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This "Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen" was written by Finley Peter Dunne in English language.

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Mr. Dooley: In the
Hearts of His
Countrymen
By
Finley Peter Dunne

Page 2

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by Finley Peter Dunne
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Title: Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen
Author: Finley Peter Dunne
Release Date: October 18, 2004 [EBook #13784]
Language: English
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MR. DOOLEY
In the Hearts of His Countrymen
By
Finley Peter Dunne

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Boston
Small, Maynard & Company
1899

Copyright, 1898, 1899, by the Chicago Journal
Copyright, 1899, by Robert Howard Russell
Copyright, 1899, by Small, Maynard & Company
Entered at Stationers' Hall
First Edition (10,000 copies) October, 1899
Second Edition (10,000 copies) October, 1899
Third Edition (10,000 copies) October, 1899
Before Publication
Press of George H. Ellis, Boston, U.S.A.

TO
SIR GEORGE NEWNES, BART.
MESSRS. GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS LIMITED
AND OTHER PUBLISHERS WHO, UNINVITED, PRESENTED
MR. DOOLEY TO A PART OF THE BRITISH PUBLIC
PREFACE.
The author may excuse the presentation of these sketches to the public on
the ground that, if he did not publish some of them, somebody would, and, if he
did not publish the others, nobody would. He has taken the liberty to dedicate
the book to certain enterprising gentlemen in London who have displayed their
devotion to a sentiment now widely prevailing in the Music Halls by republishing
an American book without solicitation on the author's part. At the same time he
begs to reserve
in petto
a second dedication to the people of Archey Road,
whose secluded gayety he has attempted to discover to the world.

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With the sketches that come properly under the title "Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts
of His Countrymen" are printed a number that do not. It has seemed impossible
to a man who is not a Frenchman, and who is, therefore, tremendously excited
over the case, to avoid discussion of the Jabberwocky of the Rennes court-
martial as it is reported in America and England. Mr. Dooley cannot lag behind
his fellow Anglo-Saxons in this matter. It is sincerely to be hoped that his small
contribution to the literature of the subject will at last open the eyes of France to
the necessity of conducting her trials, parliamentary sessions, revolutions, and
other debates in a language more generally understood in New York and
London.
F.P.D.
DUBLIN, August 30, 1899.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
EXPANSION
3
A HERO WHO WORKED OVERTIME
8
RUDYARD KIPLING
13
LORD CHARLES BERESFORD
18
HANGING ALDERMEN
23
THE GRIP
30
LEXOW
35
THEIR EXCELLENCIES, THE POLICE
41
SHAUGHNESSY
45
TIMES PAST
50
THE SKIRTS OF CHANCE
56
WHEN THE TRUST IS AT WORK
61
A BRAND FROM THE BURNING
66
A WINTER NIGHT
72
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY
76
THE TRAGEDY OF THE AGITATOR
82
BOYNE WATER AND BAD BLOOD
85
THE FREEDOM PICNIC
92
THE IDLE APPRENTICE
96

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THE O'BRIENS FOREVER
101
A CANDIDATE'S PILLORY
107
THE DAY AFTER THE VICTORY
113
A VISIT TO JEKYL ISLAND
119
SLAVIN CONTRA WAGNER
125
GRAND OPERA
130
THE CHURCH FAIR
135
THE WANDERERS
139
MAKING A CABINET
143
OLD AGE
149
THE DIVIDED SKIRT
154
A BIT OF HISTORY
158
THE RULING CLASS
165
THE OPTIMIST
170
PROSPERITY
175
THE GREAT HOT SPELL
180
KEEPING LENT
185
THE QUICK AND THE DEAD
190
THE SOFT SPOT
196
THE IRISHMAN ABROAD
202
THE SERENADE
206
THE HAY FLEET
210
THE PERFORMANCES OF LIEUTENANT HOBSON
216
THE DECLINE OF NATIONAL FEELING
222
"CYRANO DE BERGERAC"
228
THE UNION OF TWO GREAT FORTUNES
234
THE DREYFUS CASE:

