"D'ye suppose Dorgan, th' millyonaire, wud consint to it? Whin he entered th' race iv life he was properly handicapped with a soul to offset his avarice an' his ability, so that some iv th' rest iv us wud have a kind iv a show again him. But as soon as he thinks no wan can see him he begins to get rid iv his weight an' comes rompin' home miles ahead. But th' judges say: 'Hold on, there; yell have to weigh out,' an' a little later a notice is posted up that Dorgan is disqualified f'r ridin' undherweight in th' matther iv soul. On th' other hand, there's little Miss Maddigan, th' seamstress. She's all but left at th' post; she's jostled all th' way around, an' comes in lame, a bad last. But she's th' only wan iv th' lot that's kept th' weight. She weighs ninety-six pounds--six iv it bein' tea an' toast an ninety iv it soul. "No, sir, whin it comes to goin' up to th' scales to have their souls weighed people'll be as shy as they are in a Customs House. Th' people that wud make th' invintion pay wud be th' last to want to be tested by it. Th' pa-apers might keep records iv th' results: 'Misther So-an'-so, th' gr-reat captain iv finance, died yesterday, universally regretted. His estate amounts to nineteen millyon dollars. There ar-re two large bequests to charity. Wan is a thrust fund set aside f'r his maiden sister Annybelle, who will receive f'r life th' income on eight hundhred dollars in stock iv th' Hackensack Meadows Comp'ny. Th' other is forty-two dollars to buy a wooden leg f'r his brother Isaac, it bein' undherstood that no charge is to be made be th' estate against th' brother f'r a set iv false teeth bought f'r him in th' year nineteen four. Th' balance iv th' property is left in trust f'r th' minor childher until they ar-re 90 years old. Th' deceased requested that his soul be measured be troy weight. It tipped th' beam at wan pennyweight.'" "D'ye think th' soul can be weighed?" asked Mr. Hennessy. "I know it's there, but I think--I kind iv feel--I wondher--I don't hardly know--" "I see what ye mean" said Mr. Dooley. "Scales an' clocks ar-re not to be thrusted to decide annything that's worth deciding. Who tells time be a clock? Ivry hour is th' same to a clock an' ivry hour is different to me. Wan long, wan short. There ar-re hours in th' avenin' that pass between two ticks iv th' clock; there ar-re hours in th' arly mornin' whin a man can't sleep that Methusalah's age cud stretch in. Clocks ar-re habichool liars, an' so ar-re scales. As soon as annything gets good enough to weigh ye can't weigh it. Scales ar-re f'r th' other fellow. I'm perfectly willin' to take ye'er weight or ye'er soul's weight fr'm what th' scales say. Little I care. A pound or two more or less makes no diff'rence. But when it comes to measurin' something that's precious to me, I'll not thrust it to a slight improvement on a see-saw.