Mr. Dooley in Peace and in War by Finley Peter Dunne (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📖

TO W.H. TURNER


PREFACE.

Archey Road stretches back for many miles from the heart of an ugly city to the cabbage gardens that gave the maker of the seal his opportunity to call the city "urbs in horto." Somewhere between the two--that is to say, forninst th' gas-house and beyant Healey's slough and not far from the polis station--lives Martin Dooley, doctor of philosophy.

There was a time when Archey Road was purely Irish. But the Huns, turned back from the Adriatic and the stock-yards and overrunning Archey Road, have nearly exhausted the original population,--not driven them out as they drove out less vigorous races, with thick clubs and short spears, but edged them out with the more biting weapons of modern civilization,--overworked and under-eaten them into more languid surroundings remote from the tanks of the gas-house and the blast furnaces of the rolling-mill.

But Mr. Dooley remains, and enough remain with him to save the Archey Road. In this community you can hear all the various accents of Ireland, from the awkward brogue of the "far-downer" to the mild and aisy Elizabethan English of the southern Irishman, and all the exquisite variations to be heard between Armagh and Bantry Bay, with the difference that would naturally arise from substituting cinders and sulphuretted hydrogen for soft misty air and peat smoke. Here also you can see the wakes and christenings, the marriages and funerals, and the other fetes of the ol' counthry somewhat modified and darkened by American usage. The Banshee has been heard many times in Archey Road. On the eve of All Saints' Day it is well known that here alone the pookies play thricks in cabbage gardens. In 1893 it was reported that Malachi Dempsey was called "by the other people," and disappeared west of the tracks, and never came back.

A simple people! "Simple, says ye!" remarked Mr. Dooley. "Simple like th' air or th' deep sea. Not complicated like a watch that stops whin th' shoot iv clothes ye got it with wears out. Whin Father Butler wr-rote a book he niver finished, he said simplicity was not wearin' all ye had on ye'er shirt-front, like a tin-horn gambler with his di'mon' stud. An' 'tis so."

The barbarians around them are moderately but firmly governed, encouraged to passionate votings for the ruling race, but restrained from the immoral pursuit of office.

The most generous, thoughtful, honest, and chaste people in the world are these friends of Mr. Dooley,--knowing and innocent; moral, but giving no heed at all to patented political moralities.

Among them lives and prospers the traveller, archaeologist, historian, social observer, saloon-keeper, economist, and philosopher, who has not been out of the ward for twenty-five years "but twict." He reads the newspapers with solemn care, heartily hates them, and accepts all they print for the sake of drowning Hennessy's rising protests against his logic. From the cool heights of life in the Archey Road, uninterrupted by the jarring noises of crickets and cows, he observes the passing show, and meditates thereon. His impressions are transferred to the desensitized plate of Mr. Hennessy's mind, where they can do no harm.

"There's no betther place to see what's goin' on thin the Ar-rchey Road," says Mr. Dooley. "Whin th' ilicthric cars is hummin' down th' sthreet an' th' blast goin' sthrong at th' mills, th' noise is that gr-reat ye can't think."

He is opulent in good advice, as becomes a man of his station; for he has mastered most of the obstacles in a business career, and by leading a prudent and temperate life has established himself so well that he owns his own house and furniture, and is only slightly behind on his license. It would be indelicate to give statistics as to his age. Mr. Hennessy says he was a "grown man whin th' pikes was out in forty-eight, an' I was hedge-high, an' I'm near fifty-five." Mr. Dooley says Mr. Hennessy is eighty. He closes discussion on his own age with the remark, "I'm old enough to know betther." He has served his country with distinction. His conduct of the important office of captain of his precinct (1873-75) was highly commended, and there was some talk of nominating him for alderman. At the expiration of his term he was personally thanked by the Hon. M. McGee, at one time a member of the central committee. But the activity of public life was unsuited to a man of Mr. Dooley's tastes; and, while he continues to view the political situation always with interest and sometimes with alarm, he has resolutely declined to leave the bar for the forum. His early experience gave him wisdom in discussing public affairs. "Politics," he says, "ain't bean bag. 'Tis a man's game; an' women, childher, an' pro-hybitionists'd do well to keep out iv it." Again he remarks, "As Shakespeare says, 'Ol' men f'r th' council, young men f'r th' ward.'"

An attempt has been made in this book to give permanent form to a few of the more characteristic and important of Mr. Dooley's utterances. For permission to reprint the articles the thanks of the editor are due to Mr. George G. Booth, of the Chicago _Journal_, and to Mr. Dooley's constant friend, Mr. H.H. Kohlsaat, of the Chicago _Evening Post_.

F. P. D.


CONTENTS.

