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

an' th' other gin'rals had to jine him f'r fear he might compromise thim if he wint on telling his fairy stories, an' they was la-ads r-runnin' newspapers in Paris that needed to make a little money out iv th' popylation, ye said, "Th' honor iv th' Fr-rinch people an' th' honor iv th' Fr-rinch ar-rmy is on thrile"; an' ye've put thim in th' dock instead iv th' Cap. Th' honor iv Fr-rance is all right, me boy, an' will be so long as th' Fr-rinch newspapers is not read out iv Paree,' I says. 'An', if th' honor iv th' Fr-rinch ar-rmy can stand thim pants that ye hew out iv red flannel f'r thim, a little threachery won't injure it at all,' I says. 'Yes,' says I, 'th' honor iv Fr-rance an' th' honor iv th' ar-rmy 'll come out all r-right,' I says; 'but it wudden't do anny harm f'r to sind th' honor iv th' Fr-rinch gin'rals to th' laundhry,' I says. 'I think ye'd have to sind Gin'ral Merceer's to th' dyer's,' I says. 'Ye niver can take out th' spots, an' it might as well all be th' same color,' I says. 'Mong colonel,' I says imprissively, 'so long as ivry man looks out f'r his own honor, th' honor iv th' counthry 'll look out f'r itsilf,' I says. 'No wan iver heard iv a nation stealin' a lead pipe or committin' perjury,' I says. ''Tis th' men that makes up th' nation that goes in f'r these diversions,' I says. 'I'd hate to insure again burglars th' naytional honor that was guarded be that ol' gazabo,' says I, indicatin' Merceer with th' toe iv me boot.

"'That's wan point. They's another, mong colonel. Ye're all afraid. That's th' truth iv th' matther. Ye're like a lot iv ol' women that thinks ivry time th' shutter creaks burglars is goin' to break into th' house. Ye're afraid iv Rothscheeld, an' th' Impror iv Germany, an' th' Dook d'Orleans, Vik Bonaparte, an' Joe Chamberlain, an' Bill McKinley. Be hivins, I believe ye're even afraid iv Gin'ral Otis! Ye're afraid iv th' newspapers, ye're afraid iv Jools Guerin, ye're afraid iv a pote, even whin he is not ar-rmed with his pothry, an' ye're afraid iv each other. Brace up! be men! If I was a Fr-rinchman, I'd be afraid iv no man but th' cab-dhrivers; an' I wudden't be afraid iv thim long, f'r I'd be a cab-dhriver mesilf.

"'Wan thing more, an' thin me tistimony's over. Ye want me advice. Ye didn't ask f'r it. If I was prisident iv this coort-martial, I'd say to Cap Dhryfuss: "Cap, get out. Ye may not be a thraitor, but ye're worse. Ye're become a bore." An' I'd give him money enough to lave th' counthry. Thin I'd sind th' gin'ral staff off to some quiet counthry village where they'd be free fr'm rumors iv war, an' have nawthin' else to do but set around in rockin'-chairs an' play with th' cat. Thin I'd cut th' cable to England; an' thin I'd gather all the journalists iv Paris together, an' I'd say, "Gintlemen," I'd say, "th' press is th' palajeem iv our liberties," I'd say; "but our liberties no longer requires a palajeem," I'd say. "This wan, whativer it means, is frayed at th' risbands, an' th' buttonholes is broken, annyhow," I'd say. "I've bought all iv ye tickets to Johannisberg," I'd say, "an' ye'll be shipped there tonight," I'd say. "Ye'er confreres iv that gr-reat city is worn out with their exertions, an' ye'll find plenty iv wurruk to do. In fact, those iv ye that're anti-Seemites 'll niver lack imployment," I'd say. "Hinceforth Fr-rance will be free--fr'm th' likes iv ye," I'd say. An' th' nex' mornin' Paris 'd awake ca'm an' peaceful, with no newspapers, an' there 'd be more room in our own papers f'r th' base-ball news,' says I.

"'But, mong liquor dealer, what ye propose 'd depopylate France,' says th' prisident.

"'If that's th' case,' says I, 'Fr-rance ought to be depopylated,' I says. 'I've been thinkin' that's th' on'y way it can be made fit to live in f'r a man fr'm Chicago, where th' jambons come fr'm,' says I, lavin' th' stand."

* * * * *


"Arrah, what ar-re ye talkin' about?" demanded Mr. Hennessy. "Ye niver got a peek in th' dure."

"What have you been doin'?" Mr. Dooley asked, disregarding the interruption.

"I wint out to see th' rowlin' mills," said Mr. Hennessy. "They have a very good plant; an' a man be th' name iv Mechell Onnessy or Mike Hennessy, a cousin iv mine that come over th' Fenian time with Stevens, is boss iv a gang. He speaks Fr-rinch like a boardin'-school. I talked with wan iv th' la-ads through him.

"Did ye ask him about th' Dhryfuss case?" asked Mr. Dooley, eagerly.

"I did."

"What did he say?"

"He said he niver heerd of it."
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Publication Date: 06-02-2010

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