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Wit and Humor of America, The Vol 02

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<SPAN name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>THE DUTCHMAN WHO HAD THE "SMALL POX"</h2> <h3>BY HENRY P. LELAND</h3> <p>Very dry, indeed, is the drive from Blackberry to Squash Point,&mdash;dry even for New Jersey; and when you remember that it's fifty miles between the two towns, its division into five drinks seems very natural. When you are packed, three on one narrow seat, in a Jersey stage, it is necessary.</p> <p>A Jersey stage! It is not on record, but when Dante winds up his Tenth "Canter" into the Inferno with&mdash;</p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Each, as his back was laden, came indeed<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or more or less contracted; and it seemed<br /></span> <span class="i0">As he who showed most patience in his look,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Wailing, exclaimed, "I can endure no more!"<br /></span> </div></div> <p>the conclusion that he alluded to a crowded Jersey stage-load is irresistible. A man with long legs, on a back seat, in one of these vehicles, suffers like a snipe shut up in a snuff-box. For this reason, the long-legged man should sit on the front seat with the driver; there, like the hen-turkey who tried to sit on a hundred eggs, he can "spread himself." The writer sat alongside the driver one morning, just at break of day, as the stage drove out of Blackberry: he was a through passenger to Squash Point. It was a very cold morning. In order to break the ice for a conversation, he praised the fine points of an off horse. The driver thawed:<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"Ya-as; she's a goot hoss, und I knows how to trive him!" It was evidently a case of mixed breed.</p> <p>"Where is Wood, who used to drive this stage?"</p> <p>"He be's lait up mit ter rummatiz sence yesterweek, und I trives for him. So&mdash;" I went on reading a newspaper: a fellow-passenger, on a back seat, not having the fear of murdered English on his hands, coaxed the Dutch driver into a long conversation, much to the delight of a very pretty Jersey-blue belle, who laughed so merrily that it was contagious; and in a few minutes, from being like unto a conventicle, we were all as wide awake as one of Christy's audiences. By sunrise we were in excellent spirits, up to all sorts of fun; and when, a little later on, our stage stopped at the first watering-place, the driver found himself the center of a group of treaters to the distilled "juice of apples." It is just as easy to say "apple-jack," and be done with it; but the writer, being very anxious to form a style, cribs from all quarters. The so oft-repeated expression "juice of the grape" has been for a long time on his hands, and, wishing to work it up, he would have done it in this case, only he fears the skepticism of his readers. By courtesy, they may wink at the poetical license of a reporter of a public dinner who calls turnip-juice and painted whisky "juice of the grape," but they would not allow the existence, for one minute, of such application to the liquors of a Jersey tavern. It's out of place.</p> <p>"Here's a package to leave at Mr. Scudder's, the third house on the left-hand side after you get into Jericho. What do you charge?" asked a man who seemed to know the driver.</p> <p>"Pout a leffy," answered he. Receiving the silver, he gathered up the reins, and put the square package in the stage-box. Just as he started the horses, he leaned his<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</SPAN></span> head out of the stage, and, looking back to the man who gave him the package, shouted out the question:</p> <p>"Ter fird haus on ter lef hant out of Yeriko?" The man didn't hear him, but the driver was satisfied. On we went at a pretty good rate, considering how heavy the roads were. Another tavern, more watering, more apple-jack. Another long stretch of sand, and we were coming into Jericho.</p> <p>"Anypotty know ter Miss Scutter haus?" asked the driver, bracing his feet on the mail-bag which lay in front of him, and screwing his head round so as to face in. There seemed to be a consultation going on inside the stage.</p> <p>"I don't know nobody o' that name in Jericho. Do you, Lishe?" asked a weather-beaten-looking man, who evidently "went by water," of another one who apparently went the same way.</p> <p>"There wos ole Square Gow's da'ter, she marri'd a Scudder; moved up here some two years back. Come to think on't, guess she lives nigher to Glass-house," answered Lishe.</p> <p>The driver, finding he could get no light out of the passengers, seeing a tall, raw-boned woman washing some clothes in front of a house, and who flew out of sight as the stage flew in, handed me the reins as he jumped from his seat and chased the fugitive, hallooing,&mdash;</p> <p>"I'fe got der small pox, I'fe got der&mdash;" Here his voice was lost as he dashed into the open door of the house. But in a minute he reappeared, followed by a broom with an enraged woman annexed, and a loud voice shouting out,&mdash;</p> <p>"You git out of this! Clear yourself, quicker! I ain't goin' to have you diseasin' honest folks, ef you have got the smallpox."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"I dells you I'fe got der small pox. Ton't you versteh? der SMALL POX!" This time he shouted it out in capital letters!</p> <p>"Clear out! I'll call the men-folks ef you don't clear;" and at once she shouted, in a tip-top voice, "Ike, you Ike, where air you?"</p> <p>Ike made his appearance on the full run.</p> <p>"W-w-what's the matter, mother?"&mdash;<i>Miss</i> Scudder his mother! I should have been shocked, as I was on my first visit to New Jersey, if I had not had a key to this. "That is a very pretty girl," I said on that occasion to a Jersey-man; "who is she?"&mdash;"She's old <i>Miss</i> Perrine's da'ter," was the reply. I looked at the innocent victim of man's criminal conduct with commiseration. "What a pity!" I remarked.</p> <p>"Not such a very great pity," said Jersey, eying me very severely. "I reckon old man Perrine's got as big a cedar-swamp as you, or I either, would like to own."