,' he says. 'An' whin they come to ilictin'Boohemians f'r mayor,' he says, 'I'll go back to me ol' thrade ivshovellin' mud,' he says. 'Besides,' says he, 'if this here Winterwint in,' he says, 'ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Street an' handhim a peach on a window pole, he'd be that stuck up,' he says.

  "Some wan must 've spoke to him; f'r, whin he come in th' next time,he says, 'They'se no use talkin',' he says, 'that there Dutchman issthrong,' he says. 'I thought he was a Boolgahrian,' says I. 'No,'says he, 'he's a German man,' says he. 'An' th' Germans is with him toth' bitther end,' he says. 'D'ye know,' he says, 'I believe he'll giveth' little bald-headed duck a run f'r his money,' he says. 'ThimGermans stand together,' he says. 'They're th' most clannish people onearth,' he says. 'I'm goin' over to th' Wolfe Tones to see what th'la-ads think about it.' Sundah night he come an' give a ca-ard f'rWinter to ivry man in th' place. 'He'll sweep th' town like awhirlwind,' he says. 'They can't beat him.' 'Who?' says I. 'Winter, ivcoorse.' 'Is he a nice man?' says I. 'Wan iv th' finest men on earth,'he says. 'A spoort, too,' he says. 'An' liberal.'

  "He was in here iliction day, an' I had Hinnissy's kid runnin' fr'mth' station with rayturns. Maloney was talkin' to th' crowd an' buyin'dhrinks. 'Ye'd be surprised,' says he, 'to know what a nice fellowthis here Winter is,' he says. 'Ye'd niver take him f'r a German,' hesays. 'He have no more accint thin mesilf.' The kid come in, an' sayshe, 'Th' loot says tin precincts show Swift have a majority as big aswhat th' Raypublicans got las' fall.' 'That's bad,' says I. 'Not atall,' says Maloney. 'Thim's th' down-town wa-ards,' he says. 'Waittill ye hear fr'm th' Germans,' he says. Th' nex' booletin said Swiftwas gainin', an' had tin thousand majority. 'Niver mind,' saysMaloney. 'Th' Germans 'll wipe that out,' he says. Thin we heerd itwas twinty thousand f'r Swift. 'Glory be,' says Maloney, 'th' Germansis slow comin' in,' he says. 'Maybe,' says I, 'they forgot to vote,'says I. 'Maybe they're havin' a schootzenfist,' I says, 'an' are outkillin' clay pigeons instid iv attendin' to business,' I says. Justthin th' loot come in. 'Well,' says he, ''tis quite a Waterloo,' sayshe. 'F'r who?' says I. 'Oh,' he says, 'Swift got it be fortythousand.'

  "Maloney wiped his face, and took off his hat an' swabbed it inside.Thin says he: 'D'ye raymimber me meetin' ye down-town a week ago onDorney's place, loot?' he says. 'Yes,' says th' loot. 'D'ye mind whatI said thin?' he says, 'I don't call it just now,' says the loot.'Well, I just come fr'm a meetin' iv th' Swift Marchin' Club, an' Iniver seen so much enthusyasm; an' I says to ye, I says: 'Loot,' Isays, 'Swift 'll bate him aisy,' I says. 'I knew he would fr'm th'beginnin'. Ye take an' put up a good broad liberal man like George B.,a man that has frinds an' knows how to be a good fellow, an' run himagain a Boohemian gazabo who gives ivry man th' marble heart an' 'dturn down his own brother, an' anny fool cud tell who 'd win. They'llbe some chance f'r a man with Swift over there; but, if this hereWinter wint in, ye cudden't stand acrost La Salle Sthreet an' hand hima peach on th' end iv a window pole,' he says.

  "Will he lose his job? Not much, Jawn. That la-ad 'll be swingin'bridges an' throwin' away th' crust iv his pie whin you an' me areatin' ha-ard coal. He will that. But what do I care? Machs nix aus,Jawn; an' that being translated manes, 'What th' 'ell.'"

  A VISIT TO JEKYL ISLAND.

  "I'd like to been there," said Mr. Dooley.

  "Where's that?" Mr. Hennessy asked.

  "At Shekel Island," said Mr. Dooley, "seein' me frind Mack an' mefrind Tom Reed meetin' be th' sad sea waves.

  "Ye see, Mack was down there with Mark Hanna. He was tired out withexpandin', an' anxiety f'r fear me frind Alger 'd raysign; an' saysHanna, he says, 'Come down,' he says, 'with me,' he says, 'to ShekelIsland,' he says. ''Tis th' home iv rayfinemint an' riches,' he says,'where us millyionaires rest fr'm takin' care iv th' counthry,' hesays. 'There in th' shade iv th' coupon threes,' he says, 'we watchth' sea waves, an' wondher,' he says, 'whin th' goold that's in thimcan be exthracted,' he says. 'They'se nawthin' to break th' silence,'he says, 'but th' roarin' iv th' ocean,' he says; 'an' that soundsnat'ral,' he says, 'because 'tis almost like th' sound iv th' stockexchange,' he says. 'A man,' he says, 'that has th' ticker eye,' hesays, 'or th' coupon thumb,' he says, 'is cured in no time,' he says.'Come,' he says, 'fly with me,' he says. 'They'se nawthin' to keep yehere,' he says. 'Ivry wan iv th' cab'net, includin' th' Sicrety ivWar, 'll stick to his place,' he says, 'like a man,' he says.

