Mr. Dooley in Peace and in War, Finley Peter Dunne [ebook reader online txt] 📗

all, not at—all," said Mr. Larkin. "I take this here mutilated an' disfigured an' bum dollar down to th' three-asury, an' I hand it in; an' Carlisle says, 'What kind iv an ol' piece iv mud is this ye're flingin' at me?' he says. 'Take it away: it's nawthin' to me.'"

"True for you, Larkin," said Mr. McKenna. "You're on the right track. Carlisle couldn't take it after you'd smashed it."

"But," said Mr. Dooley, "look here: if ye had th' free an' unlimited coinage iv silver at a ratio iv sixteen to wan, ye cud take this here mass iv silver down to Carlisle, an' say, 'Here, Jawn, give me a dollar'; an' he'd have to give it to ye."

"A dollar of what?" said Mr. McKenna.

"A dollar iv what?" repeated Mr. Dooley. "A dollar iv what? Man alive, don't ye know what a dollar is? Carlisle'd hand him out a plunk, a case, a buck. He'd say, 'Here, Larkin, ye're a dam fool to be malthreatin' th' currincy iv yer adophted counthry, but I have to give ye a dollar because ye're a good fellow an' a frind iv Dooley's.'"

"He wouldn't say anything of the kind," said Mr. McKenna. "He'd give Larkin fifty cents."

"I'd push his face in if he did," said Mr. Larkin, warmly. "I'm as good a ma-an as he is anny day. I'll have no man rob me."

"But he wouldn't rob you," said Mr. McKenna. "Think of the purchasing power: you've got to always figure that out. A dollar you'd get then would be worth only half as much as it's worth now. It'd be a dollar like they run through the ringer down in Mexico."

"How can wan dollar be worth on'y half as much as another dollar, if they're both dollars an' th' man that made thim is at la-arge?" answered Mr. Dooley. "Here's a dollar, an' here's a dollar. Wan akels th' other. Now you take this here dollar, an' come into my place. 'Give me a brandy an' sody,' ye say. Thin what do I say?"

"You say you're just out of brandy and soda."

"So I do, so I do. Thin you ask f'r a little liquor with beer f'r a chaser. An' I give it to ye. Ye lay down wan iv these here quartz dollars. I return eighty-five cints. Larkin comes in later, ordhers th' same thing, an' I give him th' same threatment. I play no fav-rites. Entertainmint f'r man an' beast."

"But, if we had free silver, you'd charge thirty cents for the drink," said Mr. McKenna.

"I wud not," said Mr. Dooley, hotly. "I niver overcharged a man in my life, except durin' a campaign."

"No one accuses you of overcharging," explained Mr. McKenna. "Everybody would charge the same. It'd be the regular price."

"If it was," said Mr. Dooley, "they'd be a rivolution. But I don't believe it, Jawn. Let me tell ye wan thing. Whisky is th' standard iv value. It niver fluctuates; an' that's funny, too, seein' that so much iv it goes down. It was th' same price—fifteen cints a slug, two f'r a quarther—durin' the war; an' it was th' same price afther the war. The day befure th' crime iv sivinty-three it was worth fifteen cints: it was worth th' same th' day afther. Goold and silver fluctuates, up wan day, down another; but whisky stands firm an' strong, unchangeable as th' skies, immovable as a rock at fifteen or two f'r a quarther. If they want something solid as a standard iv value, something that niver is rajjooced in price, something ye can exchange f'r food an' other luxuries annywhere in th' civilized wurruld where man has a thirst, they'd move th' Mint over to th' internal rivinue office, and lave it stay there."

Both Mr. Larkin and Mr. McKenna were diverted by this fancy.

"There's some good argumints on both sides iv th' quisthion," said the Kerry man. "I heerd a man be th' name of Doyle, a helper, compare money to th' human lungs."

"Th' lung argumint is all right," said Mr. Dooley. "Th' whole currency question is a matther iv lungs."

ON POLITICAL PARADES.