</p> <p>"Her grandfather you speak of?"</p> <p>"No, I don't: I'm talking 'bout her father,&mdash;he that married Abe Simm's da'ter and got a power of land by it; and that gal, their da'ter, one of these days will step right into them swamps."</p> <p>"Oh," I replied, "<i>Mrs.</i> Perrine's daughter," accenting the "Missis!"</p> <p>"Mussus or Miss, it's all the same in Jersey," he answered.</p> <p>Knowing this, Ike's appeal was intelligible. To proceed with our story, the driver, very angry by this time, shouted,&mdash;</p> <p>"I dells you oonst more for der last dime. I'fe got der small pox! unt Mishter Ellis he gifs me a leffy to gif der small pox to Miss Scutter; unt if dat vrow is Miss Scutter, I bromised to gif her ter small pox."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</SPAN></span></p> <p>It was <i>Miss</i> Scudder, and I explained to her that it was a <i>small box</i> he had for her. The affair was soon settled as regarded its delivery, but not as regards the laughter and shouts of the occupants of the old stage-coach as we rolled away from Jericho. The driver joined in, although he had no earthly idea as to its cause, and added not a little to it by saying, in a triumphant tone of voice,&mdash;</p> <p>"I vos pound to gif ter olt voomans ter small pox!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>WALK</h2> <h3>BY WILLIAM DEVERE</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Up the dusty road from Denver town<br /></span> <span class="i0">To where the mines their treasures hide,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The road is long, and many miles,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The golden styre and town divide.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Along this road one summer's day,<br /></span> <span class="i0">There toiled a tired man,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Begrimed with dust, the weary way<br /></span> <span class="i0">He cussed, as some folks can.<br /></span> <span class="i0">The stranger hailed a passing team<br /></span> <span class="i0">That slowly dragged its load along;<br /></span> <span class="i0">His hail roused up the teamster old,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And checked his merry song.<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Say-y, stranger!" "Wal, whoap."<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Ken I walk behind your load<br /></span> <span class="i0">A spell in this road?"<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Wal, no, yer can't walk, but git<br /></span> <span class="i0">Up on this seat an' ride; git up hyer."<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Nop, that ain't what I want,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fur it's in yer dust, that's like a smudge,<br /></span> <span class="i0">I want to trudge, for I desarve it."<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Wal, pards, I ain't no hog, an' I don't<br /></span> <span class="i0">Own this road, afore nor 'hind.<br /></span> <span class="i0">So jest git right in the dust<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' walk, if that's the way yer 'clined.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">Gee up, ger lang!" the driver said.<br /></span> <span class="i0">The creaking wagon moved amain,<br /></span> <span class="i0">While close behind the stranger trudged,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And clouds of dust rose up again.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The teamster heard the stranger talk<br /></span> <span class="i0">As if two trudged behind his van,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Yet, looking 'round, could only spy<br /></span> <span class="i0">A single lonely man.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Yet heard the teamster words like these<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come from the dust as from a cloud,<br /></span> <span class="i0">For the weary traveler spoke his mind.<br /></span> <span class="i0">His thoughts he uttered loud,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And this the burden of his talk:<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Walk, now, you &mdash;&mdash;, walk!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Not the way you went to Denver?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Walk, &mdash;&mdash; &mdash;&mdash;! Jest walk!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Went up in the mines an' made yer stake,<br /></span> <span class="i0">'Nuff to take yer back to ther state<br /></span> <span class="i0">Whar yer wur born.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Whar'n hell's yer corn?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Wal, walk, you &mdash;&mdash;, walk!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Dust in yer eyes, dust in yer nose,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Dust down yer throat, and thick<br /></span> <span class="i0">On yer clothes. Can't hardly talk?<br /></span> <span class="i0">I know it, but walk, you &mdash;&mdash;, walk!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"What did yer do with all yer tin?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Ya-s, blew every cent of it in;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Got drunk, got sober, got drunk agin.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Wal, walk, &mdash;&mdash;! Jest walk.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"What did yer do? What didn't yer do?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Why, when ye war thar, yer gold-dust flew,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Yer thought it fine to keep op'nin' wine.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Now walk, you &mdash;&mdash;, walk.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Stop to drink? What&mdash;water?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Why, thar<br /></span> <span class="i0">Water with you warn't anywhere.<br /></span> <span class="i0">'Twas wine, Extra Dry. Oh,<br /></span> <span class="i0">You flew high&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Now walk, you &mdash;&mdash;, walk.