"Doherty was movin' up to him. 'What rig'mint?' says he. 'What'sthat?' says O'Toole. 'Did ye inlist in th' army, brave man?' says Pat.'I swore him over age,' says I. 'Was ye dhrafted in?' says th' littleman. 'No,' says O'Toole. 'Him an' me was in th' same cellar,' says I.'Did ye iver hear iv Ree-saca, 'r Vicksburg, 'r Lookout Mountain?' th'little man wint on. 'Did anny man iver shoot at ye with annything buta siltzer bottle? Did ye iver have to lay on ye'er stummick with ye'ernose burrid in th' Lord knows what while things was whistlin' over yethat, if they iver stopped whistlin', 'd make ye'er backbone look likea broom? Did ye iver see a man that ye'd slept with th' night beforecough, an' go out with his hands ahead iv his face? Did ye iver haveto wipe ye'er most intimate frinds off ye'er clothes, whin ye winthome at night? Where was he durin' th' war?' he says. 'He wasdhrivin' a grocery wagon f'r Philip Reidy,' says I. 'An' what's hemakin' th' roar about?' says th' little man. 'He don't want anny wanto get onto him,' says I.
"O'Toole was gone be this time, an' th' little man laned over th' bar.'Now,' says he, 'what d'ye think iv a gazabo that don't want amonniment put over some wan? Where is this here pole? I think I'llgo out an' take a look at it. Where 'd ye say th' la-ad come fr'm?Donaldson? I was there. There was a man in our mess--a Wicklow man beth' name iv Dwyer--that had th' best come-all-ye I iver heerd. It wintlike this,' an' he give it to me."
THE TRAGEDY OF THE AGITATOR.
"Whin ye come up, did ye see Dorgan?" asked Mr. Dooley.
"Which Dorgan?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Why, to be sure, Hugh O'Neill Dorgan, him that was sicrety iv Deerin'Shtreet branch number wan hundred an' eight iv th' Ancient Ordher ivScow Unloaders, him that has th' red lambrequin on his throat, thatmarried th' second time to Dinnihy's aunt an' we give a shivaree tohim. Hivins on earth, don't ye know him?"
"I don't," said Mr. McKenna; "and, if I know him, I haven't seen him."
"Thin ye missed a sight," said Mr. Dooley. "He's ragin' an' tearin'.He have been a great union man. He'd sthrike on th' moment'sprovocation. I seen him wanst, whin some scow unloaders sthruck inLemont or some other distant place, put on his coat, lay down hisshovel, an' go out, be hivins, alone. Well, his son goes an' jines th'Sivinth Rig'mint; an', by gar, th' ol' man, not knowin' about th'army, he's that proud that he sthruts up an' down th' sthreet with histhumb in th' vest iv him an' give his son a new shovel, for they waswurrukin' together on th' scow 'Odelia Ann.' Well, whin th' sthrikecome along, iv coorse th' scow unloaders quits; an' Dorgan an' th'la-ad goes out together, because they're dhrawin' good wages an' th'crick do be full iv men r-ready f'r to take their places.
"Well, Dorgan had th' divvle's own time paradin' up an' down an'sindin' out ordhers to sthrike to ivry man he knowed of till th' la-adcomes over las' Choosdah avenin', dhressed in his rigimintals with agun as long as a clothes-pole over his shoulder. 'Hughey,' said th'father, 'you look very gran' to-night,' he says. 'Whose fun'ral ar-reye goin' to at this hour?' 'None but thim I makes mesilf,' says he.'What d'ye mean?' says th' ol' man. 'I'm goin' over f'r to stand guardin th' thracks,' says th' la-ad. Well, with that th' ol' man leaps up.'Polisman,' he says. 'Polisman,' he says. 'Copper,' he says. 'Twason'y be Mrs. Dorgan comin' in an' quitein' th' ol' man with a chairthat hostilities was averted--as th' pa-apers says--right there an'thin.
