“Will he lose his job?  Not much, Jawn.  That la-ad ‘ll be swingin’ bridges an’ throwin’ away th’ crust iv his pie whin you an’ me are atin’ ha-ard coal.  He will that.  But what do I care?  Machs nix aus, Jawn; an’ that being translated manes, ‘What th’ ‘ell.’”

A VISIT TO JEKYL ISLAND.

“I’d like to been there,” said Mr. Dooley.

“Where’s that?” Mr. Hennessy asked.

“At Shekel Island,” said Mr. Dooley, “seein’ me frind Mack an’ me frind Tom Reed meetin’ be th’ sad sea waves.

“Ye see, Mack was down there with Mark Hanna.  He was tired out with expandin’, an’ anxiety f’r fear me frind Alger ‘d raysign; an’ says Hanna, he says, ‘Come down,’ he says, ‘with me,’ he says, ’to Shekel Island,’ he says. ‘’Tis th’ home iv rayfinemint an’ riches,’ he says, ‘where us millyionaires rest fr’m takin’ care iv th’ counthry,’ he says.  ‘There in th’ shade iv th’ coupon threes,’ he says, ’we watch th’ sea waves, an’ wondher,’ he says, ‘whin th’ goold that’s in thim can be exthracted,’ he says.  ‘They’se nawthin’ to break th’ silence,’ he says, ‘but th’ roarin’ iv th’ ocean,’ he says; ‘an’ that sounds nat’ral,’ he says, ’because ‘tis almost like th’ sound iv th’ stock exchange,’ he says.  ‘A man,’ he says, ‘that has th’ ticker eye,’ he says, ‘or th’ coupon thumb,’ he says, ‘is cured in no time,’ he says.  ‘Come,’ he says, ‘fly with me,’ he says.  ‘They’se nawthin’ to keep ye here,’ he says.  ‘Ivry wan iv th’ cab’net, includin’ th’ Sicrety iv War, ‘ll stick to his place,’ he says, ‘like a man,’ he says.

“An’ Mack wint with him.  He was settin’ on th’ beach in a goold chair, surrounded be millyionaires, with th’ prisident iv a bank fannin’ him an’ th’ threeasurer iv a dimon’ mine poorin’ his dhrink; an’, though he was feelin’ well, they was something on his mind.  ‘What ails ye?’ ast Hanna.  ‘I was thinkin’,’ says Mack, ’how pleasant ’twud be if me ol’ frind Tom Reed was here,’ he says. ’’Twud be Paradise if he was here,’ he says, whin, lo an’ behold, who shud come acrost th’ dimon’-studded beach, wadin’ through th’ bank-notes that ’d been dropped be th’ good farmers iv Shekel Island, but Tom Reed.

“Well, sir, to see th’ affection that those two great men showed at th’ encounther ‘d dhraw tears fr’m th’ eyes iv a hear-rt iv sthone.  ‘Tom,’ says Mack, in faltherin’ accints, ’where have ye been?  F’r days an’ days I’ve skinned yon blue horizon f’r anny sign iv ye,’ he says.  ‘An’ ye come not,’ he says.  ‘I didn’t think I cud miss ye so,’ he says.  ‘Embrace me,’ he says, ‘if ye ar-re not ar-rmed,’ he says.  ‘Mack,’ says me frind Tom Reed, with tears in his eyes, ‘this,’ he says, ‘is th’ happiest moment iv me life,’ he says.  ‘I cudden’t,’ he says, ‘I cudden’t stay in Wash’nton,’ he says, ‘with you so far away,’ he says, ‘where I cudden’t watch ye,’ he says.  ‘Ye’re th’ on’y man in th’ wurruld I care f’r,’ he says, ‘but mesilf.’ he says.  ‘An’,’ he says, ‘I’d fall weepin’ on ye’er shoulder this minyit,’ he says; ’but I don’t want to be disrayspectful be turnin’ me back on Misther Hanna,’ he says.