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Chokes yer, this dust? Wal, that<br /></span> <span class="i0">Ain't the wust,<br /></span> <span class="i0">When yer get back whar the<br /></span> <span class="i0">Diggins are<br /></span> <span class="i0">No pick, no shovel, no pan;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Wal, yer a healthy man,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Walk&mdash;jest walk."<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The fools don't all go to Denver town,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Nor do they all from the mines come down.<br /></span> <span class="i0">'Most all of us have in our day&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">In some sort of shape, some kind of way&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Painted the town with the old stuff,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Dipped in stocks or made some bluff,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Mixed wines, old and new,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Got caught in wedlock by a shrew,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Stayed out all night, tight,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Rolled home in the morning light,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With crumpled tie and torn clawhammer,<br /></span> <span class="i0">'N' woke up next day with a katzenjammer,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And walked, oh &mdash;&mdash;, how we walked.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Now, don't try to yank every bun,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Don't try to have all the fun,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Don't think that you know it all,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Don't think real estate won't fall,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Don't try to bluff on an ace,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Don't get stuck on a pretty face,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Don't believe every jay's talk&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">For if you do you can bet you'll walk!<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>MR. DOOLEY ON GOLD-SEEKING</h2> <h3>BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE</h3> <p>"Well, sir," said Mr. Hennessy, "that Alaska's th' gr-reat place. I thought 'twas nawthin' but an iceberg with a few seals roostin' on it, an' wan or two hundherd Ohio politicians that can't be killed on account iv th' threaty iv Pawrs. But here they tell me 'tis fairly smothered in goold. A man stubs his toe on th' ground, an' lifts th' top off iv a goold mine. Ye go to bed at night, an' wake up with goold fillin' in ye'er teeth."</p> <p>"Yes," said Mr. Dooley, "Clancy's son was in here this mornin', an' he says a frind iv his wint to sleep out in th' open wan night, an' whin he got up his pants assayed four ounces iv goold to th' pound, an' his whiskers panned out as much as thirty dollars net."</p> <p>"If I was a young man an' not tied down here," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd go there: I wud so."</p> <p>"I wud not," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin I was a young man in th' ol' counthry, we heerd th' same story about all America. We used to set be th' tur-rf fire o' nights, kickin' our bare legs on th' flure an' wishin' we was in New York, where all ye had to do was to hold ye'er hat an' th' goold guineas'd dhrop into it. An' whin I got to be a man, I come over here with a ham and a bag iv oatmeal, as sure that I'd return in a year with money enough to dhrive me own ca-ar as I was that me name was Martin Dooley. An' that was a cinch.</p> <p>"But, faith, whin I'd been here a week, I seen that<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</SPAN></span> there was nawthin' but mud undher th' pavement,&mdash;I larned that be means iv a pick-axe at tin shillin's th' day,&mdash;an' that, though there was plenty iv goold, thim that had it were froze to it; an' I come west, still lookin' f'r mines. Th' on'y mine I sthruck at Pittsburgh was a hole f'r sewer pipe. I made it. Siven shillin's th' day. Smaller thin New York, but th' livin' was cheaper, with Mon'gahela rye at five a throw, put ye'er hand around th' glass.</p> <p>"I was still dreamin' goold, an' I wint down to Saint Looey. Th' nearest I come to a fortune there was findin' a quarther on th' sthreet as I leaned over th' dashboord iv a car to whack th' off mule. Whin I got to Chicago, I looked around f'r the goold mine. They was Injuns here thin. But they wasn't anny mines I cud see. They was mud to be shovelled an' dhrays to be dhruv an' beats to be walked. I choose th' dhray; f'r I was niver cut out f'r a copper, an' I'd had me fill iv excavatin'. An' I dhruv th' dhray till I wint into business.</p> <p>"Me experyence with goold minin' is it's always in th' nex' county. If I was to go to Alaska, they'd tell me iv th' finds in Seeberya. So I think I'll stay here. I'm a silver man, annyhow; an' I'm contint if I can see goold wanst a year, whin some prominent citizen smiles over his newspaper. I'm thinkin' that ivry man has a goold mine undher his own dure-step or in his neighbor's pocket at th' farthest."</p> <p>"Well, annyhow," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd like to kick up th' sod, an' find a ton iv gold undher me fut."</p> <p>"What wud ye do if ye found it?" demanded Mr. Dooley.</p> <p>"I&mdash;I dinnaw," said Mr. Hennessy, whose dreaming had not gone this far. Then, recovering himself, he exclaimed with great enthusiasm, "I'd throw up me job an'&mdash;an' live like a prince."