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

f'r to kiss a man be th' name iv Doherty, that inthrajooced risolutions in favor iv Fr-rance again Germany at a convintion. Doherty thought he was afther his ear, an' laid him out. But in Fr-rance 'tis different. They begin be kissin', an' this thrile opined this way.

"'Pris'ner,' said th' prisident iv th' coort, 'th' eyes iv Fr-rance is upon us, th' honor iv th' nation is at stake. Th' naytional definces, th' integrity iv that ar-rmy upon which Fr-rance must depind in time iv peace, th' virtue iv public life, an' th' receipts iv th' exposition is involved. Incidentally, ye ar-re bein' thried. But why dhrag in matthers iv no importance? We ar-re insthructed, accordin' to th' pa-apers, be th' Coort iv Cassation, to permit no ividince that does not apply to your connection with th' case. As sojers, we bow to th' superyor will. We will follow out th' instructions iv th' supreme coort. We have not had time to read thim, but we will look at thim afther th' thrile. In th' mane time we will call upon Gin'ral Merceer, that gallant man, to tell us th' sthory iv his life.'

"'I obey, mon colonel,' says Gin'ral Merceer, kissin' th' coort. 'Not to begin too far back, an' to make a long sthory short, I am an honest man, an' th' son iv an honest man. I admit it.'

"'Good,' says th' prisident. 'D'ye recognize th' pris'ner?' 'I do,' says Gin'ral Merceer, 'I seen him wanst dhrinkin' a shell iv Munich beer in a caafe. [Marked sensation in th' coort, an' cries iv 'Abase la bock.']

"'I says to mesilf thin, "This man is a thraitor." But th' thrainin' iv a sojer makes wan cautious. I determined to fortify mesilf with ividince. I put spies on this man, this perfiejous wretch, an' discovered nawthin'. I was paralyzed. An officer iv th' Fr-rinch ar-rmy, an' nawthin' suspicyous about him! Damnable! I was with difficulty resthrained fr'm killin' him. But I desisted. [Cries iv 'Shame!'] I said to mesilf: "Th' honor iv Fr-rance is at stake. Th' whole wurruld is lookin' at me, at me, Bill Merceer. I will go to bed an' think it over." I wint to bed. Sleep, blessed sleep that sews up th' confused coat-sleeve iv care, as th' perfiejous Shakspere [cries iv 'Conspuez Shakspere!'] says, dayscinded on me tired eyes. [The coort weeps.] I laid aside me honor [cries iv 'Brave gin'ral'] with me coat [murmurs]. I slept.

"'I dhreamed that I see th' German Impror playin' a Jew's-harp. [Cries iv 'Abase Rothscheeld!' an' sensation.] I woke with a vi'lent start, th' perspiration poorin' fr'm me rugged brow. "Cap Dhryfuss is guilty," I cried. But no, I will confirm me ividince. I darted into me r-red pants. I dhruv with fury to th' home iv Madame Cleepathry, th' cillibrated Agyptian asthrologist an' med'cin woman. [Th' coort, 'We know her, she supplies ividence to all Fr-rinch coorts.'] I tol' her me dhream. She projoosed a pack iv cards. She tur-rned a r-red king an' a black knave. "Th' Impror Willum an' Cap Dhryfuss," I says, in a fury. I burst forth. I had Cap Dhryfuss arristed. I dashed to th' prisident. He was a-receivin' rayfusals f'r a new cabinet. "I have found th' thraitor," says I. "Hush!" says he. "If th' Impror Willum hears ye, he'll declare war," he says. I was stupefied. "Oh, my beloved counthry!" I cried. "Oh, hivin!" I cried. "What shall I do?" I cried. They was not a minyit to lose. I disbanded th' ar-rmy. I ordhered th' navy into dhry dock. I had me pitcher took, I wint home an' hid in th' cellar. F'r wan night Fr-rance was safe.'

