An' I am lookin'for th' place now."
As the truth dawned on the mind of the big mayor, he lost his firm lookand sank into a chair. This was the last brick pulled from under hisstructure of hopes. His head sank upon his breast and for many minuteshe was silent, while his aides stood abashed and ill at ease. At lasthe raised his head and stared at Toole, more in sorrow than inresentfulness.
"Mike," he said, "Mike Toole! What in th' worrld made ye soak thimdongolas?"
"Dugan," pleaded Toole, laying his hand on the big mayor's arm. "Dugan,old man, don't look at me that way. There was nawthin' else t' do butsoak thim dongolas. Many's th' time I have seen me old father soakin'th' young dongolas t' limber thim up for swimmin'. 'If iver ye have todo with dongolas, Mike,' he used t' say t' me, 'soak thim well firrst.'So I soaked thim, an' 'tis none of me fault, nor Fagan's either, thatthey soaked full o' wather. First-class dongolas is wather-proof, asiveryone knows, Dugan, an' how was we t' know thim two was not? Howwas me an' Fagan t' know their skins would soak in wather like a pillowcase? Small blame to us, Dugan."
The big mayor took his head between his hands and stared moodily at thefloor.
"Go awn away!" he said after a while. "Ye have done for me an' th' byes,Toole. Ye have soaked us out of office, wan an' all of us. I want t' bealone. It is all over with us. Go awn away."
Toole and the Keeper of the Water Goats stole silently from the room andout into the street. Fagan was the first to speak.
"How was we t' know thim dongolas would soak in wather that way, Toole?"he said defensively. "How was we t' know they was not th' wather-proofkind of dongolas?"
The little alderman from the Fourth Ward walked silently by the Keeper'sside. His head was downcast and his hands were clasped beneath the tailsof his coat. Suddenly he looked Fagan full in the face.
"'Twas our fault, Fagan," he said. "'Twas all our fault. If we didn'tknow thim dongolas was wather-proof we should have varnished thim beforewe put thim in th' lake t' soak. I don't blame you, Fagan, for ye didnot know anny better, but I blame mesilf. For I call t' mind now thatme father always varnished th' dongolas before he soaked thim overnight.'Take no chances, Mike,' he used t' say t' me, 'always varnish thimfirrst. Some of thim is rubbery an' will not soak up wather, but some isspongy, an' 'tis best t' varnish one an' all of thim."'
"Think of that now!" exclaimed Fagan with admiration. "Sure, but thisnatural history is a wonderful science, Toole! To think that thimanimals was th' spongyhided dongola water goats of foreign lands, an'used t' bein' varnished before each an' every bath! An' t' me theylooked no different from th' goats of me byehood! I was never cut outfor a goat keeper, Mike. An' me job on th' dump-cart is gone, too.'Twill be hard times for Fagan."
"'Twill be hard times for Toole, too," said the little alderman, andthey walked on without speaking until Fagan reached his gate.
"Well, anny how," he said with cheerful philosophy, "'tis better t'be us than to be thim dongola water goats--dead or alive. 'Tis nottoo often I take a bath, Mike, but if I was wan of thim spongy-hideddongolas an' had t' be varnished each time I got in me bath tub, I wouldstop bathin' for good an' all."
He looked toward the house.
"I'll not worry," he said. "Maggie will be sad t' hear th' job is gone,but she would have took it harder t' know her Tim was wastin' his timevarnishin' th' slab side of a spongy goat."
The Water Goats, and Other Troubles Page 4