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"I tell ye what ye'd do," said Mr. Dooley. "Ye'd come back here an' sthrut up an' down th' sthreet with ye'er thumbs in ye'er armpits; an' ye'd dhrink too much, an' ride in sthreet ca-ars. Thin ye'd buy foldin' beds an' piannies, an' start a reel estate office. Ye'd be fooled a good deal an' lose a lot iv ye'er money, an' thin ye'd tighten up. Ye'd be in a cold fear night an' day that ye'd lose ye'er fortune. Ye'd wake up in th' middle iv th' night, dhreamin' that ye was back at th' gas-house with ye'er money gone. Ye'd be prisidint iv a charitable society. Ye'd have to wear ye'er shoes in th' house, an' ye'er wife'd have ye around to rayciptions an' dances. Ye'd move to Mitchigan Avnoo, an' ye'd hire a coachman that'd laugh at ye. Ye'er boys'd be joods an' ashamed iv ye, an' ye'd support ye'er daughters' husbands. Ye'd rackrint ye'er tinants an' lie about ye'er taxes. Ye'd go back to Ireland on a visit, an' put on airs with ye'er cousin Mike. Ye'd be a mane, close-fisted, onscrupulous ol' curmudgeon; an', whin ye'd die, it'd take haf ye'er fortune f'r rayqueems to put ye r-right. I don't want ye iver to speak to me whin ye get rich, Hinnissy."</p> <p>"I won't," said Mr. Hennessy.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>LOVE SONNETS OF A HOODLUM</h2> <h3>BY WALLACE IRWIN</h3> <h3>I</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Say, will she treat me white, or throw me down,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Give me the glassy glare, or welcome hand,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Shovel me dirt, or treat me on the grand,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Knife me, or make me think I own the town?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Will she be on the level, do me brown,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or will she jolt me lightly on the sand,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Leaving poor Willie froze to beat the band,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Limp as your grandma's Mother Hubbard gown?<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I do not know, nor do I give a whoop,<br /></span> <span class="i0">But this I know: if she is so inclined<br /></span> <span class="i0">She can come play with me on our back stoop,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Even in office hours, I do not mind&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">In fact I know I'm nice and good and ready<br /></span> <span class="i0">To get an option on her as my steady.<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>VIII</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I sometimes think that I am not so good,<br /></span> <span class="i0">That there are foxier, warmer babes than I,<br /></span> <span class="i0">That Fate has given me the calm go-by<br /></span> <span class="i0">And my long suit is sawing mother's wood.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then would I duck from under if I could,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Catch the hog special on the jump and fly<br /></span> <span class="i0">To some Goat Island planned by destiny<br /></span> <span class="i0">For dubs and has-beens and that solemn brood.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">But spite of bug-wheels in my cocoa tree,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The trade in lager beer is still a-humming,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A schooner can be purchased for a V<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or even grafted if you're fierce at bumming.<br /></span> <span class="i0">My finish then less clearly do I see,<br /></span> <span class="i0">For lo! I have another think a-coming.<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>IX</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Last night I tumbled off the water cart&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">It was a peacherino of a drunk;<br /></span> <span class="i0">I put the cocktail market on the punk<br /></span> <span class="i0">And tore up all the sidewalks from the start.<br /></span> <span class="i0">The package that I carried was a tart<br /></span> <span class="i0">That beat Vesuvius out for sizz and spunk,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when they put me in my little bunk<br /></span> <span class="i0">You couldn't tell my jag and me apart.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Oh! would I were the ice man for a space,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then might I cool this red-hot cocoanut,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Corral the jim-jam bugs that madly race<br /></span> <span class="i0">Around the eaves that from my forehead jut&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or will a carpenter please come instead<br /></span> <span class="i0">And build a picket fence around my head?<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>XII</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Life is a combination hard to buck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A proposition difficult to beat,<br /></span> <span class="i0">E'en though you get there Zaza with both feet,<br /></span> <span class="i0">In forty flickers, it's the same hard luck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And you are up against it nip and tuck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Shanghaied without a steady place to eat,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Guyed by the very copper on your beat<br /></span> <span class="i0">Who lays to jug you when you run amuck.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">O Life! you give Yours Truly quite a pain.<br /></span> <span class="i0">On the T square I do not like your style;<br /></span> <span class="i0">For you are playing favorites again<br /></span> <span class="i0">And you have got me handicapped a mile.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Avaunt, false Life, with all your pride and pelf:<br /></span> <span class="i0">Go take a running jump and chase yourself!<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>XIV</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">O mommer! wasn't Mame a looty toot<br /></span> <span class="i0">Last night when at the Rainbow Social Club<br /></span> <span class="i0">She did the bunny hug with every scrub<br /></span> <span class="i0">From Hogan's Alley to the Dutchman's Boot,<br /></span> <span class="i0">While little Willie, like a plug-eared mute,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Papered the wall and helped absorb the grub,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Played nest-egg with the benches like a dub<br /></span> <span class="i0">When hot society was easy fruit!