Mr. Dooley


“I SEE,” said Mr. Hennessy, “that Dewey is a candydate f'r Prisidint.”

“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 Montpelier 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.








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