Observations By Mr. Dooley by Finley Peter Dunne (classic novels to read .txt) 📗

Gin'ral McArthur whin he wasn't lookin'. Befure he cud load his guns, we poored a perfect blankety-blank hell iv blank catridges on him. He made a spirited reply but t'was useless. We outfought him be nearly fifty thousan' dollars worth iv powdher. In th' mist iv th' flame an' smoke, I discerned th' caitiff foe standin' on top iv a fort directin' his wav'rin' foorces. "Hi-spy, Gin'ral McArthur," says I in claryon tones, an' th' battle was over to all intints an' purposes. I have to ispicially commind Cap'n McWhallop who, findin' his boat caught between th' fires an' th' inimy, called out: "Lay me down, boys, an' save th' ship. I'm full iv marmylade." Th' ladies aboord was perfectly delighted with th' valor an' hospitality iv our men. To-night we completed our wurruk be givin' a dinner an' hop on boord th' flagship. Among those presint was—' an' so on.

"That's what th' gallant Higginson says. But listen to what th' akelly gallant McArthur says: 'I have th' honor to rayport that mesilf an' me gallant men, but largely if I do say it that shudden't, mesilf, crushed an' annihilated th' inimy's fleet at high noon to-day. Las' night at th' first round iv jacks, or midnight, as civilyans wud say, we rayceived a rayport fr'm our vigylant scouts that th' inimy were not at Bar Harbor, Pookypsie, Keokuk, Johannesboorg or Council Bluffs. But where were they? That was th' question. An idee struck me. War is as much a matther iv ingenooty an' thought as iv fire an' slaughter. I sint out f'r an avenin' paper an' as I suspicted, it announced that th' craven foe was about two blocks away. At that very moment, th' sthrains iv th' "Bloo Danoob" was wafted to me ears an' me suspicions was confirmed. On such occasions there is no sleep f'r th' modhren sojer. Napolyon wud've gone to bed but slumber niver crost me tired eyelids. 'Twas six o'clock whin we cashed in an' each wint to th' mournful jooties iv th' day, silently but with a heart full iv courage. At high noon, we fell upon th' inimy an' poored out about eighty-five thousan' dollars worth iv near-slaughter on him. His guns was choked with cotillyon favors an' he did not reply at wanst, but whin he did, th' scene was thruly awful. Th' sky was blackened be th' smoke iv smokeless powdher an' th' air was full iv cotton waste fr'm th' fell injines iv desthruction. A breeze fr'm shore carried out to me ears th' wails iv th' wounded tax payers. At twelve fifteen, I descried th' bloodthirsty Higginson—an' a good fellow Caleb is at that—on th' roof iv his boat. "Hi-spy," says he. "Hi-spy ye'er gran'mother," says I. "I've had me eye on ye f'r fifteen minyits an' ye're a dead man as I can prove be witnesses," I says. An' he fell off th' roof. I was sorry to take his life but war knows no mercy. He was a brave man but foolhardy. He ought niver to've gone again' me. He might've licked Cervera but he cudden't lick me. We captured all th' men-iv-war, desthroyed most iv th' cruisers an' ar-re now usin' th' flag-ship f'r a run-about. Th' counthry is safe, thanks to a vigylant an' sleepless army. I will go up to New York tomorrah to be measured f'r th' prisintation soord."