I.
240
II.
249
III.
259
IV.
268

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V.
276
MR. DOOLEY:
IN THE
H
EARTS
OF
H
IS
C
OUNTRYMEN
EXPANSION.
"Whin we plant what Hogan calls th' starry banner iv Freedom in th'
Ph'lippeens," said Mr. Dooley, "an' give th' sacred blessin' iv liberty to the poor,
down-trodden people iv thim unfortunate isles,—dam thim!—we'll larn thim a
lesson."
"Sure," said Mr. Hennessy, sadly, "we have a thing or two to larn oursilves."
"But it isn't f'r thim to larn us," said Mr. Dooley. "'Tis not f'r thim wretched an'
degraded crathers, without a mind or a shirt iv their own, f'r to give lessons in
politeness an' liberty to a nation that mannyfacthers more dhressed beef than
anny other imperyal nation in th' wurruld. We say to thim: 'Naygurs,' we say,
'poor, dissolute, uncovered wretches,' says we, 'whin th' crool hand iv Spain
forged man'cles f'r ye'er limbs, as Hogan says, who was it crossed th' say an'
sthruck off th' comealongs? We did,—by dad, we did. An' now, ye mis'rable,
childish-minded apes, we propose f'r to larn ye th' uses iv liberty. In ivry city in
this unfair land we will erect school-houses an' packin' houses an' houses iv
correction; an' we'll larn ye our language, because 'tis aisier to larn ye ours than
to larn oursilves yours. An' we'll give ye clothes, if ye pay f'r thim; an', if ye don't,
ye can go without. An', whin ye're hungry, ye can go to th' morgue—we mane th'
resth'rant—an' ate a good square meal iv ar-rmy beef. An' we'll sind th' gr-reat
Gin'ral Eagan over f'r to larn ye etiquette, an' Andhrew Carnegie to larn ye
pathriteism with blow-holes into it, an' Gin'ral Alger to larn ye to hould onto a job;
an', whin ye've become edycated an' have all th' blessin's iv civilization that we
don't want, that 'll count ye one. We can't give ye anny votes, because we
haven't more thin enough to go round now; but we'll threat ye th' way a father
shud threat his childher if we have to break ivry bone in ye'er bodies. So come to
our ar-rms,' says we.
"But, glory be, 'tis more like a rasslin' match than a father's embrace. Up gets
this little monkey iv an' Aggynaldoo, an' says he, 'Not for us,' he says. 'We thank
ye kindly; but we believe,' he says, 'in pathronizin' home industhries,' he says.
'An,' he says, 'I have on hand,' he says, 'an' f'r sale,' he says, 'a very superyor
brand iv home-made liberty, like ye'er mother used to make,' he says. ''Tis a long
way fr'm ye'er plant to here,' he says, 'an' be th' time a cargo iv liberty,' he says,
'got out here an' was handled be th' middlemen,' he says, 'it might spoil,' he says.
'We don't want anny col' storage or embalmed liberty,' he says. 'What we want
an' what th' ol' reliable house iv Aggynaldoo,' he says, 'supplies to th' thrade,' he