"Well, sir, will ye believe me, whin Dorgan wint over with th' mimbersiv' th' union that night f'r to bur-rn something, there was me braveHughey thrampin' up an' down like a polisman on bate. Dorgan goes upan' shakes his fist at him, an' th' la-ad gives him a jab with hisbayonet that makes th' poor ol' man roar like a bull. 'In th' name ivth' people iv th' State iv Illinys,' he says, 'disperse,' he says, 'yeriter,' he says; 'an', if ye don't go home,' he says, 'ye ol'omadhon,' he says, 'I'll have ye thrun into jail,' he says.
"Dorgan haven't got over it yet. It dhruv him to a sick-bed."
BOYNE WATER AND BAD BLOOD.
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley to Mr. McKenna, "what did th' Orangeys doto-day?"
"They had a procession," said Mr. McKenna.
"Was it much, I dinnaw?"
"Not much."
"That's good," said Mr. Dooley. "That's good. They don't seem to begettin' anny sthronger, praise be! Divvle th' sthraw do I care f'rthim. They niver harmed hair nor head iv me; an' they ain't likely to,ayether, so long as th' R-road keeps th' way it is. Faith, 'twud be afine pot iv porridge th' like iv thim 'd ate if they come up intoAr-rchey Road. I'm an ol' man, Jawn,--though not so ol' at that,--butI'd give tin years iv me life to see an Orange procession west onAr-rchey Road with th' right flank restin' on Halsthed Sthreet. It 'drest there. Th' Lord knows it wud.
"Jawn, I have no dislike to th' Orangeys. Nawthin' again thim. I'd notraise me hand to thim, I wud not, though me cousin Tim was kilt be waniv thim dhroppin' a bolt on his skull in th' ship-yards in Belfast.'Twas lucky f'r that there Orangey he spoke first. Me cousin Tim had aship-ax in his hand that'd 've evened things up f'r at laste wan ivth' poor pikemen that Sarsfield had along with him. But I've nawthin'again thim at that but th' wan that kilt Tim. I'd like to meet thatlad in some quite place like th' Clan-na-Gael picnic on th' fifteenthiv August, some place where we'd have fair play.
"Jawn, live an' let live is me motto. On'y I say this here, that 'tisa black disgrace to Chicago f'r to let th' likes iv thim thrapze aboutth' sthreets with their cheap ol' flags an' ribbons. Oh dear, oh dear,if Pathrick's Day on'y come some year on' th' twelfth day iv July!Where 'd they be, where 'd they be?
"D'ye know things is goin' to th' dogs in this town, Jawn, avick? Surethey are, faith. I mind th' time well whin an Orangey 'd as lave gothrough hell in a celluloid suit as march in this here town on thetwelfth iv July. I raymimber wanst they was a man be th' name ivMorgan Dempsey,--a first cousin iv thim Dempseys that lives in CologneSthreet,--an' he was a Roscommon man, too, an' wan iv th' cutestdivvles that iver breathed th' breath iv life.
"Well, whin th' day come f'r th' Orangeys to cillybrate th' time whinKing Willum--may th' divvle hould him!--got a stand-off,--an' 'twas nobetther, Jawn, f'r th' Irish'd 've skinned him alive if th' poor ol'gaby iv an English king hadn't ducked--What's that? Don't I know it? Ihave a book at home written be an impartial historyan, Pathrick ClancyDuffy, to prove it. What was I sayin'? Whin' th' twelfth day iv Julycome around an' th' Orangeys got ready to cillybrate th' day KingWillum, with all his Gatlin' guns an' cannon, just barely sthud offSarsfield an' his men that had on'y pikes an' brickbats an' billyardcues, th' good people was infuryated. I dinnaw who was th' mayor inthim days. He was niver ilicted again. But, annyhow, he give it outthat th' Orangeys' procission must not be hurted. An' all th'newspapers asked th' good people to be quite, an' it was announced athigh mass an' low mass that annywan that sthruck a blow 'd beexcommunicated.
"Well, ye know how it is whin modheration is counselled, Jawn.Modheration is another name f'r murdheration. So they put two platoonsiv polismen in front iv th' Orangeys an' three behind, an' a doublecolumn alongside; an' away they wint.