"There it is, Hinnissy. Who won? I don't know. I can't tell at this minyit whether I ought to be undher th' bed larnin' German f'r th' time whin a Prooshyan sojer'll poke me out with his saber, or down at Finucane's hall callin' a meetin' to thank th' definders iv th' fireside. Nobody knows. It's a quare game, f'r they tell me afther th' battles has been fought an' th' kilt has gone back to holeystonin' th' deck an' th' smoke fr'm th' chafin' dish has cleared away, th' decision is up to a good figurer at Wash'nton. It depinds on him whether we ar-re a free people or whether we wear th' yoke iv sarvichood an' bad German hats f'r all time. He's th' officyal scoorer an' what Higginson thinks was a base hit, he calls a foul an' what McArthur calls an accipted chanst is an error. Afther th' gallant lads in blue an' gold has got through, a wathry-eyed clerk named Perkins H. Something-or-other, sets down an' figures out th' victhry. Th' man behind th' fountain pen is th' boy. It's up to him whether th' stars an' sthripes still floats over an onconquered people or whether five pfennigs is th' price iv a dhrink in New York. He sets on his high stool an' says he: 'Five times eight is twinty-nine, subthract three f'r th' duchess, a quarther to one o'clock an' eighty miles fr'm Narragansett pier is two-an'-a-half, plus th' load-wather-line iv th' saloon companionway, akel to two-fifths iv th' differentyal tangent. Huroo! Misther Sicrety, ye can go home an' tell ye'er wife th' counthry's safe.' He has to be a smart man. A good book-keeper, as th' pote says, is th' counthry's on'y safety. He mus' be careful, too, d'ye mind. Th' honor iv th' army an' the navy is at stake. Wan or th' other iv thim has been careless."

"D'ye think a foreign fleet cud capture this counthry?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Not onless it was op'rated be a throlley," said Mr. Dooley.

"Supposin' ye an' I had throuble, Hinnissy, an' both iv us was armed with bricks an' ye was on roller skates an' I was on th' top iv a house, how much chanst wud ye have again' me? Ships is good to fight other ships. That's all. I'd sooner be behind a bank iv mud thin in th' finest ship in th' wurruld. A furrin inimy thryin' to get up to New York wud be like a blind burglar attimptin' to walk on th' top iv a hot-house with all th' neighbors an' th' neighbors' dogs waitin' f'r him. Th' war game is all right. It don't do anny harm. But it's like punchin' th' bag an' I'd jus' as soon thrain a man f'r a fight be larnin' him to play th' mandolin, as be insthructin' him in bag punchin'. It's a fine game. I don't know who won, but I know who lost."

"Who's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Th' threeasury," said Mr. Dooley.

Newspaper Publicity

"Was ye iver in th' pa-apers?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"Wanst," said Mr. Hennessy. "But it wasn't me. It was another Hinnissy. Was you?"

"Manny times," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin I was prom'nent socyally, ye cud hardly pick up a pa-aper without seein' me name in it an' th' amount iv th' fine. Ye must lade a very simple life. Th' newspaper is watchin' most iv us fr'm th' cradle to th' grave, an' befure an' afther. Whin I was a la-ad thrippin' continted over th' bogs iv Roscommon, ne'er an iditor knew iv me existence, nor I iv his. Whin annything was wrote about a man 'twas put this way: 'We undhershtand on good authority that M—l—chi H—-y, Esquire, is on thrile before Judge G——n on an accusation iv l—c—ny. But we don't think it's true.' Nowadays th' larceny is discovered be a newspa-aper. Th' lead pipe is dug up in ye'er back yard be a rayporther who knew it was there because he helped ye bury it. A man knocks at ye'er dure arly wan mornin' an' ye answer in ye'er nighty. 'In th' name iv th' law, I arrist ye,' says th' man seizin' ye be th' throat. 'Who ar-re ye?' ye cry. 'I'm a rayporther f'r th' Daily Slooth,' says he. 'Phottygrafter, do ye'er jooty!' Ye're hauled off in th' circylation wagon to th' newspaper office, where a con-fission is ready f'r ye to sign; ye're thried be a jury iv th' staff, sintinced be th' iditor-in-chief an' at tin o'clock Friday th' fatal thrap is sprung be th' fatal thrapper iv th' fam'ly journal.

"Th' newspaper does ivrything f'r us. It runs th' polis foorce an' th' banks, commands th' milishy, conthrols th' ligislachure, baptizes th' young, marries th' foolish, comforts th' afflicted, afflicts th' comfortable, buries th' dead an' roasts thim aftherward. They ain't annything it don't turn its hand to fr'm explaining th' docthrine iv thransubstantiation to composin' saleratus biskit. Ye can get anny kind iv information ye want to in ye'er fav'rite newspaper about ye'ersilf or annywan else. What th' Czar whispered to th' Imp'ror Willum whin they were alone, how to make a silk hat out iv a wire matthress, how to settle th' coal sthrike, who to marry, how to get on with ye'er wife whin ye're married, what to feed th' babies, what doctor to call whin ye've fed thim as directed,—all iv that ye'll find in th' pa-apers.

