th’ likes iv ye, as though I was a comity iv th’ Civic Featheration,’ he says.  ‘Moreover,’ he says, ’I’d like to know, you, Casey, what business have you got comin’ roun’ to my house and pryin’ into my domestic affairs,’ he says. ‘’Tis th’ intherstate commerce act now, but th’ nex’ thing ‘ll be where I got th’ pianny,’ he says; ‘an’, f’r fear ye may not stop where ye are, here goes to mount ye.’  An’ he climbed th’ big man, an’ rolled him.  Well, sir will ye believe me, ivry man on th’ comity but wan voted f’r him.  Casey was still in bed iliction day.

“I met Tom Dorsey afther th’ comity called.  ‘Well,’ says I, ’I heerd ye was up to O’Brien’s questionin’ him on th’ issues iv th’ day,’ I says.  ‘We was,’ says he.  ‘Was his answers satisfacthry?’ says I.  ‘Perfectly so,’ he says.  ‘Whin th’ comity left, we were all convinced that he was th’ strongest man that cud be nommynated,’ he says.”

THE DAY AFTER THE VICTORY.

“Jawn,” said Mr. Dooley, “didn’t we give it to thim?”

“Give it to who?” asked Mr. McKenna.

“To th’ Dimmycrats,” said Mr. Dooley.

“Go on,” said Mr. McKenna.  “You’re a Democrat yourself.”

“Me?” said Mr. Dooley, “not on your life.  Not in wan hundherd thousand years.  Me a Dimmycrat?  I shud say not, Jawn, me buck.  I’m the hottest kind iv a Raypublican, me an’ Maloney.  I suppose they ain’t two such Raypublicans annywhere.  How can anny wan be annything else?  Who was it that saved the Union, Jawn?  Who was it?  Who are th’ frinds iv th’ Irish?  Who protecks th’ poor wurrukin’man so that he’ll have to go on wurrukin’?  We do, Jawn.  We Raypublicans, by dad.

“They ain’t a Dimmycrat fr’m wan end iv th’ road to th’ other.  I just was over makin’ a visit on Docherty, an’ he’d took down th’ picture iv Jackson an’ Cleveland an’ put up wan iv Grant an’ Lincoln.  Willum Joyce have come out f’r McKinley f’r Prisident, an’ th’ polisman on th’ beat told me las’ night that th’ left’nant told him that ’twas time f’r a change.  Th’ Dimmycrats had rooned th’ counthry with their free trade an’ their foreign policy an’ their I dinnaw what, an’ ’twas high time an honest man got a crack at a down-town precinct with a faro bank or two in it.  Th’ polisman agreed with him that Cleveland have raised th’ divvle with th’ Constitootion; an’, by gar, he’s right, too.  He’s right, Jawn.  He have a boy in th’ wather office.

“Ye mind Maloney, th’ la-ad with th’ game eye?  He tends a bridge over be Goose Island way, but he was down here iliction day.  Two weeks before iliction day he was again Winter.  ‘He’s no good,’ he says.  ‘He’s a Boohemian,’ he says.  ‘An’ whin they come to ilictin’ Boohemians f’r mayor,’ he says, ‘I’ll go back to me ol’ thrade iv shovellin’ mud,’ he says.  ‘Besides,’ says he, ’if this here Winter wint in,’ he says, ‘ye cudden’t stand acrost La Salle Street an’ hand him a peach on a window pole, he’d be that stuck up,’ he says.