"No wan intherfered with thim; an' that didn't plaze Morgan Dempsey,who 'd served his time a calker in a ship-yard. Bein' iv a injaneyousdisposition, he made up his mind f'r to do something to show thatpathrietism wasn't dead in this counthry. So he got up in a hallway inWashington Sthreet, an' waited. Th' procission come with th' polismenin front an' behind an' along th' sides, an' th' German Band, thryin'to keep wan eye on the house-tops on both sides iv th' sthreet, an' toread th' music iv c Lillibullero' an' 'Croppies lie down' an' 'BoyneWather' with th' other. Th' Orangeys didn't look up. They kept theireyes pointed sthraight ahead, I'll say that f'r thim. They'remurdherin' vilyans; but they're Irish, iv a sort.
"Whin they come by Dempsey, he pokes his head out iv th' dure; an'says he, 'Th' 'ell with all th' Prowtestant bishops.' Now that sameover in Derry 'd have had all th' tilin's in town flyin'; but th'Orangeys 'd been warned not to fight, an' they wint sthraight on, on'ythey sung 'Lillibullero.' Did ye niver hear it? It goes _(singing)_'Ho! Brother Teigue, dost hear in th' degree?'
<
br /> "Th' Lord f'rgive me f'r singin' it, Jawn. See if there's anny wannear th' dure.
"Well, whin they got through, Dempsey puts his hands to his mouth, an'yells, 'Th' 'ell with King Willum.' That was more thin th' Orangeyscud stand. They halted as wan man, an' roared out, 'Th' 'ell with th'pope.' 'What's that?' says th' captain iv th' polis foorce. He was aman be th' name of Murphy, an' he was blue with rage f'r havin' tolead th' Orangeys. 'Ma-arch on, Brass Money,' says th' Orange marshal.Murphy pulled him fr'm his horse; an' they wint at it, club an' club.Be that time th' whole iv th' line was ingaged. Ivry copper belted anOrangey; an' a sergeant named Donahue wint through a whole lodge,armed on'y, Jawn, with a clarinet an' wan cymbal. He did so. An'Morgan Dempsey, th' cute divvle, he sthood by, an' encouraged bothsides. F'r, next to an Orangey, he likes to see a polisman kilt. Thatended wan Orangey parade.
"Not that I think it was right. I suppose they ought to be left walkabout, an' I'm a fair man. If th' blackest iv thim wint by now, I'dnot raise me hand"--
"Hello," says Mr. McKenna, "here goes Killen, the Armagh man. They sayhe digs with his left foot."
"Jawn," said Mr. Dooley, eagerly, "if ye run up on th' roof, ye'llfind th' bricks loose in th' top row iv th' chimbley. Ye might handhim a few."
THE FREEDOM PICNIC.
"There's wan thing about th' Irish iv this town," said Mr. Dooley.
"The police?" said Mr. McKenna.
"No," said the philosopher. "But they give picnics that does bate all.Be hivins, if Ireland cud be freed be a picnic, it 'd not on'y be freeto-day, but an impire, begorra, with Tim Haley, th' Banthry man,evictin' Lord Salisbury fr'm his houldin'. 'Twud that.
"Jawn, th' la-ads have got th' thrick iv freein' Ireland down to asinsible basis. In th' ol' days they wint over with dinnymite bumbs intheir pockets, an' ayether got their rowlers on thim in Cork an' blewthimsilves up or was arristed in Queenstown f'r disordherly conduct.'Twas a divvle iv a risky job to be a pathrite in thim days, an' nonebut those that had no wan dipindint on thim cud affoord it. But whatwas th' use? Ireland wint on bein' th' same opprissed green oil it hadalways been, an' th' on'y difference th' rivolutions made was ye sa-awnew faces on th' bridges an' th' Wolfe Tones passed another set ivresolutions.
"'Tis different now. Whin we wants to smash th' Sassenach an' restoreth' land iv th' birth iv some iv us to her thrue place among th'nations, we gives a picnic. 'Tis a dam sight asier thin goin' overwith a slug iv joynt powder an' blowin' up a polis station with no wanin it. It costs less; an', whin 'tis done, a man can lep aboord asthreet ca-ar, an' come to his family an' sleep it off.