"They used to say a man's life was a closed book. So it is but it's an open newspaper. Th' eye iv th' press is on ye befure ye begin to take notice. Th' iditor obsarves th' stork hoverin' over th' roof iv 2978 1/2 B Ar-rchey Road an' th' article he writes about it has a wink in it. 'Son an' heir arrives f'r th' Hon'rable Malachi Hinnissy,' says th' pa-aper befure ye've finished th' dhrink with th' doctor. An' afther that th' histhry iv th' offspring's life is found in th' press:

"'It is undhershtud that there is much excitement in th' Hinnissy fam'ly over namin' th' lates' sign. Misther Hinnissy wishes it called Pathrick McGlue afther an uncle iv his, an' Mrs. Hinnissy is in favor iv namin' it Alfonsonita afther a Pullman car she seen wan day. Th' Avenin Fluff offers a prize iv thirty dollars f'r th' bes' name f'r this projeny. Maiden ladies will limit their letters to three hundherd wurruds.'

"'Above is a snap shot iv young Alfonsonita McGlue Hinnissy, taken on his sicond birthday with his nurse, Miss Angybel Blim, th' well-known specyal nurse iv th' Avenin' Fluff. At th' time th' phottygraft was taken, th' infant was about to bite Miss Blim which accounts f'r th' agynized exprission on that gifted writer's face. Th' Avenin Fluff offers a prize iv four dollars to th' best answer to th' question: "What does th' baby think iv Miss Blim?"'

"'Young Alf Hinnissy was siven years ol' yisterdah. A rayporther iv th' Fluff sought him out an' indeavored to intherview him on th' Nicaragooan Canal, th' Roomanyan Jews, th' tahriff an' th' thrusts. Th' comin' statesman rayfused to be dhrawn on these questions, his answer bein' a ready, "Go chase ye'ersilf, ye big stiff!" Afther a daylightful convarsation th' rayporther left, bein' followed to th' gate be his janial young host who hit him smartly in th' back with a brick. He is a chip iv th' ol' block.'

"'Groton, Conn., April 8. Ye'er rayporther was privileged to see th' oldest son iv th' Hon'rable Malachi Hinnissy started at this siminary f'r th' idjacation iv young Englishmen bor-rn in America. Th' heir iv th' Hinnissys was enthered at th' exclusive school thirty years befure he was bor-rn. Owin' to th' uncertainty iv his ancesthors he was also enthered at Vassar. Th' young fellow took a lively intherest in th' school. Th' above phottygraft riprisints him mathriculatin'. Th' figures at th' foot ar-re Misther an' Mrs. Hinnissy. Those at th' head ar-re Profissor Peabody Plantagenet, prisident iv th' instichoochion an' Officer Michael H. Rafferty. Young Hinnissy will remain here till he has a good cukkin' idjacation.'

"'Exthry Red Speshul Midnight Edition. Mumps! Mumps! Mumps! Th' heir iv th' Hinnissy's sthricken with th' turr'ble scoorge. Panic on th' stock exchange. Bereaved father starts f'r th' plague spot to see his afflicted son. Phottygrafts iv Young Hinnissy at wan, two, three, eight an' tin. Phottygrafts iv th' house where his father was born, his mother, his aunt, his uncle, Profissor Plantagenet, Groton School, th' gov'nor iv Connecticut, Chansy Depoo, statue iv Liberty, Thomas Jefferson, Niagara Falls be moonlight. Diagram iv jaw an' head showin' th' prob'ble coorse iv the Mumpococeus. Intherviews with J. Pierpont Morgan, Terry McGovern, Mary MeLain, Jawn Mitchell, Lyman J. Gage, th' Prince iv Wales, Sinitor Bivridge, th' Earl iv Roslyn, an' Chief Divry on Mumps. We offer a prize iv thirty million dollars in advertisin' space f'r a cure f'r th' mumps that will save th' nation's pride. Later, it's croup.'

"An' so it goes. We