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says, 'is fr-esh liberty r-right off th' far-rm,' he says. 'I can't do annything with
ye'er proposition,' he says. 'I can't give up,' he says, 'th' rights f'r which f'r five
years I've fought an' bled ivry wan I cud reach,' he says. 'Onless,' he says, 'ye'd
feel like buyin' out th' whole business,' he says. 'I'm a pathrite,' he says; 'but I'm
no bigot,' he says.
"An' there it stands, Hinnissy, with th' indulgent parent kneelin' on th' stomach
iv his adopted child, while a dillygation fr'm Boston bastes him with an umbrella.
There it stands, an' how will it come out I dinnaw. I'm not much iv an
expansionist mesilf. F'r th' las' tin years I've been thryin' to decide whether 'twud
be good policy an' thrue to me thraditions to make this here bar two or three feet
longer, an' manny's th' night I've laid awake tryin' to puzzle it out. But I don't
know what to do with th' Ph'lippeens anny more thin I did las' summer, befure I
heerd tell iv thim. We can't give thim to anny wan without makin' th' wan that
gets thim feel th' way Doherty felt to Clancy whin Clancy med a frindly call an'
give Doherty's childher th' measles. We can't sell thim, we can't ate thim, an' we
can't throw thim into th' alley whin no wan is lookin'. An' 'twud be a disgrace f'r to
lave befure we've pounded these frindless an' ongrateful people into insinsibility.
So I suppose, Hinnissy, we'll have to stay an' do th' best we can, an' lave
Andhrew Carnegie secede fr'm th' Union. They'se wan consolation; an' that is, if
th' American people can govern thimsilves, they can govern annything that
walks."
"An' what 'd ye do with Aggy—what-d'ye-call-him?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Well," Mr. Dooley replied, with brightening eyes, "I know what they'd do with
him in this ward. They'd give that pathrite what he asks, an' thin they'd throw him
down an' take it away fr'm him."


A HERO WHO WORKED OVERTIME.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "it looks now as if they was nawthin' left f'r me
young frind Aggynaldoo to do but time. Like as not a year fr'm now he'll be in jail,
like Napoleon, th' impror iv th' Fr-rinch, was in his day, an' Mike, th' Burglar, an'
other pathrites. That's what comes iv bein' a pathrite too long. 'Tis a good job,
whin they'se nawthin' else to do; but 'tis not th' thing to wurruk overtime at. 'Tis a
sort iv out-iv-dure spoort that ye shud engage in durin' th' summer vacation; but,
whin a man carries it on durin' business hours, people begin to get down on him,
an' afther a while they're ready to hang him to get him out iv th' way. As Hogan
says, 'Th' las' thing that happens to a pathrite he's a scoundhrel.'
"Las' summer there wasn't a warmer pathrite annywhere in our imperyal
dominions thin this same Aggynaldoo. I was with him mesilf. Says I: 'They'se a
good coon,' I says. 'He'll help us f'r to make th' Ph'lippeens indepindint on us f'r
support,' I says; 'an', whin th' blessin's iv civilization has been extinded to his