"I wint out last Choosdah, an' I suppose I must 've freed as much aseight counties in Ireland. All th' la-ads was there. Th' first ma-an Isee was Dorgan, the sanyor guarjeen in the Wolfe Tone Lithry Society.He's th' la-ad that have made th' Prince iv Wales thrimble in hismoccasins. I heerd him wanst makin' a speech that near injooced me totake a bumb in me hand an' blow up Westminsther Cathedral. 'A-re ye,'he says, 'men, or a-re ye slaves?' he says. 'Will ye,' he says, 'setidly by,' he says, 'while th' Sassenach,' he says, 'has th' counthryiv Immitt an' O'Connell,' he says, 'an' Jawn Im Smyth,' he says,'undher his heel?' he says. 'Arouse,' he says, 'slaves an' despots!'he says. 'Clear th' way!' he says. 'Cowards an' thraitors!' he says.'Faugh-a-ballagh!' he says. He had th' beer privilege at th' picnic,Jawn.
"Hinnissy, th' plumber, who blew wan iv his fingers off with a bumbintinded f'r some iv th' archytecture iv Liverpool, had th' conthractf'r runnin' th' knock-th'-babby-down-an'-get-a-nice-seegar jint. F'rth' good iv th' cause I knocked th' babby down, Jawn, an' I on'y wishth' Queen iv England 'r th' Prince iv Wales cud be injooced to smokewan iv th' seegars. Ye might as well go again a Roman candle. Th' wanI got was made iv baled hay, an' 'twas rumored about th' pa-ark thatHinnissy was wurrukin' off his surplus stock iv bumbs on th'pathrites. His cousin Darcey had th' shootin' gallery privilege, an'he done a business th' like iv which was niver knowed be puttin' upth' figure iv an Irish polisman f'r th' la-ads to shoot at. 'Twas badin th' end though, f'r a gang iv Tipp'rary lads come along behind th'tent an' begun thrown stones at th' copper. Wan stone hit a Limerickman, an' th' cry 'butthermilk' wint around; an' be hivins, if ithadn't been that th' chief iv polis, th' wise la-ad, sint none butGerman polismen to th' picnic, there 'd not been a man left to tell th'tale."
"What's that all got to do with freeing Ireland?" asked Mr. McKenna.
"Well, 'tis no worse off thin it was befure, annyhow," said Mr.Dooley.
THE IDLE APPRENTICE.
"They hanged a man to-day," said Mr. Dooley.
"They did so," said Mr. McKenna.
"Did he die game?"
"They say he did."
"Well, he did," said Mr. Dooley. "I read it all in th' pa-apers. Hedied as game as if he was wan iv th' Christyan martyrs instead iv athief that 'd hit his man wan crack too much. Saint or murdherer, 'tislittle difference whin death comes up face front.
"I read th' story iv this man through, Jawn; an', barrin' th' hangin','tis th' story iv tin thousan' like him. D'ye raymimber th' Carey kid?Ye do. Well, I knowed his grandfather; an' a dacinter ol' man niverwint to his jooty wanst a month. Whin he come over to live down be th'slip, 'twas as good a place as iver ye see. Th' honest men an' honestwomen wint as they pleased, an' laid hands on no wan. His boy Jim wasas straight as th' r-roads in Kildare, but he took to dhrink; an',whin Jack Carey was born, he was a thramp on th' sthreets an' th' goodwoman was wurrukin' down-town, scrubbin' away at th' flures in th'city hall, where Dennehy got her.
"Be that time around th' slip was rough-an'-tumble. It was dhrink an'fight ivry night an' all day Sundah. Th' little la-ads come togetherunder sidewalks, an' rushed th' can over to Burke's on th' corner an'listened to what th' big lads tol' thim. Th' first instruction thatJack Carey had was how to take a man's pocket handkerchief without hisfeelin' it, an' th' nex' he had was larnin' how to get over th' fenceiv th' Reform School at Halsted Sthreet in his stockin' feet.