"They was hardly a dhry eye in th' house whin th' gin'ral paused. Th' coort wept. Th' aujience wept. Siv'ral of th' minor journalists was swept out iv th' room in th' flood. A man shovellin' coal in th' cellar sint up f'r an umbrella. Th' lawn shook with th' convulsive sobs iv th' former ministers. Gin'ral Merceer raised his damp face, an' blew a kiss to a former minister at wan iv th' windows, an' resumed his tistimony."


THE DREYFUS CASE.

II.

"'It was about this time or some years later,' continues Gin'ral Merceer, 'that I received ividince iv th' Cap's guilt. I made it mesilf. It was a letter written be me fr'm th' Cap to a German grocer, askin' f'r twinty r-rounds iv sausage. [Turmoil in the coort.] It was impossible, mon colonel, that this here letter cud have been written be Estherhazy. In th' first place he was in Paris at th' time, in th' sicond place he was in London. Th' letter is not in his handwritin', but in th' handwritin' iv Colonel Pat th' Clam. Thin again I wrote th' letter mesilf. Thin who cud 've written it? It must 've been Cap Dhryfuss. [Cheers fr'm th' coort.] I give me reasons as they occurred to me: First, th' Armeenyan athrocities; sicond, th' risignation iv Gin'ral Alger; third, th' marriage iv Prince Lobengula; fourth, th' scarcity iv sarvint girls in th' sooburban towns; fifth, th' price iv gas. [Cries iv 'Abase th' price iv gas!'] I thank th' aujience. I will raysume where I left off. I was speakin' iv Gin'ral Guns. I met him on th' sthreet. Th' moon was clear in th' sky. I says, "Guns," I says, "lave us go down to Hogan's, an' I'll buy ye a tub iv obsceenthe." As we sthrolled through th' bullyvard, I saw a man that looked like a German dhrivin' a cab. I was overcome with terror. I ran madly home, followed be Guns. It was a week befure I cud hold a glass iv obsceenthe without spillin' th' liquor. Shortly afther this, or it may've been tin years befure, or it may niver have occurred [the coort, 'Spoken like a Fr-rinchman an' a sojer'], in th' middle iv July a man tol' me that the divine Sara [wild an' continyous applause, cries iv 'Sara foriver!'] was about to projooce th' immortal play iv "Omlet" [cheers] be th' wretched Shakspere [hisses]. Cud annything be clearer? I will detain th' coort not longer thin a day while I give me opinyon on this marvellous performance.'

"Cap Dhryfuss was settin' on th' window-sill, whistlin' 'Garry Owen,' an' makin' faces at th' gallant corryspondint iv th' Daily Wrongs iv Man. At this point he cried out laughingly: 'I will not conthradict th' gin'ral. I will say he lies. I saw th' letter mesilf, an' that man was Esterhazy.' [Sensation.]

"'Let me ask this canal iv a Jew a question,' says th' corryspondint iv th' evening Rothscheeld Roaster, a Fr-rinchman be th' name iv Sol Levi.

"'Ask it,' says Cap Dhryfuss.

"'You are a despicable thraitor,' says th' gallant corryspondint. [Sensation.]

"'Th' pris'ner must answer,' says th' coort. 'It is now nearly six o'clock iv th' mornin', an' time to get up an' dhress.'

"'I refuse to make anny commint,' says Cap Dhryfuss,

"The pris'ner's remark, uttered in tones iv despair, caused gr-reat emotion in th' aujience. There were angry cries iv 'Lynch him!' an' all eyes were tur-rned to th' Cap.

"'Silence!' roared th' coort, bendin' a stern, inflexible look on th' pris'ner. 'This is a coort iv justice. We ar-re disposed f'r to grant ivry indulgence; but, if outsiders persist in intherferin' with these proceedin's,' he says, 'we'll expel thim fr'm th' r-room. What does th' prisoner think this is?'

"'I thought it was a thrile,' says th' Cap; 'but, be th' number iv vet'ran journalists here, it must be th' openin' iv a new hotel.'

"'Not another wurrud,' says th' coort, 'or ye'll be fired out. No wan shall insult th' honest, hard-wurrukin', sober, sensible journalists iv Fr-rance. Not if this coort knows it. Ye bet ye, boys, th' coort is with ye. Th' press is th' palajeen iv our liberties. Gin'ral Merceer will raysume his tistimony. He was speakin' of th' game iv goluf.'