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beloved counthry, an',' I says, 'they put up intarnal rivinue offices an' post-
offices,' I says, 'we'll give him a good job as a letter-carrier,' I says, 'where he
won't have annything to do,' I says, 'but walk,' I says.
"An' so th' consul at Ding Dong, th' man that r-runs that end iv th' war, he says
to Aggynaldoo: 'Go,' he says, 'where glory waits ye,' he says. 'Go an' sthrike a
blow,' he says, 'f'r ye'er counthry,' he says. 'Go,' he says. 'I'll stay, but you go,' he
says. 'They's nawthin' in stayin', an' ye might get hold iv a tyrannical watch or a
pocket book down beyant,' he says. An' off wint th' brave pathrite to do his jooty.
He done it, too. Whin Cousin George was pastin' th' former hated Castiles, who
was it stood on th' shore shootin' his bow-an-arrow into th' sky but Aggynaldoo?
Whin me frind Gin'ral Merritt was ladin' a gallant charge again blank catredges,
who was it ranged his noble ar-rmy iv pathrites behind him f'r to see that no wan
attackted him fr'm th' sea but Aggynaldoo? He was a good man thin,—a good
noisy man.
"Th' throuble was he didn't know whin to knock off. He didn't hear th' wurruk
bell callin' him to come in fr'm playin' ball an' get down to business. Says me
Cousin George: "Aggynaldoo, me buck,' he says, 'th' war is over,' he says, 'an'
we've settled down to th' ol' game,' he says. 'They're no more heroes. All iv thim
has gone to wurruk f'r th' magazines. They're no more pathrites,' he says.
'They've got jobs as gov'nors or ar-re lookin' f'r thim or annything else,' he says.
'All th' prom'nint saviors iv their counthry,' he says, 'but mesilf,' he says, 'is busy
preparin' their definse,' he says. 'I have no definse,' he says; 'but I'm where they
can't reach me,' he says. 'Th' spoort is all out iv th' job; an', if ye don't come in an'
jine th' tilin masses iv wage-wurrukers,' he says, 'ye won't even have th' credit iv
bein' licked in a gloryous victhry,' he says. 'So to th' woodpile with ye!' he says;
'f'r ye can't go on cillybratin' th' Foorth iv July without bein' took up f'r disordherly
conduct,' he says.
"An' Aggynaldoo doesn't undherstand it. An' he gathers his Archery Club ar-
round him, an' says he: 'Fellow-pathrites,' he says, 'we've been betrayed,' he
says. 'We've been sold out without,' he says, 'gettin' th' usual commission,' he
says. 'We're still heroes,' he says; 'an' our pitchers is in th' pa-apers,' he says.
'Go in,' he says, 'an' sthrike a blow at th' gay deceivers,' he says. 'I'll sell ye'er
lives dearly,' he says. An' th' Archery Club wint in. Th' pathrites wint up again a
band iv Kansas sojers, that was wanst heroes befure they larned th' hay-foot-
sthraw-foot, an' is now arnin' th' wages iv a good harvest hand all th' year ar-
round, an' 'd rather fight than ate th' ar-rmy beef, an' ye know what happened.
Some iv th' poor divvles iv heroes is liberated fr'm th' cares iv life; an' th' r-rest iv
thim is up in threes, an' wishin' they was home, smokin' a good see-gar with
mother.
"An' all this because Aggynaldoo didn't hear th' whistle blow. He thought th'
boom was still on in th' hero business. If he'd come in, ye'd be hearin' that James
Haitch Aggynaldoo 'd been appointed foorth-class postmasther at Hootchey-
Kootchey; but now th' nex' ye know iv him 'll be on th' blotther at th' polis station:
'James Haitch Aggynaldoo, alias Pompydoor Jim, charged with carryin'
concealed weepins an' ray-sistin' an officer.' Pathriteism always dies when ye

Page 9

establish a polis foorce."
"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'm kind iv sorry f'r th' la-ads with th' bows an'
arrows. Maybe they think they're pathrites."
"Divvle th' bit iv difference it makes what they think, so long as we don't think
so," said Mr. Dooley. "It's what Father Kelly calls a case iv mayhem et chew 'em.
That's Latin, Hinnissy; an' it manes what's wan man's food is another man's
pizen."


RUDYARD KIPLING.
"I think," said Mr. Dooley, "th' finest pothry in th' wurruld is wrote be that frind
iv young Hogan's, a man be th' name iv Roodyard Kipling. I see his pomes in th'
pa-aper, Hinnissy; an' they're all right. They're all right, thim pomes. They was
wan about scraggin' Danny Deever that done me a wurruld iv good. They was a
la-ad I wanst knew be th' name iv Deever, an' like as not he was th' same man.
He owed me money. Thin there was wan that I see mintioned in th' war news
wanst in a while,—th' less we f'rget, th' more we raymimber. That was a hot
pome an' a good wan. What I like about Kipling is that his pomes is right off th'
bat, like me con-versations with you, me boy. He's a minyit-man, a r-ready pote
that sleeps like th' dhriver iv thruck 9, with his poetic pants in his boots beside
his bed, an' him r-ready to jump out an' slide down th' pole th' minyit th' alarm
sounds.
"He's not such a pote as Tim Scanlan, that hasn't done annything since th'
siege iv Lim'rick; an' that was two hundherd year befure he was bor-rn. He's
prisident iv th' Pome Supply Company,—fr-resh pothry delivered ivry day at ye'er
dure. Is there an accident in a grain illyvator? Ye pick up ye'er mornin' pa-aper,
an' they'se a pome about it be Roodyard Kipling. Do ye hear iv a manhole cover
bein' blown up? Roodyard is there with his r-ready pen. ''Tis written iv Cashum-
Cadi an' th' book iv th' gr-reat Gazelle that a manhole cover in anger is tin
degrees worse thin hell.' He writes in all dialects an' anny language, plain an'
fancy pothry, pothry f'r young an' old, pothry be weight or linyar measuremint,
pothry f'r small parties iv eight or tin a specialty. What's the raysult, Hinnissy?
Most potes I despise. But Roodyard Kipling's pothry is aisy. Ye can skip through
it while ye're atin' breakfuss an' get a c'rrect idee iv th' current news iv th' day,—
who won th' futball game, how Sharkey is thrainin' f'r th' fight, an' how manny
votes th' pro-hybitionist got f'r gov'nor iv th' State iv Texas. No col' storage pothry
f'r Kipling. Ivrything fr-resh an' up to date. All lays laid this mornin'.
"Hogan was in to-day readin' Kipling's Fridah afthernoon pome, an' 'tis a good
pome. He calls it 'Th' Thruce iv th' Bear.' This is th' way it happened: Roodyard
Kipling had just finished his mornin' batch iv pothry f'r th' home-thrade, an' had et
his dinner, an' was thinkin' iv r-runnin' out in th' counthry f'r a breath iv fr-resh air,