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Am I a turnip? On the strict Q.T.,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Why do my Trilbys get so ossified?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Why am I minus when it's up to me<br /></span> <span class="i0">To brace my Paris Pansy for a glide?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Once more my hoodoo's thrown the game and scored<br /></span> <span class="i0">A flock of zeros on my tally-board.<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>XXI</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">At noon to-day Murphy and Mame were tied.<br /></span> <span class="i0">A gospel huckster did the referee,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And all the Drug Clerks' Union loped to see<br /></span> <span class="i0">The queen of Minnie Street become a bride,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And that bad actor, Murphy, by her side,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Standing where Yours Despondent ought to be.<br /></span> <span class="i0">I went to hang a smile in front of me,<br /></span> <span class="i0">But weeps were in my glimmers when I tried.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">The pastor murmured, "Two and two make one,"<br /></span> <span class="i0">And slipped a sixteen K on Mamie's grab;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when the game was tied and all was done<br /></span> <span class="i0">The guests shied footwear at the bridal cab,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And Murphy's little gilt-roofed brother Jim<br /></span> <span class="i0">Snickered, "She's left her happy home for him."<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>HOW "RUBY" PLAYED</h2> <h3>BY GEORGE W. BAGBY</h3> <p>(Jud Brownin, when visiting New York, goes to hear Rubinstein, and gives the following description of his playing.)</p> <p>Well, sir, he had the blamedest, biggest, catty-cornerdest pianner you ever laid eyes on; somethin' like a distracted billiard-table on three legs. The lid was hoisted, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't been, he'd 'a' tore the entire inside clean out and shattered 'em to the four winds of heaven.</p> <p><i>Played well?</i> You bet he did; but don't interrupt me. When he first sit down he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin' and wisht he hadn't come. He tweedle-leedled a little on a treble, and twoodle-oodled some on the base,&mdash;just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in his way. And I says to a man sittin' next to me, says I, "What sort of fool playin' is that?" And he says, "Heish!" But presently his hands commenced chasin' one another up and down the keys, like a passel of rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar squirrel turnin' the wheel of a candy cage.</p> <p>"Now," I says to my neighbor, "he's showin' off. He thinks he's a-doin' of it, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of nothin'. If he'd play me a tune of some kind or other, I'd&mdash;"</p> <p>But my neighbor says, "Heish!" very impatient.</p> <p>I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</SPAN></span> that foolishness, when I heard a little bird waking up away off in the woods and call sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up and see that Rubin was beginning to take some interest in his business, and I sit down again. It was the peep of day. The light came faint from the east, the breezes blowed gentle and fresh, some more birds waked up in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all begun singin' together. People began to stir, and the gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and it techt the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day; the sun fairly blazed, the birds sung like they'd split their little throats; all the leaves was movin', and flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a fine mornin'.</p> <p>And I says to my neighbor, "That's music, that is."</p> <p>But he glared at me like he'd like to cut my throat.</p> <p>Presently the wind turned; it begun to thicken up, and a kind of gray mist came over things; I got low-spirited directly. Then a silver rain began to fall. I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed up like long pearl ear-rings, and the rest rolled away like round rubies. It was pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered themselves into long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver streams, running between golden gravels, and then the streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook that flowed silent, except that you could kinder see the music, especially when the bushes on the banks moved as the music went along down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the meadow. But the sun didn't shine, nor the birds sing: it was a foggy day, but not cold.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</SPAN></span></p> <p>The most curious thing was the little white angel-boy, like you see in pictures, that run ahead of the music brook and led it on, and on, away out of the world, where no man ever was, certain, I could see the boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moonlight came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit-up windows, and men that loved 'em, but could never get anigh 'em, who played on guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable I could have cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with the guitars did.