“No, sir, if I’ve got to be sick, give me th’ ordhn’ry dacencies iv poverty.  I don’t want anny man to know anny more about me thin he can larn fr’m th’ handiwork iv Marks, th’ tailor, an’ Schmitt, th’ shoemaker, an’ fr’m th’ deceitful expression iv me face.  If I have a bad heart, let him know it be me eyes.  On me vest is written:  ‘Thus far an’ no farther.’  They’se manny a man on intimate terms with th’ King iv England to-day that don’t know anny more about me thin that I’m broadcloth on Sundah an’ serge on week days.  An’ I don’t intind they shall.  I hide behind th’ privileges iv me position an’ say:  ‘Fellow-citizens, docks an’ journalists, I cannot inthrajooce ye to th’ Inner Man.  He’s a reecloose an’ avarse to s’ciety.  He’s modest an’ shy an’ objects to callers.  Ye can guess what kind iv man I am but I wudden’t have ye know.’  An’ I can do that as long as I stay poor.”

“I’m glad I’m poor,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“It gives ye less to talk about but more to think about,” said Mr. Dooley.

The Fighting Word

“That man Bailey iv Texas f’r me ivry time,” said Mr. Dooley.

“What’s he been doin’?” asked Mr. Hennessy.

“He done me frind Biv’ridge iv Injyanny,” said Mr. Dooley.  “An’ I’m f’r him f’r leader iv th’ party.  He’s wan iv th’ best two-handed orators in th’ sinit or annywhere.  He has a wondherful left an’ his repartee with th’ right is said to be very stingin’.  He’s inthrajooced th’ sthrangle holt be means iv which th’ debate can be suddenly cut off.  He’s me ideel leader.

“I want a leader who’s got a good grip on public affairs an’ men, who can take hold iv anny question or anny raypublican an’ choke it or him till they’re black in th’ face.  Bailey’s th’ boy.  I followed Tillman f’r awhile, but he’s gone back.  He belongs to th’ ol’ school iv parlymintaryans, th’ same that Jawn L. Sullivan belongs to.  He’s clever f’r an old ‘un an’ I’d be willin’ to back him again anny raypublican in New England at catch-weights.  His reply to Sinitor McLaurin was said to be wan iv th’ quickest iver heerd since th’ days iv Dan’l Webster.  It laid open th’ scalp.  But they tell me Tillman’s speeches is not what Hogan calls impromptchu.  He rehearses thim ivry mornin’ with a punchin’-bag.  Bailey is more iv a nachral debater.  No holds barred with him.  Hand or fut, ‘tis all th’ same.

“What was it all about, says ye?  Well, ye see this sinitor fr’m Injyanny, me frind Jeremiah Biv’ridge made a mos’ insultin’ remark to Misther Bailey.  What did he say?  I mustn’t tell ye.  No, no, ‘tis too horrible.  Well, if ye must hear it, close th’ dure an’ pull down th’ blinds.  Whisper!  There!  There ye have it.  I blush to raypeat th’ wurruds.  To think that anny man shud so demean himsilf as to imagine such a thing, lave alone say it.  But he did—­right out in th’ Sinit befure Hinnery Cabin Lodge.