"'Perhaps I'd betther sing it,' says th' gin'ral.

"'I'll play an accompanymint f'r ye on th' flute,' says th' prisident iv th' coort. 'While Gin'ral Merceer is proceedin' with his remarks, call Colonel Pat th' Clam, who is sick an' can't come. Swear Gin'ral Billot, Gin'ral Boisdeffer, Gin'ral Chammy, an' th' former mimbers iv th' governmint.'

"'I object to thim bein' sworn,' says Matther Blamange.

"'They must be sworn,' says th' prisident. 'How th' divvle can they perjure thimsilves if they ain't sworn? An' who ar-re ye, annyhow?'

"'I'm th' counsel f'r th' pris'ner,' says Matther Blamange. 'Get out ye'ersilf,' says Matther Blamange. 'I'm as good a man as ye ar-re. I will ask that gintleman who jest wint out the dure, Does it pay to keep up appearances?' [Groans.]

"'Gin'ral Billot,' says th' prisident, 'what d'ye know about this infernal case which is broodin' like a nightmare over our belovid counthry, an' gettin' us up ivry mornin' befure milkin' time?'

"'Nawthin' at all,' says Gin'ral Billot.

"'Nayther do I,' says th' prisident. 'But I think th' Cap's guilty.'

"'I'm glad to hear ye say that,' says th' gin'ral, 'If ye didn't, I'd rayjooce ye to th' r-ranks to-morrah. I niver see th' man befure; an', be hivins, I don't want to see him again. But I have a letter here fr'm him, askin' me if he cud knock off wurruk at four o'clock to go to his aunt's fun'ral.'

"'Cap,' says th' prisident, 'what ye got to say to this? Did ye write th' letter?'

"'I did,' says th' Cap.

"'Throw it out thin,' says th' prisident. 'We must be guided be th' laws iv ividence. Th' witness will confine himself to forgeries. Have ye e'er a forgery about ye'er clothes, mon gin'ral?'

"'I wish to confront th' witness,' says Matther Blamange.

"'Sit down,'" says th' prisident.

"'D'ye raymimber meetin' me at dinner at Moosoo de Bozoo's. It was years ago, durin' th' time iv Napolyeon, befure th' big fire? If I raymimber right, we had peas. Wasn't it a lovely night? Oh dear, oh dear, gintlemen iv th' press an' mon prisident, ye ought to have been there. Well, I says to Gin'ral Billot, I says, "Gin'ral," I says, "how ar-re ye, annyhow." An' the gin'ral replies, "F'r an ol' man, well." I made up me mind thin that th' Cap was innocent, an' this was before he was born.

"'Me distinguished colleague in th' thrile iv this case, th' editor iv wan iv th' Paris papers,' says th' prisident, 'has received a letter fr'm th' military attachay or spy iv th' Impror iv Austhrich, sayin' that he did not write th' letter referred to be Prisident Kruger, an', if he did, it's a forgery. But what cud ye ixpict? I will throw both letters into the secret dossier.'

"'What's that?' says Matther Blamange.

"'It's a collection iv pomes wrote to th' Paris papers be spies,' says th' prisident. 'Call Colonel Peekhart, if th' others ar-re not through. What, you again, Peekhart? Set down, sir.'

"'Gintlemen iv Fr-rance,' says Colonel Peekhart. 'Unaccustomed as I am to public speakin', I wish to addhress ye a few wurruds on th' situation iv th' poor in China.'

"'Assassin!' hisses th' coort.

"'Canal!' says Matther Blamange.

"At this moment th' door was burst open; an' an ex-Prisident iv Fr-rance come boundin' in, an', r-rushin' up th' steps iv th' thrybune, smacked Gin'ral Merceer in th' eye. Th' gr-reatest rayspict was shown f'r th' former chief magistrate iv th' raypublic. No wan shot at him. He was white with rage. 'Th' honor iv Fr-rance is at stake,' he says. 'Our counthry lies prostrate in th' mud. I must presarve