</p> <p>Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, and I could 'a' got up then and there and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung my head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep me from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be a-gazin' at me a-sniv'lin', and it's nobody's business what I do with my nose. It's mine. But some several glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He ripped out and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a circus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man in the face, and not afraid of nothin'. It was a circus and a brass band and a big ball all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick; he give 'em<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</SPAN></span> no rest day or night; he set every livin' joint in me a-goin', and, not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped spang onto my seat, and jest hollered,&mdash;</p> <p><i>"Go it, my Rube!"</i></p> <p>Every blame man, woman and child in the house riz on me, and shouted, "Put him out! put him out!"</p> <p>"Put your great-grandmother's grizzly gray greenish cat into the middle of next month!" I says. "Tech me if you dare! I paid my money, and you jest come anigh me!"</p> <p>With that some several policemen run up, and I had to simmer down. But I would 'a' fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out or die.</p> <p>He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end to end of the key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles of heaven was lit, one by one; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from the world's end to the world's end, and all the angels went to prayers.... Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drop&mdash;drip, drop&mdash;drip, drop, clear and sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of glory. It was sweeter than that. It was as sweet as a sweet-heart sweetened with white sugar mixed with powdered silver and seed-diamonds. It was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like he wanted to say, "Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me."</p> <p>He stopped a moment or two to catch breath. Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeve, he opened his coat-tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He slapped her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</SPAN></span> scratched her cheeks, until she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and he stamped on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, and <i>then</i> he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter stretch down the low grounds of the base, till he got clean in the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thunder through the hollows and caves of perdition; and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he got 'way out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the p'ints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders of 'em. And <i>then</i> he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He for'ard two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he chassade right and left, back to your places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down, perpetual motion, double twisted and turned and tacked and tangled into forty-eleven thousand double bow-knots.</p> <p>By jinks! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He fetcht up his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up his center, he fetcht up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by platoons, by company, by regiments, and by brigades. He opened his cannon,&mdash;siege-guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve-pounders yonder,&mdash;big guns, little guns, middle-sized guns, round shot, shells, shrapnels, grape, canister, mortar, mines and magazines, every livin' battery and bomb a-goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rocked&mdash;heavens and earth, creation, sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, tenpenny nails, Samson in a 'simmon-tree, Tump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-ruddle-uddle-uddle-uddle&mdash;raddle-addle-eedle&mdash;riddle-iddle-iddle-iddle&mdash;reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle&mdash;p-r-r-r-rlank! Bang!!! lang! perlang! p-r-r-r-r-r!! Bang!!!!<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</SPAN></span></p> <p>With that bang! he lifted himself bodily into the a'r, and he come down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, striking every single solitary key on the pianner at the same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi-quivers, and I know'd no mo'.</p> <p>When I come to, I were under ground about twenty foot, in a place they call Oyster Bay, treatin' a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before and never expect to ag'in. Day was breakin' by the time I got to the St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word I did not know my name. The man asked me the number of my room, and I told him, "Hot music on the half-shell for two!"</p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>PLAGIARISM</h2> <h3>BY JOHN B. TABB</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">If Poe from Pike The Raven stole,<br /></span> <span class="i3">As his accusers say,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then to embody Adam's soul,<br /></span> <span class="i2">God <i>plagiarised</i> the clay.<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>GO LIGHTLY, GAL</h2> <h3>(THE CAKE-WALK)</h3> <h3>BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Sweetes' li'l honey in all dis lan',<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong yer an' gimme yo' han',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Cawn all shucked an' de barn flo' clear,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Fiddles dey callin' us high an' fine,<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Time fer de darnsin', come an' jine,"<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">My pooty li'l honey, but you is sweet!<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' hit's clap yo' han's an' shake yo' feet,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Hit's cut yo' capers all down de line,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Den mek yo' manners an' tiptoe fine,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Oh, hit's whu'll yo' pardners roun' an' roun',<br /></span> <span class="i0">Twel you hyst dey feet clean off de groun',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Oh, hit's tu'n an' twis' all roun' de flo',<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fling out yo' feet behime, befo',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Gre't Lan' o' Goshen! but you is spry!