Mr. Dooley's Philosophy by Finley Peter Dunne (most popular novels of all time TXT) 📖

an' foul crather,' he says. 'I have come six thousan' miles f'r to hist ye fr'm th' mire iv ignorance an' irrellijon in which ye live to th' lofty plane iv Baraboo,' he says. An' he sets down on an aisy chair, an' his wife an' her friends come in an' they inthrojooce Mrs. Dooley to th' modhren improvements iv th' corset an' th' hat with th' blue bur-rd onto it, an' put shame into her because she hasn't let her feet grow, while th' head mission'ry reads me a pome out iv th' _Northwesthren Christyan Advocate_. 'Well,' says I, 'look here, me good fellow,' I says. 'Me an' me people has occypied these here primises f'r manny years,' I says, 'an' here we mean to stay,' I says. 'We're doin' th' best we can in th' matther iv gods,' says I. 'We have thim cast at a first-rate foundhry,' I says, 'an' we sandpa-aper thim ivry week,' says I. 'As f'r knowin' things,' I says, 'me people wrote pomes with a markin' brush whin th' likes iv ye was r-runnin' ar-round wearin' a short pelisse iv sheepskins an' batin' each other to death with stone hammers,' says I. An' I'm f'r firin' him out, but bein' a quite man I lave him stay."

"Th' nex' day in comes a man with a suit iv clothes that looks like a tablecloth in a section house, an' says he: 'Poor ignorant haythen,' he says, 'what manner iv food d'ye ate?' he says. 'Rice,' says I, 'an' rats is me fav'rite dish,' I says. 'Deluded wretch,' says he. 'I riprisint Armour an' Company, an' I'm here to make ye change ye'er dite,' he says. 'Hinceforth ye'll ate th' canned roast beef iv merry ol' stock yards or I'll have a file iv sojers in to fill ye full iv ondygistible lead,' he says. An' afther him comes th' man with Aunt Miranda's Pan Cakes an' Flaked Bran an' Ye'll-perish-if-ye-don't-eat-a-biscuit an' other riprisintatives iv Westhern Civilization, an' I'm to be shot if I don't take thim all."

"Thin a la-ad runs down with a chain an' a small glass on three sticks an' a gang iv section men that answers to th' name iv Casey, an' pro- ceeds f'r to put down a railroad. 'What's this f'r?' says I. 'We ar-re th' advance guard iv Westhren Civilization,' he says, 'an we're goin' to give ye a railroad so ye can go swiftly to places that ye don't want to see,' he says. 'A counthry that has no railroads is beneath contimpt,' he says. 'Casey,' he says,'sthretch th' chain acrost yon graveyard,' he says. 'I aim f'r to put th' thrack just befure that large tombstone marked Riquiescat in Pace, James H. Chung-a-lung,' he says. 'But,' says I, 'ye will disturb pah's bones,' says I, 'if ye go to layin' ties,' I says. 'Ye'll be mixin' up me ol' man with th' Cassidy's in th' nex' lot that,' I says, 'he niver spoke to save in anger in his life,' I says. 'Ye're an ancestor worshiper, heathen,' says the la-ad, an' he goes on to tamp th' mounds in th' cimitry an ballast th' thrack with th' remains iv th' deceased. An' afther he's got through along comes a Fr-rinchman, an' an Englishman, an' a Rooshan, an' a Dutchman, an' says wan iv them: 'This is a comfortable lookin' saloon,' he says. 'I'll take th' bar, ye take th' ice-box an' th' r-rest iv th' fixtures.' 'What f'r?' says I. 'I've paid th' rent an' th' license,' says I. 'Niver mind,' says he. 'We're th' riprisintatives iv Westhren Civilization,' he says, 'an' 'tis th' business iv Westhren Civilization to cut up th' belongings iv Easthren Civilization,' he says. 'Be off,' he says, 'or I'll pull ye'er hair,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'this thing has gone far enough,' I says. 'I've heerd me good ol' cast-iron gods or josses abused,' I says, 'an' I've been packed full iv canned goods, an' th' Peking Lightnin' Express is r-runnin' sthraight through th' lot where th' bones iv me ancesthors lies,' I says. 'I've shtud it all,' I says, 'but whin ye come here to bounce me off iv me own primises,' I says, 'I'll have to take th' leg iv th' chair to ye,' I says. An' we're to th' flure."

