“But if I was king ne'er an organ grinder'd get near enough me to take me life with a Hotchkiss gun. I'd be so far away fr'm the multitood, Hinnissy, that they cud on'y distinguish me rile features with a spy-glass. I'd have polismen at ivry tur-rn, an' I'd have me subjicks retire to th' cellar whin I took me walk. Divvle a bit wud you catch me splattherin' mesilf with morthar an' stickin' newspapers in a hole in a corner shtone to show future gin'rations th' progress iv crime in this cinchry. They'd lay their own corner-shtone f'r all iv me. I'd communicate with th' pop'lace be means iv ginral ordhers, an' I'd make it a thing worth tellin' about to see th' face iv th' gr-reat an' good King Dooley.” “Kings is makin' thimsilves too common. Nowadays an arnychist dhrops into a lunch-room at th' railroad depot an' sees a man settin' on a stool atin' a quarther section iv a gooseb'ry pie an' dhrinkin' a glass iv buttermilk. 'D'ye know who that is?' says th' lunch-counter lady. 'I do not,' says th' arnychist, 'but be th' look iv him he ain't much.' 'That's th' king,' says th' lady. 'Th' king, is it,' says th' arnychist. 'Thin here's f'r wan king less,' he says, an' 'tis all over. A king ought to be a king or he oughtn't. He don't need to be a good mixer. If he wants to hang on he must keep out iv range. 'Tis th' kings an' queens that thrusts so much in th' lilety iv their people that they live in summer resort hotels an' go out walkin' with a dog that's hurted. Th' on'y person that ought to be able to get near enough a rale king to kill him is a jook, or th' likes iv that. Th' idee iv a man from Noo Jarsey havin' th' chanst!” {Illustration} “What on earth's to be done about thim arnychists?” Mr. Hennessy asked. “What ails thim annyhow? What do they want?” “Th' Lord on'y knows,” said Mr. Dooley.