Mr. Hennessy, wearing a silver-painted stovepipe hat and a silver cape and carrying a torch, came in, looking much the worse for wear. The hat was dented, the cape was torn, and there were marks on Mr. Hennessy's face.

"Where ye been?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"Ma-archin,'" said Mr. Hennessy.

"Be th' looks iv ye, ye might have been th' line iv ma-arch f'r th' p'rade. Who's been doin' things to ye?"

"I had a currency debate with a man be th' name iv Joyce, a towny iv mine, in th' Audjiotoroom Hotel," said Mr. Hennessy. "Whin we got as far as th' price iv wheat in th' year iv th' big wind, we pushed each other. Give me a high glass iv beer. I'm as dhry as a gravel roof."

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, handing over the glass, "ye're an ol' man; an', as th' good book says, an ol' fool is th' worst yet. So I'll not thry to con-vince ye iv th' error iv ye'er ways. But why anny citizen that has things in his head shud dhress himself up like a sandwich-man, put a torch on his shoulder, an' toddle over this blessid town with his poor round feet, is more than I can come at with all me intelligence.

"I agree with ye perfectly, Hinnissy, that this here is a crisis in our histhry. On wan hand is arrayed th' Shylocks an' th' pathrites, an' on th' other side th' pathrites an' th' arnychists. Th' Constitution must be upheld, th' gover'mint must be maintained, th' down-throdden farmer an' workin'man must get their rights. But do ye think, man alive, that ye're goin' to do this be pourin' lard ile frim ye'er torch down ye'er spine or thrippin' over sthreet-car tracks like a dhray-horse thryin' to play circus? Is th' Constitution anny safer to-night because ye have to have ye'er leg amputated to get ye'er boot off, or because Joyce has made ye'er face look like th' back dure-step iv a German resthrant?

"Jawnny Mack took me down in th' afthernoon f'r to see th' monsthrous p'rade iv th' goold men. It was a gloryous spectacle. Th' sthreets were crowded with goold bugs an' women an' polismin an' ambulances. Th' procission was miles an' miles long. Labor an' capital marched side be side, or annyhow labor was in its usual place, afther th' capitalists. It was a noble sight f'r to see th' employer iv workin'men marchin' ahead iv his band iv sturdy toilers that to rest thimsilves afther th' layboryous occupations iv th' week was reelin' undher banners that dhrilled a hole in their stomachs or carryin' two-be-four joists to show their allegance to th' naytional honor. A man that has to shovel coke into a dhray or shove lumber out iv th' hole iv a barge or elevate his profession be carryin' a hod iv mort to th' top iv a laddher doesn't march with th' grace iv an antelope, be a blamed sight. To march well, a man's feet have to be mates; an', if he has two left feet both runnin' sideways, he ought to have interference boots to keep him fr'm settin' fire to his knees. Whin a man walks as if he expected to lave a leg stuck in th' sthreet behind him, he has th' gait proper f'r half-past six o'clock th' avenin' before pay-day. But 'tis not th' prance iv an American citizen makin' a gloryous spectacle iv himsilf."

"They were coerced," said Mr. Hennessy, gloomily.

"Don't ye believe it," replied the philosopher. "It niver requires coercion to get a man to make a monkey iv himsilf in a prisidintial campaign. He does it as aisily as ye dhrink ye'er liquor, an' that's too aisy. Don't ye believe thim lads with lumber ya-ards on their necks an' bar'ls on their feet was coerced. There wasn't wan iv thim that wudden't give his week's wages f'r a chanst to show how many times he cud thrip over a manhole in a mile. No more coerced than ye are whin ye r-run down town an' make an ape iv ye-ersilf. I see ye marchin' away fr'm Finucane's with th' Willum J. O'Briens. Th' man nex' to ye had a banner declarin' that he was no slave. 'Twas th' la-ad Johnson. He was r-right. He is no slave, an' he won't be wan as long as people have washin' to give to his wife. Th' man I see ye takin' a dhrink with had a banner that said if th' mines was opened th' mills would be opened, too. He meant be that, that if money was plenty enough f'r him to get some without wurrukin', he'd open a gin mill. An' ye ma-arched afther Willum J. O'Brien, didn't ye? Well, he's a good la-ad. If I didn't think so, I wudden't say it until I got me strenth back or cud buy a gun. But did Willum J. O'Brien march? Not Willie. He was on horseback; an', Hinnissy, if dollars was made out iv Babbit metal, an' horses was worth sixty-sivin cints a dhrove, ye cudden't buy a crupper."

