“Pro-fissyonal jealousy,” said Mr. Dooley.  “Ye see, th’ fact iv th’ matther is th’ Sinit don’t know what th’ people iv th’ Far West want an’ th’ prisidint does.  Th’ Sinit thinks th’ jooty iv th’ counthry to th’ land iv th’ tarantuly is done if they sind out a man too weak in th’ lungs to stay in th’ East an’ wan that can multiply com-pound fractions in his head.  But th’ prisidint he knows that what’s needed in th’ Far West is active, intilligent officers that can shoot through th’ pocket.  Th’ other day it become necess’ry to thrust on th’ impeeryal terrytory iv Aryzony a competint person f’r to administher th’ laws an’ keep th’ peace iv said community, an’ th’ pollyticians in Wash’nton was f’r givin’ thim somewan fr’m Connecticut or Rhode Island with a cough an’ a brother in th’ legislachure.  But th’ prisidint says no.  ‘No,’ he says, ‘none but th’ best,’ he says, f’r th’ domain iv th’ settin’ sun, ’he says.  ‘I know th’ counthry well,’ he says, ‘an’ to cope with th’ hardy spirits iv Aryzony ’tis issintial we shud have a man that can plug a coyote fr’m th’ hip at fifty paces,’ he says.  ‘How can you dhraw to yon hectic flush so’s to make him good again’ th’ full hands iv thim communities where life is wan gay an’ tireless round iv shoot,’ he says.  ’Ye can’t expict him to riprisint th’ majesty iv th’ govermint iv Wash’nton an’ Lincoln.  He’d be bucked off befure he got his feet in th’ sturrups.  No, sir, th’ man iv me choice is Tarantula Jake, th’ whirlwind iv Zuina Pass.  This imminint statesman has pocketed more balls thin anny other disperado west iv Tucson, an’ anny docymints iv state enthrusted to his hands is sure to be delivered to their object,’ he says, ‘or,’ he says, ‘th’ heirs iv th’ object,’ he says.

“‘But,’ says th’ Sinit, ‘he lost an ear in a fight.’

“‘A boyish error,’ says th’ prisidint.  ‘Th’ man threw th’ knife at him,’ he says.

“‘And he kilt a man,’ says they.

“‘Ye do him an injustice,’ says th’ prisidint.  ’Kilt a man, says ye!  Kilt a man!  Such is fame.  Why,’ he says, ’he’s kilt more men thin th’ Sinit has repytations,’ he says.  ‘Ye might jus’ as well say me frind Sinitor Bivridge wanst made a speech, or that Shakespere wrote a play, or that it’s a fine tooth I have.  If all th’ people Jake has kilt was alive to-day, we’d be passin’ congisted disthrict ligislachion f’r Aryzony.  Kilt a man is it?  I give ye me wurrud that ye can hardly find wan home in Aryzony, fr’m th’ proudest doby story-an’-a-half palace iv th’ rich to th’ lowly doby wan-story hut iv th’ poor, that this flagrant pathrite hasn’t deprived iv at laste wan ornymint.  Didn’t I tell ye he is a killer?  I didn’t mane a man that on’y wanst in a while takes a life.  He’s a rale killer.  He’s no retailer.  He’s th’ Armour iv that particular line iv slaughter.  Ye don’t suppose that I’d propose f’r to enthrust him with a lofty constichoochinal mission if he on’y kilt wan man.  Me notions iv th’ jooties