Mr. Dooley's Philosophy by Finley Peter Dunne (parable of the sower read online TXT) 📖

Know all men be these prisints. To all magisthrates an' polis officers, greetin.' In re Sir Lipton again th' Cup. Ordhered that if Sir Lipton shall secure said Cup fr'm aforesaid (which he won't) he must build a boat as follows: Wan hundherd an' twinty chest, fifty-four waist, hip an' side pockets, carryin' three hundherd an' sixty-three thousan' cubic feet iv canvas; th' basement iv th' boat to be papered in green with yellow flowered dado, open plumbin', steam heat throughout, th' tinant to pay f'r all repairs. Be means iv this infernal machine, if enable to kill off th' rile fam'ly, he will attimpt to cross th' stormy Atlantic, an' if successful, will arrive at th' risidince iv th' party of th' first part, said John Doe. Wanst there, he will consult with mimbers iv th' Noo York Bar Association, who will lead him to a firm iv competent expert accountants, who will give him his time, which is two minyits measured be th' invarse ratio iv th' distance fr'm th' binnacle to th' cook-stove, an' fr'm th' cook-stove, east be north to th' bowspirit. He will thin take his foolish boat down th' bay, an' if he keeps his health, he can rayturn to th' grocery business, f'r he's a jolly good fellow which nobody can deny.'

“Ye can see this, Hinnissy, that yachtin' has become wan iv thl larned pro-fissions. 'Tis that that got th' la-ad fr'm Boston into it. They's a jolly Jack Tar f'r ye. In dhrawin' up a lease or framin' a bond, no more gallant sailor rides th' waves thin hearty Jack Larsen iv th' Amalgamated Copper Yacht Club. 'What ho?' says he. 'If we're goin' to have a race,' he says, 'shiver me timbers if I don't look up th' law,' he says. So he become a yachtsman. 'But,' says th' Noo York la-ads, thim that has th' Cup on their mantel-piece, 'Ye can race on'y on two conditions.' 'What ar-re they?' says Larsen. 'Th' first is that ye become a mimber iv our club.' 'With pleasure,' says he. 'Ye can't,' says they. 'An' havin' complied with this first condition, ye must give us ye'er boat,' says they. 'We don't want it,' they says. 'Th' terms suit me entirely,' says Cap. Larsen. 'I'm a simple sailor man an' I'll give ye me boat undher th' following conditions,' he says. 'First, that ye won't take it; second, that ye'll paint me name on th' side iv it in red letters, three feet high; third, that ye'll inthra-jooce me to th' Prince iv Wales; foorth, that I'll sail it mesilf. Nawthin',' he says, 'wud give me gr-reater pleasure thin to have me handsome an' expinsive raft in th' hands iv men who I wud considher it an honor to know,' he says. 'An' so,' he says, 'I'll on'y ask ye to sign a bond an' lave a small security, say about five hundherd thousan' dollars, in me hands in case anny paint shud be knocked off me boat,' he says. 'Yachtin' is a gintleman's spoort,' he says, 'an' in dalin' with gintlemen,' he says, 'ye can't be too careful,' he says.”

“What's Sir Lipton doin' all this time?” asked Mr. Hennessy.

“He's preparin' his bond, makin' his will, an' goin' through th' other lagal preliminaries iv th' race. He's built a boat too. Th' King of England was aboord iv her, an' he was near killed, be havin' a mast fall on him. Th' Lord knows how he escaped. A mass iv steel weighin' a hundherd thousan' ton fell on his Majesty an' bounced off. Sir Lipton felt pretty bad about it. He didn't mind losin' a mast or two, but he didn't want annywan to know he had th' king aboord. 'Twud hurt business. 'Boys,' says he to th' rayporthers, 'th' King's on me yacht. D'ye hear me? Th' King's on me yacht. But don't say annything about it. I don't want to have it known. Don't print it onless ye have to, an' thin put it in an inconspicuous place, like th' first page. He's here sure enough, boys. Th' mast just fell on his Majesty. It nearly kilt him. I'm not sure it didn't kill him. He remained perfectly cool throughout. So did I. I was almost cold. So did both iv us. But, mind not a wurrud iv this in th' pa-apers.' I don't know how th' rayporthers got hold iv it. But they're a pryin' lot.”

“How did th' mast come to fall?” asked Mr. Hennessy, eagerly. “D'ye suppose Sir Lipton is wan iv us?”

“S-sh,” said Mr. Dooley, adding, softly, “he was bor-rn in Limerick.”