Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen - Finley Peter Dunne (black authors fiction txt) 📗

th' wurruld would have ended; an' Jawn H. Humanity would be in th' White House, throwin' his feet over th' furniture an' receivin' th' attintions iv diplomats an' pleeniapotentiaries. It was decided otherwise be th' fates, as th' Good Book says. Prosperity is th' bucko now. Barrin' a sthrike at th' stock-yards an' a hold-up here an' there, Prosperity has come leapin' in as if it had jumped fr'm a springboard. Th' mills are opened, th' factories are goin' to go, th' railroads are watherin' stocks, long processions iv workin'men are marchin' fr'm th' pay-car to their peaceful saloons, their wives are takin' in washin' again, th' price iv wheat is goin' up an' down, creditors are beginnin' to sue debtors; an' thus all th' wurruld is merry with th' on'y rational enjoyments iv life.

"An' th' stock exchange has opened. That's wan iv th' strongest signs iv prosperity. I min' wanst whin me frind Mike McDonald was controllin' th' city, an' conductin' an exchange down be Clark Sthreet. Th' game had been goin' hard again th' house. They hadn't been a split f'r five deals. Whin ivrybody was on th' queen to win, with th' sivin spot coppered, th' queen won, th' sivin spot lost. Wan lad amused himsilf be callin' th' turn twinty-wan times in succession, an' th' check rack was down to a margin iv eleven whites an' fifty-three cints in change. Mike looked around th' crowd, an' turned down th' box. 'Gintlemen,' says he, 'th' game is closed. Business conditions are such,' he says, 'that I will not be able to cash in ye'er checks,' he says. 'Please go out softly, so's not to disturb th' gintlemen at th' roulette wheel,' he says, 'an' come back afther th' iliction, whin confidence is restored an' prosperity returns to th' channels iv thrade an' industhry,' he says. 'Th' exchange 'll be opened promptly; an' th' usual rule iv chips f'r money an' money f'r chips, fifty on cases an' sivinty-five f'r doubles, a hard-boiled egg an' a dhrink f'r losers, will prevail,' he says. 'Return with th' glad tidings iv renewed commerce, an' thank th' Lord I haven't took ye'er clothes.' His was th' first stock exchange we had.

"Yes, Prosperity has come hollerin' an screamin'. To read th' papers, it seems to be a kind iv a vagrancy law. No wan can loaf anny more. Th' end iv vacation has gone f'r manny a happy lad that has spint six months ridin' through th' counthry, dodgin' wurruk, or loafin' under his own vine or hat-three. Prosperity grabs ivry man be th' neck, an' sets him shovellin' slag or coke or runnin' up an' down a ladder with a hod iv mortar. It won't let th' wurruld rest. If Humanity 'd been victoryous, no wan 'd iver have to do a lick again to th' end iv his days. But Prosperity's a horse iv another color. It goes round like a polisman givin' th' hot fut to happy people that are snoozin' in th' sun. 'Get up,' says Prosperity. 'Get up, an' hustle over to th' rollin' mills: there's a man over there wants ye to carry a ton iv coal on ye'er back.' 'But I don't want to wurruk,' says th' lad. 'I'm very comfortable th' way I am.' 'It makes no difference,' says Prosperity. 'Ye've got to do ye'er lick. Wurruk, f'r th' night is comin'. Get out, an' hustle. Wurruk, or ye can't be unhappy; an', if th' wurruld isn't unhappy, they'se no such a thing as Prosperity.'

"That's wan thing I can't understand," Mr. Dooley went on. "Th' newspapers is run be a lot iv gazabos that thinks wurruk is th' ambition iv mankind. Most iv th' people I know 'd be happiest layin' on a lounge with a can near by, or stretchin' thimsilves f'r another nap at eight in th' mornin'. But th' papers make it out that there 'd be no sunshine in th' land without you an' me, Hinnissy, was up before daybreak pullin' a sthreet-car or poundin' sand with a shovel. I seen a line, 'Prosperity effects on th' Pinnsylvania Railroad'; an' I read on to find that th' road intinded to make th' men in their shops wurruk tin hours instead iv eight, an' it says 'there's no reasons why they should not wurruk Sundahs iv they choose.' If they choose! An' what chance has a man got that wants to make th' wurruld brighter an' happier be rollin' car-wheels but to miss mass an' be at th' shops?"

"We must all work," said Mr. McKenna, sententiously.

"Yes," said Mr. Dooley, "or be wurruked."


THE GREAT HOT SPELL.

It was sultry everywhere, but particularly in Archey Road; for in summer Archey Road is a tunnel for the south-west wind, which refreshes itself at the rolling-mill blasts, and spills its wrath upon the just and the unjust alike. Wherefore Mr. Dooley and Mr. McKenna were both steaming, as they sat at either side of the door of Mr. Dooley's place, with their chairs tilted back against the posts.

"Hot," said Mr. McKenna.

"Warrum," said Mr. Dooley.

"I think this is the hottest September that ever was," said Mr. McKenna.

"So ye say," said Mr. Dooley. "An' that's because ye're a young man, a kid. If ye was my age, ye'd know betther. How d'ye do, Mrs. Murphy? Go in, an' fill it ye'ersilf. Ye'll find th' funnel undher th' see-gar case.--Ye'd know betther thin that. Th' Siptimber iv th' year eighteen sixty-eight was so much hotter thin this that, if ye wint fr'm wan to th' other, ye'd take noomoney iv th' lungs,--ye wud so. 'Twas a remarkable summer, takin' it all in all. On th' Foorth iv July they was a fut iv ice in Haley's slough, an' I was near flooded out be th' wather pipe bustin'. A man be th' name iv Maloney froze his hand settin' off a Roman candle near Main Sthreet, an'--Tin cints, please, ma'am. Thank ye kindly. How's th' good man?--As I said, it was a remarkable summer. It rained all August, an' th' boys wint about on rafts; an' a sthreet-car got lost fr'm th' road, an' I dhrove into th' canal, an' all on boord--'Avnin', Mike. Ah-ha, 'twas a great fight. An' Buck got his eye, did he? A good man.