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Kain't none er de urr gals spring so high,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Oh, roll yo' eyes an' wag yo' haid<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' shake yo' bones twel you nigh most daid,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Doan' talk ter me 'bout gittin' yo' bref,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Gwine darnse dis out ef hit cause my def!<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Um-humph! done darnse all de urr folks down!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Skip erlong, honey, jes' one mo' roun'!<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fiddles done played twel de strings all break!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong, honey, jes' one mo' shake,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Now teck my arm an' perawd all roun',<br /></span> <span class="i0">So dey see whar de <i>sho'-nuff</i> darnsers foun',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Den gimme yo' han' an' we quit dish yer,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>THE GOLFER'S RUBAIYAT<SPAN name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</SPAN></h2> <h3>BY H.W. BOYNTON</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Wake! for the sun has driven in equal flight<br /></span> <span class="i0">The stars before him from the Tee of Night,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And holed them every one without a miss,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Swinging at ease his gold-shod Shaft of Light.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Now the fresh Year, reviving old Desires,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Pores on this Club and That with anxious eye,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And dreams of Rounds beyond the Rounds of Liars.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Come, choose your ball, and in the Fire of Spring<br /></span> <span class="i0">Your Red Coat, and your wooden Putter fling;<br /></span> <span class="i2">The Club of Time has but a little while<br /></span> <span class="i0">To waggle, and the Club is on the swing.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Whether at Musselburgh or Shinnecock,<br /></span> <span class="i0">In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock,<br /></span> <span class="i2">The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">A Bag of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of Shag&mdash;and Thou<br /></span> <span class="i2">Beside me caddying in the Wilderness&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">They say the Female and the Duffer strut<br /></span> <span class="i0">On sacred Greens where Morris used to put;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Himself a natural Hazard now, alas!<br /></span> <span class="i0">That nice hand quiet now, that great Eye shut.<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</SPAN></span></div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I sometimes think that never springs so green<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Turf as where some Good Fellow has been,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And every emerald Stretch the Fair Green shows<br /></span> <span class="i0">His kindly Tread has known, his sure Play seen.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Myself when young did eagerly frequent<br /></span> <span class="i0">Jamie and His, and heard great argument<br /></span> <span class="i2">Of Grip and Stance and Swing; but evermore<br /></span> <span class="i0">Found at the Exit but a Dollar spent.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And with mine own hand sought to make it grow;<br /></span> <span class="i2">And this was all the Harvest that I reaped:<br /></span> <span class="i0">"You hold it This Way, and you swing it So."<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The swinging Brassie strikes; and, having struck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Moves on: nor all your Wit or future Luck<br /></span> <span class="i2">Shall lure it back to cancel half a Stroke,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Nor from the Card a single Seven pluck.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">And that inverted Ball they call the High&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">By which the Duffer thinks to live or die,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Lift not your hands to <span class="smcap">It</span> for help, for it<br /></span> <span class="i0">As impotently froths as you or I.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Yon rising Moon that leads us Home again,<br /></span> <span class="i0">How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;<br /></span> <span class="i2">How oft hereafter rising wait for us<br /></span> <span class="i0">At this same Turning&mdash;and for One in vain.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">And when, like her, my Golfer, I have been<br /></span> <span class="i0">And am no more above the pleasant Green,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And you in your mild Journey pass the Hole<br /></span> <span class="i0">I made in One&mdash;ah! pay my Forfeit then!<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES</h2> <h3>BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE</h3> <p>"That frind iv ye'ers, Dugan, is an intilligent man," said Mr. Dooley. "All he needs is an index an' a few illusthrations to make him a bicyclopedja iv useless information."</p> <p>"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, judiciously, "he ain't no Soc-rates an' he ain't no answers-to-questions colum; but he's a good man that goes to his jooty, an' as handy with a pick as some people are with a cocktail spoon. What's he been doin' again ye?"