MR. DOOLEY IN WAR


ON DIPLOMACY

ON WAR PREPARATIONS

ON FITZ-HUGH LEE

ON MULES AND OTHERS

ON HIS COUSIN GEORGE

ON SOME ARMY APPOINTMENTS

ON STRATEGY

ON GENERAL MILES'S MOONLIGHT EXCURSION

ON ADMIRAL DEWEY'S ACTIVITY

ON THE PHILIPPINES

ON PRAYERS FOR VICTORY

ON THE ANGLO-SAXON

ON A LETTER FROM THE FRONT

ON OUR CUBAN ALLIES

ON THE DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA'S FLEET

ON A LETTER TO MR. DEPEW

ON THE PRESIDENT'S CAT

ON A SPEECH BY PRESIDENT McKINLEY

ON THE HERO IN POLITICS



MR. DOOLEY IN PEACE


ON NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

ON GOLD-SEEKING

ON BOOKS

ON REFORM CANDIDATES

ON PATERNAL DUTY

ON CRIMINALS

ON A PLOT

ON THE NEW WOMAN

ON EXPERT TESTIMONY

ON THE POPULARITY OF FIREMEN

ON THE GAME OF FOOTBALL

ON THE NECESSITY OF MODESTY AMONG THE RICH

ON THE POWER OF LOVE

ON THE VICTORIAN ERA

ON THE CURRENCY QUESTION

ON POLITICAL PARADES

ON CHARITY

ON NANSEN

ON A POPULIST CONVENTION

ON A FAMILY REUNION

ON A FAMOUS WEDDING

ON A QUARREL BETWEEN ENGLAND AND GERMANY

ON ORATORY IN POLITICS

ON CHRISTMAS GIFTS

ON ANARCHISTS

ON THE DREYFUS CASE

ON THE DECADENCE OF GREECE

ON THE INDIAN WAR

ON GOLF

ON THE FRENCH CHARACTER



MR. DOOLEY IN WAR


ON DIPLOMACY.

"I'll explain it to ye," said Mr. Dooley. "'Tis this way. Ye see, this here Sagasta is a boonco steerer like Canada Bill, an' th' likes iv him. A smart man is this Sagasta, an' wan that can put a crimp in th' ca-ards that ye cudden't take out with a washerwoman's wringer. He's been through manny a ha-ard game. Talk about th' County Dimocracy picnic, where a three-ca-ard man goes in debt ivry time he hurls th' broads, 'tis nawthin' to what this here Spanish onion has been again an' beat. F'r years an' years he's played on'y profissionals. Th' la-ads he's tackled have more marked ca-ards in their pockets thin a preacher fr'm Mitchigan an' more bad money thin ye cud shake out iv th' coat-tail pockets iv a prosp'rous banker fr'm Injianny. He's been up again Gladstun an' Bisma-arck an' ol' what-ye-call-'im, th' Eyetalian,--his name's got away from me,--an' he's done thim all.

"Well, business is bad. No wan will play with him. No money's comin' in. Th' circus has moved on to th' nex' town, an' left him without a customer. Th' Jew man that loaned him th' bank-roll threatens to seize th' ca-ards on' th' table. Whin, lo an' behold, down th' sthreet comes a ma-an fr'm th' counthry,--a lawyer fr'm Ohio, with a gripsack in his hand. Oh, but he's a proud man. He's been in town long enough f'r to get out iv th' way iv th' throlley ca-ar whin th' bell rings. He's larned not to thry an' light his see-gar at th' ilicthric light. He doesn't offer to pay th' ilivator ma-an f'r carryin' him upstairs. He's got so he can pass a tall buildin' without thryin' f'r to turn a back summersault. An' he's as haughty about it as a new man on an ice-wagon. They'se nawthin' ye can tell him. He thinks iv himsilf goin' back to Canton with a r-red necktie on, an' settin' on a cracker box an' tellin' th' lads whin they come in fr'm pitchin' hor-rseshoes what a hot time he's had, an' how he's seen th' hootchy-kootchy an' th' Pammer House barber shop, an' th' other ondacint sights iv a gr-reat city.

"An' so he comes up to where Sagasta is kind iv throwin' th' ca-ards idly on th' top iv th' bar'l, an' Sagasta pipes him out iv th' corner iv his eye, an' says to himsilf: 'Oh, I dinnaw,' an' thanks hiven f'r th' law that has a sucker bor-rn ivry minyit. An' th' la-ad fr'm Canton thinks he can pick out th' Jack, an' sometimes he can an' sometimes he can't; but th' end iv it is th' Spanyard has him thrimmed down to his chest protector, an' he'll be goin' back to Canton in a blanket. Ye see it ain't his game. If it was pitchin' hor-rseshoes, 'twud be diff'rent. He cud bate Sagasta at that. He cud do him at rasslin' or chasin' th' greased pig, or in a wan-legged race or th' tug-iv-war. He cud make him look foolish at liftin' a kag iv beer or hitchin' up a team. But, whin it comes to di-plo-macy, th' Spanyard has him again th' rail, an' counts on him till his ar-rm is sore."

"Why don't he tur-rn in an' fight?" demanded the patriotic Mr. Hennessy.

"Lord knows," said Mr. Dooley. "Mebbe 'twill tur-rn out th' way it did with two frinds iv mine. They was Joe Larkin an' a little r-red-headed man be th' name iv O'Brien, an' they wint out to th' picanic at Ogden's grove, where wanst a year Ireland's freed. They was a shell ma-an wurrukin' near th' fence, an' Larkin says, says he: 'He's aisy. Lave me have some money, an' we'll do him. I can see th' pea go undher th' shell ivry time.' So O'Brien bein' a hot spoort loaned him th' money, an' he wint at it. Ivry time Larkin cud see th' pea go undher th' shell as plain as day. Wanst or twict th' shell man was so careless that he left th' pea undher th' edge iv th' shell. But in five minyits all iv O'Brien's money was in th' bad ma-an's pockits, an' he was lookin' around f'r more foolish pathrites. It took O'Brien some time f'r to decide what to do. Thin says he, ''Twas my money this fool blowed in.' An' he made a dash f'r th' shell ma'an; an' he not on'y got what he'd lost, but all th' r-rest iv th' capital besides. Ye see, that was his game. That was where he come in. An' he took th' money an' carrid it over to a cor-rner iv th' gr-rounds where a la-ad had wan iv thim matcheens where ye pay