"Well, Jawn, along come Siptimber. It begun fairly warrum, wan hundherd or so in th' shade; but no wan minded that. Thin it got hotter an' hotter, an' people begun to complain a little. They was sthrong in thim days,--not like th' joods they raise now,--an' a little heat more or less didn't kill thim. But afther a while it was more thin most iv thim wanted. The sthreet-car thracks got so soft they spread all over th' sthreet, an' th' river run dhry. Afther boilin' f'r five days like a--How are ye, Dempsey? Ye don't tell me? Now th' likes iv him runnin' f'r aldherman! I'd as lave vote f'r th' tillygraph pole. Well, be good to ye'ersilf. Folks all well? Thanks be.--They shut off th' furnaces out at th' mills, an' melted th' iron be puttin' it out in th' sun. Th' puddlers wurruked in iron cases, an' was kept alive be men playin' a hose on thim fr'm th' packin' house refrigerator. Wan iv thim poked his head out to light his pipe, an' he was--Well, well, Timothy, ye are quite a sthranger. Ah, dear oh me, that's too ba-ad, too ba-ad. I'll tell ye what ye do. Ye rub th' hand in half iv a potato, an' say tin pather an' avy's over it ivry day f'r tin days. 'Tis a sure cure. I had wan wanst. Th' kids are thrivin', I dinnaw? That's good. Betther to hear thim yellin' in th' sthreet thin th' sound iv th' docthor's gig at th' dure.

"Well, Jawn, things wint fr'm bad to worse. All th' beer in th' house was mulled; an' Mrs. Dinny Hogan--her that was Odelia O'Brien--burned her face atin' ice-crame down be th' Italyan man's place, on Halsthed Sthreet. 'Twas no sthrange sight to see an ice-wagon goin' along th' sthreet on fire--McCarthy! McCarthy! come over here! Sure, ye're gettin' proud, passin' by ye'er ol' frinds. How's thricks in th' Ninth? D'ye think he will? Well, I've heerd that, too; but they was a man in here to-day that says the Boohemians is out f'r him with axes. Good-night. Don't forget th' number.

"They was a man be th' name iv Daheny, Jawn, a cousin iv th' wan ye know, that started to walk up th' r-road fr'm th' bridge. Befure he got to Halsthed Sthreet, his shoes was on fire. He turned in an alarm; but th' fire departmint was all down on Mitchigan Avnoo, puttin' out th' lake, an'"--"Putting out what?" demanded Mr. McKenna.

"Puttin' out th' lake," replied Mr. Dooley, stolidly. "They was no insurance--A good avnin' to ye, Mrs. Doyle. Ye're goin' over, thin? I was there las' night, an' a finer wake I niver see. They do nawthin' be halves. How was himsilf? As natural as life? Yes, ma'am, rayqueem high mass, be carredges to Calv'ry.

"On th' twinty-fifth iv Siptimber a change come. It was very sudden; an', steppin' out iv th' ice-box where I slept in th' mornin', I got a chill. I wint for me flannels, an' stopped to look at th' thermomether. It was four hundherd an' sixty-five."

"How much?" asked Mr. McKenna.

"Four hundherd an' sixty-five."

"Fahrenheit?"

"No, it belonged to Dorsey. Ah! well, well, an' here's Cassidy. Come in, frind, an' have a shell iv beer. I've been tellin' Jawnny about th' big thaw iv eighteen sixty-eight. Feel th' wind, man alive. 'Tis turnin' cool, an' we'll sleep to-night."


KEEPING LENT.

Mr. McKenna had observed Mr. Dooley in the act of spinning a long, thin spoon in a compound which reeked pleasantly and smelt of the humming water of commerce; and he laughed and mocked at the philosopher.

"Ah-ha," he said, "that's th' way you keep Lent, is it? Two weeks from Ash Wednesday, and you tanking up."

Mr. Dooley went on deliberately to finish the experiment, leisurely dusting the surface with nutmeg and tasting the product before setting down the glass daintily. Then he folded his apron, and lay back in ample luxury while he began: "Jawn, th' holy season iv Lent was sent to us f'r to teach us th' weakness iv th' human flesh. Man proposes, an' th' Lord disposes, as Hinnissy says.

"I mind as well as though it was yesterday th' struggle iv me father f'r to keep Lent. He began to talk it a month befure th' time. 'On Ash Winsdah,' he'd say, 'I'll go in f'r a rale season iv fast an' abstinince,' he'd say. An' sure enough, whin Ash Winsdah come round at midnight, he'd take a long dhraw at his pipe an' knock th' ashes out slowly again his heel, an' thin put th' dhudeen up behind th' clock. 'There,' says he, 'there ye stay till Easter morn,' he says. Ash Winsdah he talked iv nawthin but th' pipe. ''Tis exthraordinney how easy it is f'r to lave off,' he says. 'All ye need is will power,' he says. 'I dinnaw that I'll iver put a pipe in me mouth again. 'Tis a bad habit, smokin' is,' he says; 'an' it costs money. A man's betther off without it. I find I dig twict as well,' he says; 'an', as f'r cuttin' turf, they'se not me like in th' parish since I left off th' pipe,' he says.

"Well, th' nex' day an' th' nex' day he talked th' same way; but Fridah he was sour, an' looked up at th' clock where th' pipe was.