"That's th' way it stands in Chiny, Hinnissy, an' it looks to me as though Westhren Civilization was in f'r a bump. I mind wanst whin a dhrunk prize fighter come up th' r-road and wint to sleep on Slavin's steps. Some iv th' good sthrong la-ads happened along an' they were near bein' at blows over who shud have his watch an' who shud take his hat. While they were debatin' he woke up an' begin cuttin' loose with hands an' feet, an' whin he got through he made a collection iv th' things they dhropped in escapin' an' marched ca'mly down th' sthreet. Mebbe 'twill tur-rn out so in Chiny, Hinnissy. I see be th' pa-apers that they'se four hundherd millyons iv thim boys an' be hivins! 'twuddent surprise me if whin they got through batin' us at home, they might say to thimsilves: 'Well, here goes f'r a jaunt ar-roun' the wurruld.' Th' time may come, Hinnissey, whin ye'll be squirtin' wather over Hop Lee's shirt while a man named Chow Fung kicks down ye'er sign an' heaves rocks through ye'er windy. The time may come, Hinnissy. Who knows?"

"End ye'er blather," said Mr. Hennessy. "They won't be anny Chinymen left whin Imp'ror Willum gets through."

"Mebbe not," says Mr. Dooley. "He's a sthrong man. But th' Chinymen have been on earth a long time, an' I don't see how we can push so manny iv thim off iv it. Annyhow, 'tis a good thing f'r us they ain't Christyans an' haven't larned properly to sight a gun."


MINISTER WU

"Well, sir, me little Chinee frind Woo must be havin' th' time iv his life in Wash'nton these warm days," said Mr. Dooley.

"Who's he?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"He's th' Chinee ministher," said Mr. Dooley, "an' his business is f'r to supply fresh hand-laundhried misinformation to the sicrety iv state. Th' sicrety iv state is settin' in his office feelin' blue because he's just heerd be a specyal corryspondint iv th' London Daily Pail at Sydney, Austhreelya, who had it fr'm a slatewriter in Duluth that an ar- rmy iv four hundherd an' eight thousan' millyon an' sivinty-five bloodthirsty Chinee, ar-rmed with flatirnes an' cryin', 'Bung Loo!' which means, Hinnissy, 'Kill th' foreign divvles, dhrive out th' missionries, an' set up in Chiny a gover'mint f'r the Chinee,' is marchin' on Vladivostook in Siberyia, not far fr'm Tinsin."

