said Mr. Hennessy, “that Dewey is a candydate f'r
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I hope to hiven he won't
get it. No rilitive iv mine iver held a pollytical job,
barrin' mesilf. I was precinct captain, an' wan iv th'
best they was in thim days, if I do say so that
shudden't. I was called Cap f'r manny years aftherward,
an' I'd'v joined th' Gr-rand Army iv th' Ray-public if
it hadn't been f'r me poor feet. Manny iv me
rilitives has been candy-dates, but they niver end win
out again' th' r-rest iv th' fam'ly. `Tis so with Cousin
George. I'm again' him. I've been a rayspictable
saloon-keeper f'r forty years in this ward, an' I'll not
have th' name dhragged into pollytics.
“Iv coorse, I don't blame Cousin George. I'm with
him f'r annything else in th' gift iv th' people fr'm a
lovin'-cup to a house an' lot. He don't mean annything
be it. Did ye iver see a sailor thryin' to ride a
horse? 'Tis a comical sight. The reason a sailor thries
to ride a horse is because he niver r-rode wan befure.
If he knew anny-thing about it he wouldn't do it. So be
Cousin George. Afther he'd been over here awhile an got
so 'twas safe f'r him to go out without bein' torn to
pieces f'r soovenirs or lynched be a mob, he took a look
ar-round him, an' says he to a polisman. `What's th'
governmint iv this counthry?' `'Tis a raypublic,' says
th' polisman. `What's th' main guy called?' says George.
`He's called Prisidint,' says th' polisman. `Is it a
good job?' says Cousin George. `'Tis betther thin
thravellin' beat,' says th' bull. `What's th' la-ads
name that's holdin' it now?' says Cousin George. `Mack,'
says the cop. `Irish?' says George. `Cross,' says th'
elbow. `Where fr'm?' says George. `Ohio,' says the
peeler. `Where's that?' says George. `I dinnaw,' says
th' bull. An' they parted th' best iv frinds.
“`Well,' says George to himsilf, `I guess I'll have to go
up an' have a look at this la-ad's place,' he says. `An'
if it looks good,' he says, `p'r'aps I end nail it,' he
says. An' he goes up an' sees Mack dictatin' his
Porther-Rickyan policy to a kinetoscope, an' it looks
like a nice employmint f'r a spry man, an' he goes back
home an' sinds f'r a rayporther, an', says he: `I always
believe since I got home in dealin' frankly with th'
press. I haven't seen manny papers since I've been at
sea, but whin I was a boy me father used to take the
Palcejum. 'Twas r-run be a man be th' name of Horse
Clamback. He was quite a man whin sober. Ye've
heerd iv him no doubt. But what I ast ye up here f'r was
to give ye a item that ye can write up in ye'er own way
an' hand to th' r-rest iv th' boys. I'm goin' to be
Prisidint. I like th' looks iv th' job an' nobody seems
to care f'r it, an' I've got so blame tired since I left
th' ship that if I don't have somethin' to do I'll go
crazy,' he says. `I wisht ye'd make a note iv it an'
give it to th' other papers,' he says. `Ar-re ye a
Raypublican or a Dimmyerat?' says the rayporther.
`What's that?' says Cousin George. `D'ye belong to th'
Raypublican or th' Dimmyerat party?' `What ar-re they
like?' says Cousin George. `Th' Raypublicans ar-re in
favor iv expansion.' `Thin I'm a Raypublican.' `Th'
Dimmyerats ar-re in favor iv free thrade.' `Thin I'm a
Dimmyerat.' `Th' Raypublicans ar-re f'r upholdin' th'
goold standard.' `So'm I. I'm a Raypublican, there.'
`An' they're opposed to an income tax.' `On that,' says
Cousin George, `I'm a Dimmyerat. I tell ye, put me down
as a Dimmyerat. Divvle th' bit I care. Just say I'm a
Dimmyerat with sthrong Raypublican leanings. Put it this
way: I'm a Dimmycrat be a point Raypublican, Dimmycrat.
Anny sailor-man 'll undherstand that.' `What'll I say
ye'er platform is?' `Platform?' `Ye have to stand on a
platform.' `I do, do I? Well, I don't. I'll stand on no
platform, an' I'll hang on no sthrap. What d'ye think
th' Prisidincy is—a throlley-car? No, sir, whin ye peek
in th' dure to sell ye'er paper ye'll see ye'er uncle
George settin' down comfortable with his legs crossed,
thrippin' up anny wan that thries to pass him. Go out
now an' write ye'er little item, f'r `tis late, an' all
hands ar-re piped to bed,' he says.
“An' there ye ar-re. Well, sir, 'tis a hard year Cousin
George has in store f'r him. Th' first thing he knows
he'll have to pay f'r havin' his pitchers in th'
pa-aper. Thin he'll larn iv siveral previous convictions
in Vermont. Thin he'll dis- cover that they was no union
label on th' goods he delivered at Manila. `Twill be
pointed out be careful observers that he was ilicted
Prisidint iv th' A. P. A. be th' Jesuits. Thin some
wan'll dig up that story about his not feelin' anny too
well th' mornin' iv th' fight, an' ye can imajine th'
pitchers they'll print, an' th' jokes that 'll be made
an' th' songs: `Dewey Lost His Appetite at th' Battle iv
Manila. Did McKinley Iver Lose His?' An' George'll wake
up th' mornin' afther ilction an' he'll have a sore head
an' a sorer heart, an' he'll find that th' on'y support
he got was fr'm th' goold Dimmycratic party, an' th'
chances ar-re he caught cold fr'm goin' out without his
shawl an' cudden't vote. He'll find that a man can be
r-right an' be Prisidint, but he can't be both at th'
same time. An' he'll go down to breakfast an' issue
Gin'ral Ordher Number Wan. `To All Superior Officers
Commandin' Admirals iv th' United States navy at home or
on foreign service: If anny man mintions an Admiral f'r
Prisidint hit him in th' eye an' charge same to me.'
“Well, be hivins. I think if Dewey says he's a Dimmycrat
an' Joyce is with him. I'll give him a vote,” said Mr.
Hennessy. “It's no sin to be a candydate f'r Prisidint.”
“No,” said Mr. Dooley. “Tis sometimes a misfortune an'
sometimes a joke. But I hope ye won't vote f'r
him. He might be ilicted if ye did. I'd like to
raymimber him, an' it might be I cudden't if he got th'
job. Who was th' Prisidint befure Mack? Oh, tubby sure!”
F. P. Dunne.