Mr. Dooley's Philosophy by Finley Peter Dunne (novel books to read txt) 📗

“This man Dewey—,” began Mr. Dooley.

“I thought he was ye'er cousin George,” Mr. Hennessy interrupted.

“I thought he was,” said Mr. Dooley, “but on lookin' closer at his features an' r-readin' what th' pa-apers says about him, I am convinced that I was wrong. Oh, he may be a sicond cousin iv me Aunt Judy. I'll not say he ain't. There was a poor lot, all iv them. But I have no close rilitives in this counthry. 'Tis a way I have of savin' a little money. I'm like th' good an' gr-rateful American people. Th' further ye stay away fr'm thim th' more they like ye. Sicond-cousin-iv-me Aunt-Judy-George made a mistake comin' home, or if he did come home he ought've invistigated his welcome and see that it wasn't mined. A man cud stand up all day an' lave Packy Mountjoy whale away at him, but th' affiction iv th' American people is always aimed thrue an' is invaryably fatal.”

“Th' la-ad Dougherty was in to-day, an' he exprissed th' feelin's iv this grateful raypublic. He says, says he, 'This fellow Dewey ain't what I thought he was,' he says. 'I thought he was a good, broad, lib'ral man, an' it turns out he's a cheap skate,' he says. 'We made too much fuss over him,' he says. 'To think,' he says, 'iv him takin' th' house we give him an' tur-rnin' it over to his wife,' he says. ''Tis scand'lous,' he says. 'How much did ye con-thribute?' says I. 'I didn't give annything,' he says 'The collector didn't come around, an' I'm glad now I hung on to me coin,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'I apprechate ye'er feelin's,' I says. 'Ye agree with th' other subscribers,' I says. 'But I've med up me mind not to lave annywan talk to me about Dewey,' I says, 'unless,' I says, 'he subscribed th' maximum amount iv th' subscription,' I says, 'thirty-eight cints,' I says. 'So I'll thank ye to tip-toe out,' I says, 'befure I give ye a correct imitation iv Dewey an' Mountjoy at th' battle of Manila,' I says. An' he wint away.”

“Th' throuble with Dewey is he was so long away he lost his undherstanding iv th' thrue feelin' iv th' American people. George r-read th' newspapers, an' he says to himself: 'Be hivins, they think well iv what I done. I guess I'll put a shirt in me thrunk an' go home, f'r 'tis hot out here, an' ivrybody'll be glad f'r to see me,' he says. An' he come along, an' New York was r-ready f'r him. Th' business in neckties had been poor that summer, an' they was necessity f'r pullin' it together, an' they give George a welcome an' invited his admirers fr'm th' counthry to come in an' buy something f'r th' little wans at home. An' he r-rode up Fifth Avnoo between smilin' rows iv hotels an' dhrug stores, an' tin-dollar boxes an' fifty-cint seats an' he says to himsilf: 'Holy smoke, if Aggynaldoo cud on'y see me now.' An' he was proud an' happy, an' he says: 'Raypublics ar-re not always ongrateful.' An' they ain't. On'y whin they give ye much gratichood ye want to freeze some iv it, or it won't keep.”

“'Tis unsafe f'r anny man alive to receive th' kind wurruds that ought to be said on'y iv th' dead. As long as George was a lithograph iv himsilf in a saloon window he was all r-right. Whin people saw he cud set in a city hall hack without flowers growin' in it an' they cud look at him without smoked glasses they begin to weaken in their devotion. 'Twud've been th' same, almost, if he'd married a Presbyteeryan an' hadn't deeded his house to his wife. 'Dewey don't look much like a hero,' says wan man. 'I shud say not,' says another. 'He looks like annybody else.' 'He ain't a hero,' says another. 'Why, annybody cud've done what he did. I got an eight-year-old boy, an' if he cudden't take a baseball club an' go in an' bate that Spanish fleet into junk in twinty minyits I'd call him Alger an' thrade him off f'r a bicycle,' he says. 'I guess that's r-right. They say he was a purty tough man befure he left Wash'n'ton.' 'Sure he was. Why, so-an'-so-an'-so-an'-so.' 'Ye don't tell me!' 'Is there annything in that story about his beatin' his poor ol' aunt an' her iliven childher out iv four dollars?' 'I guess that's straight. Ye can tell be th' looks iv him he's a mean man. I niver see a man with squintin' eyes an' white hair that wudden't rob a church!' 'He's a cow'rd, too. Why, he r-run away at th' battle iv Manila. Ivrybody knows it. I r-read what Joe What's-His-Name wrote—th' br-rave corryspondint. He says this feller was sick at his stummick an' retired befure th' Spanish fire. Why, what'd he have to fight but a lot iv ol' row-boats? A good swimmer with sharp teeth cud've bit his way through th' whole Spanish fleet. An' he r-run away. I tell ye, it makes me tired to think iv th' way we abused th' Spanyards not long ago. Why, say, they done a lot betther thin this fellow Dewey, with his forty or fifty men-iv-war an' this gran' nation, miles away, standin' shoulder to shoulder at his back. They niver tur-rned over their property to their wives.' 'Yes,' says wan man, 'Dewey was a cow'rd. Let's go an' stone his house.' 'No,' says the crowd, 'he might come out. Let's go down to th' v'riety show an' hiss his pitcher in th' kinetoscope.' Well!'”

“Well what?” demanded Mr. Hennessy.

“Well,” Mr. Dooley continued, “I was on'y goin' to say, Hinnissy, that in spite iv me hathred iv George as a man—a marrid man—an' me contimpt f'r his qualities as a fighter, in spite iv th' chickens he has stole an' the notes he has forged an' th' homes he has rooned, if he was to come r-runnin' up Archey road, as he might, pursooed be ladies an' gintlemen an' th' palajeem iv our liberties peltin him with rotten eggs an' ol' cats, I'd open th' dure f'r him, an' whin he come in I'd put me fut behind it an' I'd say to th' grateful people: 'Fellow-citizens,' I'd say, 'lave us,' I'd say. 'They'se another hero down in Halstead Sthreet that's been marrid. Go down an' shivaree him. An' you, me thrusted collagues iv th' press, disperse to ye'er homes,' I'd say. 'Th' keyholes is closed f'r th' night, I'd say. An' thin I'd bolt th' dure an' I'd say, 'George, take off ye'er coat an' pull up to th' fire. Here's a noggin' iv whisky near ye'er thumb an' a good seegar f'r ye to smoke. I'm no hero-worshiper. I'm too old. But I know a man whin I see wan, an' though we cudden't come out an' help ye whin th' subscription list wint wild, be sure we think as much iv ye as we did whin ye'er name was first mintioned be th' stanch an' faithful press. Set here, ol' la-ad, an' warrum ye'er toes by th' fire. Set here an' r-rest fr'm th' gratichood iv ye'er fellow-counthrymen, that, as Shakspere says, biteth like an asp an' stingeth like an adder. R-rest here, as ye might r-rest at th' hearth iv millyons iv people that cud give ye no house but their own!”

“I dinnaw about that,” said Mr. Hennessy. “I like Dewey, but I think he oughtn't to've give away th' gift iv th' nation.”

“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “if 'twas a crime f'r an American citizen to have his property in his wife's name they'd be close quarthers in th' pinitinchry.”