A knock comes at th' dure an' Woo enthers. 'Well,' says he, with a happy smile, ''tis all right.' 'What's all right?' says the sicrety iv state. 'Ivrything,' says Woo. 'I have just found a letter sewed in a shirt fr'm me frind Lie Much, th' viceroy iv Bumbang. It is dated th' fourth hour iv th' third day iv th' eighth or green-cheese moon,' he says. 'What day is that?' says the sicrety iv state. 'It's Choosdah, th' fourth iv July; Winsdah, th' eighth iv October, an' Thursdah, the sivinteenth iv March,' he says. 'Pathrick's day,' says th' sicrety iv state. 'Thrue f'r ye,' says Woo. 'What year?' says Jawn Hay. 'The year iv th' big wind,' says Woo. 'Good,' says John Hay, 'proceed with ye'er story.' 'Here's th' letther,' says Woo. 'I know 'tis genooyine because it is an ol' dhress patthern used be th' impress. It says: 'Oscar Woo, care iv himsilf, annywhere: Dear Woo, brother iv th' moon, uncle iv th' sun, an' roommate iv th' stars, dear sir: Yours iv th' eighth day iv th' property moon rayceived out iv th' air yesterdah afthernoon or to-morrow, an' was glad to note ye ar-re feelin' well. Ivrything over here is th' same ol' pair iv boots. Nawthin' doin'. Peking is as quiet as th' gr-rave. Her majesty, th' impress, is sufferin' slightly fr'm death be poison, but is still able to do th' cookin' f'r the Rooshan ambassadure. Th' impror was beheaded las' week an' feels so much betther f'r the op'ration that he expicts to be quarthered nex' Sundah. He's always wanted to rayjooce his weight. Some iv th' Boxers called on th' foreigners at Tinsin las' week an' met a warrum rayciption. Th' foreigners aftherward paid a visit to thim through a hole in th' wall, an' a jolly day concluded with a foot race, at which our people are becomin' expert. Some iv th' boys expicts to come up to Peking nex' week, an' th' people along th' line iv th' railroad are gettin' ready f'r thim. This is really all the news I have, excipt that cherries ar-re ripe. Me pin is poor, me ink is dhry, me love f'r you can niver die. Give me regards to Sicrety Hay whin he wakes up. I remain, illusthrus cousin iv th' risin' dawn, thruly ye'ers, Li.

P. S.--If ye need anny more information take a longer dhraw.'

"'That,' says Woo, 'is wan way iv r-readin' it. Read upside down it says that the impress has become a Swedenboorjan. I will r-read it standin' on me head whin I get home where I can pin down me overskirt; thin I'll r-read it in a lookin' glass; thin I'll saw it into sthrips an' r-run it through a wringer an' lave it stand in a tub iv bluein', an' whin its properly starched I'll find out what it says. Fin'lly I'll cut it into small pieces an' cook with rice an' lave it to rest in a cool place, an' thin 'twill r-read even betther. I hope ye're satisfied,' he says. 'I am,' says Jawn Hay. 'I'll tillygraft to Mark that ivrything is all r- right,' he says, 'an' that our relations with his majesty or her majesty or their Boxerships or th' Down-with-th'-foreign-divvlers or whoiver's runnin' th' shop over beyant are as they ought to be or worse or betther, as th' case may be,' he says. 'Good,' says Woo, 'ye're a man afther me own heart,' he says. 'I'll sind ye a little book wrote be a frind iv mine in Peking,' he says. ''Tis called "Heart to Heart Lies I Have Had," he says. 'Ye'll like it,' he says. 'In the manetime,' he says, 'I must write a secret message to go out be to-night's hot-air express to me corryspondint in Meriden, Connecticut, urgin' him to sind more im-peeryal edicks iv a fav'r-able nature,' he says. 'I've on'y had twinty so far, an' I'm gettin' scrivener's palsy,' he says. 'But befure I go,' he says, 'I bet ye eight millyon yens, or three dollars an' eighty-four cints iv ye'er money, that ye can't pick out th' shell this here pea is undher,' he says. An' they set down to a game iv what is known at Peking as diplomacy, Hinnissy, but on Randolph sthreet viadock is called the double dirty."

"I don't believe wan wurrud iv what's in th' pa-apers about Chiny," said Mr. Hennessy.

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "if ye believe annything ye'll believe ivrything. 'Tis a grand contist that's goin' on between Westhren an' Easthren civilliezation. 'Tis a joke iv me own, Hinnissy, an' ye'd undherstand it if ye knew spellin. Th' Westhren civilization, Hinnissy --that's us--is a pretty good liar, but he's a kind iv rough-an'-tumble at it. He goes in head down, an' ivry lie he tells looks like all th' others. Ye niver see an Englishman that had anny judgment in lyin'. Th' corryspondint iv th' Daily Pail is out iv his class. He's carryin' lies to Lieville. How in th' wurruld can we compete with a counthry where ivry lab'rer's cottage projooces lies so delicate