"He was a thief at tin year, an' th' polis 'd run f'r him if he'dshowed his head. At twelve they sint him to th' bridewell f'r breakin'into a freight car. He come out, up to anny game. I see him whin hewas a lad hardly to me waist stand on th' roof iv Finucane's Hall an'throw bricks at th' polisman.
"He hated th' polis, an' good reason he had f'r it. They pulled himout iv bed be night to search him. If he turned a corner, they ran himf'r blocks down th' sthreet. Whin he got older, they begun shootin' athim; an' it wasn't manny years befure he begun to shoot back. He wasright enough whin he was in here. I cud conthrol him. But manny th'night whin he had his full iv liquor I've see him go out with his gunin his outside pocket; an' thin I'd hear shot after shot down th'sthreet, an' I'd know him an' his ol' inimy Clancy 'd met an' wasexchangin' compliments. He put wan man on th' polis pension fund witha bullet through his thigh.
"They got him afther a while. He'd kept undher cover f'r months,livin' in freight cars an' hidin' undher viadocks with th' pistol inhis hand. Wan night he come out, an' broke into Schwartzmeister'splace. He sneaked through th' alley with th' German man's damper inhis arms, an' Clancy leaped on him fr'm th' fence. Th' kid was tough,but Clancy played fut-ball with th' Finerty's on Sundah, an' wastougher; an', whin th' men on th' other beats come up, Carey washammered so they had to carry him to th' station an' nurse him f'rtrile.
"He wint over th' road, an' come back gray an' stooped, I was afraidiv th' boy with his black eyes; an' wan night he see me watchin' him,an' he says: 'Ye needn't be afraid,' he says. 'I won't hurt ye. Ye'renot Clancy,' he says,
"I tol' Clancy about it, but he was a brave man; an' says he: ''Tiswan an' wan, an' a thief again an' honest man. If he gets me, he mustget me quick.' Th' nex' night about dusk he come saunterin' up th'sthreet, swingin' his club an' jokin with his frind, whin some wanshouted, 'Look out, Clancy.' He was not quick enough. He died faceforward, with his hands on his belt; an' befure all th' wurruld JackCarey come across th' sthreet, an' put another ball in his head.
"They go
t him within twinty yards iv me store. He was down in th'shadow iv th' house, an' they was shootin' at him fr'm roofs an'behind barns. Whin he see it was all up, he come out with his eyesclosed, firin' straight ahead; an' they filled him so full iv lead hebroke th' hub iv th' pathrol wagon takin' him to th' morgue."
"It served him right," said Mr. McKenna.
"Who?" said Mr. Dooley. "Carey or Clancy?"
THE O'BRIENS FOREVER.
"I think, by dad," said Mr. Dooley, "that Hinnissy's crazy."
"I always thought so," said Mr. McKenna, amiably. "But what's he beendoin' of late?"
"Well, I took him down to see th' good la-ads havin' fun with th'opprissors iv th' people at th' Colliseem,' said Mr. Dooley. "I had noticket, an' he had none. Th' frinds iv honest money had give thim allto Jawn P. Hopkins's la-ads. They're frinds iv honest money, whinthey'se no other in sight. But I'd like to see anny goold-bug oropprissor iv th' people keep th' likes iv me an' Hinnissy out iv aconvintion. We braced up to wan iv th' dures, an' a man stoppedHinnissy. 'Who ar-re ye?' he says. "I am a Dimmycrat,' says Hinnissy.'Is ye'er name Hill?' says th' la-ad. 'It is not,' says Hinnissy. 'Itol' ye I'm a Dimmycrat; an',' he says, 'I'll have no man call me outiv me name.' Hinnissy was f'r rollin' him on th' flure there an' thinf'r an insult, but I flagged a polisman. 'Is ye'er name Sullivan?'says I. 'It is,' says he. 'Roscommon?' says I, fr'm th' way he spoke.'Sure ye're right,' he says. 'Me name's Dooley,' I says. 'Here,' sayhe to th' dure-keeper, 'don't stand in th' way iv th' sinitor iv th'State iv Mitchigan,' he says. 'Lave him an' his frind go in,' he says.I minded afther I was good to him whin Simon O'Donnell was chief ivpolis, may he rest in peace!
Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen Page 5