"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "annyhow, I proved me hathred iv capital."

"So ye did," said Mr. Dooley. "So ye did. An' capital this afthernoon showed its hatred iv ye. Ye ought to match blisters to see which hates th' worst. Capital is at home now with his gams in a tub iv hot wather; an' whin he comes down to-morrah to oppriss labor an' square his protisted notes, he'll have to go on all fours. As f'r you, Hinnissy, if 'twill aise ye anny, ye can hang f'r a few minyits fr'm th' gas fixtures. Did th' goold Dimmycrats have a p'rade?"

"No," said Mr. Hennessy. "But they rayviewed th' day procission fr'm th' Pammer House. Both iv thim was on th' stand."

ON CHARITY.

"Br-r-r!" cried Mr. McKenna, entering stiffly and spreading his hands over the potbellied stove. "It's cold."

"Where?" asked Mr. Dooley. "Not here."

"It's cold outside," said Mr. McKenna. "It was ten below at Shannahan's grocery when I went by, and the wind blowing like all possessed. Lord love us, but I pity them that's got to be out to-night."

"Save ye'er pity," said Mr. Dooley, comfortably. "It ain't cowld in here. There's frost on th' window, 'tis thrue for ye; an' th' wheels has been singin' th' livelong day. But what's that to us? Here I am, an' there ye are, th' stove between us an' th' kettle hummin'. In a minyit it'll bile, an' thin I'll give ye a taste iv what'll make a king iv ye.

"Well, tubby sure, 'tis thryin' to be dhrivin' a coal wagon or a sthreet-car; but 'tis all in a lifetime. Th' diff'rence between me an' th' man that sets up in th' seat thumpin' his chest with his hands is no more thin th' diff'rence between him an' th' poor divvle that walks along behind th' wagon with his shovel on his shoulder, an' 'll thank th' saints f'r th' first chanst to put tin ton iv ha-ard coal into a cellar f'r a quarther iv a dollar. Th' lad afoot invies th' dhriver, an' th' dhriver invies me; an' I might invy big Cleveland if it wasn't f'r th' hivinly smell iv this here noggin. An' who does Cleveland invy? Sure, it'd be sacreliege f'r me to say.

"Me ol' father, who was as full iv sayin's as an almanac, used to sink his spoon into th' stirabout, an' say, 'Well, lads, this ain't bacon an' greens an' porther; but it'll be annything ye like if ye'll on'y think iv th' Cassidys.' Th' Cassidys was th' poorest fam'ly in th' parish. They waked th' oldest son in small beer, an' was little thought of. Did me father iver ask thim in to share th' stirabout? Not him. An' he was the kindest man in th' wurruld. He had a heart in him as big as a lump iv turf, but he'd say, 'Whin ye grow up, take no wan's sorrows to ye'ersilf,' he says. ''Tis th' wise man that goes through life thinkin' iv himsilf, fills his own stomach, an' takes away what he can't ate in his pocket.' An' he was r-right, Jawn. We have throubles enough iv our own. Th' wurruld goes on just th' same, an' ye can find fifty men to say th' lit'ny f'r ye to wan that'll give ye what'll relieve a fastin' spit. Th' dead ar-re always pop'lar. I knowed a society wanst to vote a monyment to a man an' refuse to help his fam'ly, all in wan night. 'Tis cowld outside th' dure, ye say, but 'tis war-rum in here; an' I'm gettin' in