</p> <p>"Nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "but he was in here Choosday. 'Did ye vote?' says I. 'I did,' says he. 'Which wan iv th' distinguished bunko steerers got ye'er invalu'ble suffrage?' says I. 'I didn't have none with me,' says he, 'but I voted f'r Charter Haitch,' says he. 'I've been with him in six ilictions,' says he, 'an' he's a good man,' he says. 'D'ye think ye're votin' f'r th' best?' says I. 'Why, man alive,' I says, 'Charter Haitch was assassinated three years ago,' I says. 'Was he?' says Dugan. 'Ah, well, he's lived that down be this time. He was a good man,' he says.</p> <p>"Ye see, that's what thim rayform lads wint up again. If I liked rayformers, Hinnissy, an' wanted f'r to see thim win out wanst in their lifetime, I'd buy thim each a suit iv chilled steel, ar-rm thim with raypeatin' rifles, an' take thim east iv State Sthreet an' south iv Jackson Bullyvard. At prisint th' opinion that pre-vails in th' ranks iv<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</SPAN></span> th' gloryous ar-rmy iv ray-form is that there ain't anny-thing worth seein' in this lar-rge an' commodyous desert but th' pest-house an' the bridewell. Me frind Willum J. O'Brien is no rayformer. But Willum J. undherstands that there's a few hundherds iv thousands iv people livin' in a part iv th' town that looks like nawthin' but smoke fr'm th' roof iv th' Onion League Club that have on'y two pleasures in life, to wur-ruk an' to vote, both iv which they do at th' uniform rate iv wan dollar an' a half a day. That's why Willum J. O'Brien is now a sinitor an' will be an aldherman afther next Thursdah, an' it's why other people are sinding him flowers.</p> <p>"This is th' way a rayform candydate is ilicted. Th' boys down town has heerd that things ain't goin' r-right somehow. Franchises is bein' handed out to none iv thim; an' wanst in a while a mimber iv th' club, comin' home a little late an' thryin' to riconcile a pair iv r-round feet with an embroidered sidewalk, meets a sthrong ar-rm boy that pushes in his face an' takes away all his marbles. It begins to be talked that th' time has come f'r good citizens f'r to brace up an' do somethin', an' they agree to nomynate a candydate f'r aldherman. 'Who'll we put up?' says they. 'How's Clarence Doolittle?' says wan. 'He's laid up with a coupon thumb, an' can't r-run.' 'An' how about Arthur Doheny?' 'I swore an oath whin I came out iv colledge I'd niver vote f'r a man that wore a made tie.' 'Well, thin, let's thry Willie Boye.' 'Good,' says th' comity. 'He's jus' th' man f'r our money.' An' Willie Boye, after thinkin' it over, goes to his tailor an' ordhers three dozen pairs iv pants, an' decides f'r to be th' sthandard-bearer iv th' people. Musin' over his fried eyesthers an' asparagus an' his champagne, he bets a polo pony again a box of golf-balls he'll be ilicted unanimous; an' all th' good citizens make a vow f'r to set th' alar-rm<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</SPAN></span> clock f'r half-past three on th' afthernoon iv iliction day, so's to be up in time to vote f'r th' riprisintitive iv pure gover'mint.</p> <p>"'Tis some time befure they comprehind that there ar-re other candydates in th' field. But th' other candydates know it. Th' sthrongest iv thim&mdash;his name is Flannigan, an' he's a re-tail dealer in wines an' liquors, an' he lives over his establishment. Flannigan was nomynated enthusyastically at a prim'ry held in his bar-rn; an' befure Willie Boye had picked out pants that wud match th' color iv th' Austhreelyan ballot this here Flannigan had put a man on th' day watch, tol' him to speak gently to anny raygistered voter that wint to sleep behind th' sthove, an' was out that night visitin' his frinds. Who was it judged th' cake walk? Flannigan. Who was it carrid th' pall? Flannigan. Who was it sthud up at th' christening? Flannigan. Whose ca-ards did th' grievin' widow, th' blushin' bridegroom, or th' happy father find in th' hack? Flannigan's. Ye bet ye'er life. Ye see Flannigan wasn't out f'r th' good iv th' community. Flannigan was out f'r Flannigan an' th' stuff.</p> <p>"Well, iliction day come around; an' all th' imminent frinds iv good gover'mint had special wires sthrung into th' club, an' waited f'r th' returns. Th' first precin't showed 28 votes f'r Willie Boye to 14 f'r Flannigan. 'That's my precin't,' says Willie. 'I wondher who voted thim fourteen?' 'Coachmen,' says Clarence Doolittle. 'There are thirty-five precin'ts in this ward,' says th' leader iv th' rayform ilimint. 'At this rate, I'm sure iv 440 meejority. Gossoon,' he says, 'put a keg iv sherry wine on th' ice,' he says. 'Well,' he says, 'at last th' community is relieved fr'm misrule,' he says. 'To-morrah I will start in arrangin' amindmints to th' tariff schedool an' th' ar-bitration threety,' he says. 'We must be up an'<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</SPAN></span> doin',' he says. 'Hol' on there,' says wan iv th' comity. 'There must be some mistake in this fr'm th' sixth precin't,' he says. 'Where's the sixth precin't?' says Clarence. 'Over be th' dumps,' says Willie. 'I told me futman to see to that. He lives at th' cor-ner iv Desplaines an' Bloo Island Av'noo on Goose's Island,' he says. 'What does it show?' 'Flannigan, three hundherd an' eighty-five; Hansen, forty-eight; Schwartz, twinty; O'Malley, sivinteen; Casey, ten; O'Day, eight; Larsen, five; O'Rourke, three; Mulcahy, two; Schmitt, two; Moloney, two; Riordon, two; O'Malley, two; Willie Boye, wan.' 'Gintlemin,' says Willie Boye, arisin' with a stern look in his eyes, 'th' rascal has bethrayed me. Waither, take th' sherry wine off th' ice. They'se no hope f'r sound financial legislation this year. I'm goin' home.'</p> <p>"An', as he goes down th' sthreet, he hears a band play an' sees a procission headed be a calceem light; an', in a carredge, with his plug hat in his hand an' his di'mond makin' th' calceem look like a piece iv punk in a smokehouse, is Flannigan, payin' his first visit this side iv th' thracks."<span class='pagenum'>
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