Dooley, Mr. (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Irish Americans -- Fiction
"There it is, Hinnissy. Who won? I don't know. I can't tell at
this minyit whether I ought to be undher th' bed larnin' German
f'r th' time whin a Prooshyan sojer'll poke me out with his saber,
or down at Finucane's hall callin' a meetin' to thank th' definders
iv th' fireside. Nobody knows. It's a quare game, f'r they tell
me afther th' battles has been fought an' th' kilt has gone back
to holeystonin' th' deck an' th' smoke fr'm th' chafin' dish has
cleared away, th' decision is up to a good figurer at Wash'nton.
It depinds on him whether we ar-re a free people or whether we
wear th' yoke iv sarvichood an' bad German hats f'r all time.
He's th' officyal scoorer an' what Higginson thinks was a base
hit, he calls a foul an' what McArthur calls an accipted chanst
is an error. Afther th' gallant lads in blue an' gold has got
through, a wathry-eyed clerk named Perkins H. Something-or-other,
sets down an' figures out th' victhry. Th' man behind th' fountain
pen is th' boy. It's up to him whether th' stars an' sthripes
still floats over an onconquered people or whether five pfennigs
is th' price iv a dhrink in New York. He sets on his high stool
an' says he: 'Five times eight is twinty-nine, subthract three
f'r th' duchess, a quarther to one o'clock an' eighty miles fr'm
Narragansett pier is two-an'-a-half, plus th' load-wather-line iv
th' saloon companionway, akel to two-fifths iv th' differentyal
tangent. Huroo! Misther Sicrety, ye can go home an' tell ye'er
wife th' counthry's safe.' He has to be a smart man. A good
book-keeper, as th' pote says, is th' counthry's on'y safety. He
mus' be careful, too, d'ye mind. Th' honor iv th' army an' the
navy is at stake. Wan or th' other iv thim has been careless."
"D'ye think a foreign fleet cud capture this counthry?" asked Mr.
Hennessy.
"Not onless it was op'rated be a throlley," said Mr. Dooley.
"Supposin' ye an' I had throuble, Hinnissy, an' both iv us was
armed with bricks an' ye was on roller skates an' I was on th' top
iv a house, how much chanst wud ye have again' me? Ships is good
to fight other ships. That's all. I'd sooner be behind a bank
iv mud thin in th' finest ship in th' wurruld. A furrin inimy
thryin' to get up to New York wud be like a blind burglar attimptin'
to walk on th' top iv a hot-house with all th' neighbors an' th'
neighbors' dogs waitin' f'r him. Th' war game is all right. It
don't do anny harm. But it's like punchin' th' bag an' I'd jus'
as soon thrain a man f'r a fight be larnin' him to play th' mandolin,
as be insthructin' him in bag punchin'. It's a fine game. I don't
know who won, but I know who lost."
"Who's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Th' threeasury," said Mr. Dooley.
Newspaper Publicity
"Was ye iver in th' pa-apers?" asked Mr. Dooley.
"Wanst," said Mr. Hennessy. "But it wasn't me. It was another
Hinnissy. Was you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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