  "An' Mack wint with him. He was settin' on th' beach in a goold chair,surrounded be millyionaires, with th' prisident iv a bank fannin' himan' th' threeasurer iv a dimon' mine poorin' his dhrink; an', thoughhe was feelin' well, they was something on his mind. 'What ails ye?'ast Hanna. 'I was thinkin',' says Mack, 'how pleasant 'twud be if meol' frind Tom Reed was here,' he says. ''Twud be Paradise if he washere,' he says, whin, lo an' behold, who shud come acrost th'dimon'-studded beach, wadin' through th' bank-notes that 'd beendropped be th' good farmers iv Shekel Island, but Tom Reed.

  "Well, sir, to see th' affection that those two great men showed atth' encounther 'd dhraw tears fr'm th' eyes iv a hear-rt iv sthone.'Tom,' says Mack, in faltherin' accints, 'where have ye been? F'r daysan' days I've skinned yon blue horizon f'r anny sign iv ye,' he says.'An' ye come not,' he says. 'I didn't think I cud miss ye so,' hesays. 'Embrace me,' he says, 'if ye ar-re not ar-rmed,' he says.'Mack,' says me frind Tom Reed, with tears in his eyes, 'this,' hesays, 'is th' happiest moment iv me life,' he says. 'I cudden't,' hesays, 'I cudden't stay in Wash'nton,' he says, 'with you so far away,'he says, 'where I cudden't watch ye,' he says. 'Ye're th' on'y manin th' wurruld I care f'r,' he says, 'but mesilf.' he says. 'An',' hesays, 'I'd fall weepin' on ye'er shoulder this minyit,' he says; 'butI don't want to be disrayspectful be turnin' me back on MistherHanna,' he says.

  "'Well,' says Mack, 'sit down,' he says. 'Rockyfeller,' he says, 'tellMorgan f'r to fetch up a kag iv sherry wine,' he says. 'Tom,' hesays, 'we've been frinds f'r years,' he says. 'We have,' says Tom.'We've concealed it fr'm th' vulgar an' pryin' public,' he says; 'butin our hear-rts we've been frinds, barrin' th' naygur dillygates atth' convintion,' he says. ''Twas a mere incident,' says Mack. 'We'vebeen frinds,' he says; 'an' I've always wanted,' he says, 'to dosomething f'r ye,' he says. 'Th' time has come,' he says, 'whin I canrealize me wish,' he says. 'I offer ye,' he says, 'th' Prisidincy, tosucceed me,' h
e says. 'No, no,' he says, 'I'll not be rayfused,' hesays. 'I'm tired iv it,' he says. ''Twas foorced on me be foolishfrinds,' he says; 'but I'm not th' man f'r th' place,' he says. 'Ihaven't dhrawn a comfortable breath, not to speak iv salary, since Iwint in,' he says.

  "Th' speaker iv th' house burrid his face in his hands, an' sobs shookhim partly f'r manny minyits. Thin he raised his head, an' says he,'Mack,' he says, 'I can't take it,' he says. ''Tis most gin'rous ivye,' he says, 'but me hear-rt fails me,' he says. 'What is it to bePrisident?' says he. 'Th' White House,' he says, 'is a prison,' hesays, 'to which a man is condimned,' he says, 'f'r fine wurruk at th'polls,' he says. 'Th' life iv a Prisident is slavery,' he says. 'If Iwas to take th' job,' he says, 'I'd be tortured day an' night,' hesays, 'be th' fear iv assassination,' he says. 'Think,' he says, 'ivsome arnychist shootin' thirteen-inch shells at me,' he says, 'an'maybe,' he says, 'dentin' me,' he says. 'No,' he says, 'I have a goodjob where I am,' he says. 'All I've got to do,' he says, 'is to set upat th' desk,' he says, 'an' not recall th' names iv th' gintlemen onth' flure, an' me jooty's done,' he says. 'I thank ye kindly, Willum;but I cannot accept ye'er gin'rous offer,' he says. 'Go back to th'cell,' he says, 'an' slave like a convict,' he says. 'I will not robme frind,' he says, 'iv such an honor. But,' he says, 'tell me whin yethought iv throwin' up th' job, an' lavin' me br-reak into thishateful prison,' he says. 'About th' year two thousan' an' eight, dearfrind,' says Mack. 'No, no,' says Tom Reed. 'I cannot accept it,' hesays, pressin' Mack's hand. ''Tis too much,' he says, 'an' too long,'he says.