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whin in come a tillygram sayin' that th' Czar iv Rooshia had sint out a circular
letther sayin' ivrybody in th' wurruld ought to get together an' stop makin' war an'
live a quite an' dull life. Now Kipling don't like the czar. Him an' th' czar fell out
about something, an' they don't speak. So says Roodyard Kipling to himsilf, he
says: 'I'll take a crack at that fellow,' he says. 'I'll do him up,' he says. An' so he
writes a pome to show that th' czar's letter's not on th' square. Kipling's like me,
Hinnissy. When I want to say annything lib-lous, I stick it on to me Uncle Mike.
So be Roodyard Kipling. He doesn't come r-right out, an' say, 'Nick, ye're a liar!'
but he tells about what th' czar done to a man he knowed be th' name iv
Muttons. Muttons, it seems, Hinnissy, was wanst a hunter; an' he wint out to take
a shot at th' czar, who was dhressed up as a bear. Well, Muttons r-run him down,
an' was about to plug him, whin th' czar says, 'Hol' on,' he says,—'hol' on there,'
he says. 'Don't shoot,' he says. 'Let's talk this over,' he says. An' Muttons, bein' a
foolish man, waited till th' czar come near him; an' thin th' czar feinted with his
left, an' put in a right hook an' pulled off Muttons's face. I tell ye 'tis so. He jus'
hauled it off th' way ye'd haul off a porous plasther,—raked off th' whole iv
Muttons's fr-ront ilivation. 'I like ye'er face,' he says, an' took it. An' all this time,
an' 'twas fifty year ago, Muttons hasn't had a face to shave. Ne'er a one. So he
goes ar-round exhibitin' th' recent site, an' warnin' people that, whin they ar-re
shootin' bears, they must see that their gun is kept loaded an' their face is nailed
on securely. If ye iver see a bear that looks like a man, shoot him on th' spot, or,
betther still, r-run up an alley. Ye must niver lose that face, Hinnissy.
"I showed th' pome to Father Kelly," continued Mr. Dooley.
"What did he say?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"He said," Mr. Dooley replied, "that I cud write as good a wan mesilf; an' he
took th' stub iv a pencil, an' wrote this. Lemme see—Ah! here it is:—
'Whin he shows as seekin' frindship with paws that're thrust in thine,
That is th' time iv pearl, that is th' thruce iv th' line.
'Collarless, coatless, hatless, askin' a dhrink at th' bar,
Me Uncle Mike, the Fenyan, he tells it near and far,
'Over an' over th' story: 'Beware iv th' gran' flimflam,
There is no thruce with Gazabo, th' line that looks like a lamb.'
"That's a good pome, too," said Mr. Dooley; "an' I'm goin' to sind it to th' nex'
meetin' iv th' Anglo-Saxon 'liance."


LORD CHARLES BERESFORD.
"I see be th' pa-apers," said Mr. Dooley, "that Lord Char-les Beresford is in our
mist, as Hogan says."

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