“Did they hang him?” asked Mr. Hennessy.

“Faith, they did not,” said Mr. Dooley.  “He begun missin’ his jooty at wanst.  Aldhermen always do that after th’ first few weeks.  ’Ye got ye’er money,’ says Father Kelly; ‘an’ much good may it do ye,’ he says.  ‘Well,’ says Dochney, ‘I’d be a long time prayin’ mesilf into five thousan’,’ he says.  An’ he become leader in th’ council.  Th’ las’ ordhnance he inthrojooced was wan establishin’ a license f’r churches, an’ compellin’ thim to keep their fr-ront dure closed an’ th’ blinds drawn on Sundah.  He was expelled fr’m th’ St. Vincent de Pauls, an’ ilicted a director iv a bank th’ same day.

“Now, Hinnissy, that there man niver knowed he was bribed—­th’ first time.  Th’ second time he knew.  He ast f’r it.  An’ I wudden’t hang Dochney.  I wudden’t if I was sthrong enough.  But some day I’m goin’ to let me temper r-run away with me, an’ get a comity together, an’ go out an’ hang ivry dam widdy an’ orphan between th’ rollin’ mills an’ th’ foundlin’s’ home.  If it wasn’t f’r thim raypechious crathers, they’d be no boodle annywhere.”

“Well, don’t forget Simpson,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“I won’t,” said Mr. Dooley, “I won’t.”

THE GRIP.

Mr. Dooley was discovered making a seasonable beverage, consisting of one part syrup, two parts quinine, and fifteen parts strong waters.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. McKenna.

“I have th’ lah gr-rip,” said Mr. Dooley, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes.  “Bad cess to it!  Oh, me poor back!  I feels as if a dhray had run over it.  Did ye iver have it?  Ye did not?  Well, ye’re lucky.  Ye’re a lucky man.

“I wint to McGuire’s wake las’ week.  They gave him a dacint sind-off.  No porther.  An’ himsilf looked natural, as fine a corpse as iver Gavin layed out.  Gavin tould me so himsilf.  He was as proud iv McGuire as if he owned him.  Fetched half th’ town in to look at him, an’ give ivry wan iv thim cards.  He near frightened ol’ man Dugan into a faint.  ‘Misther Dugan, how old a-are ye?’ ‘Sivinty-five, thanks be,’ says Dugan.  ‘Thin,’ says Gavin, ‘take wan iv me cards,’ he says.  ’I hope ye’ll not forget me,’ he says.

“‘Twas there I got th’ lah grip.  Lastewise, it is me opinion iv it, though th’ docthor said I swallowed a bug.  It don’t seem right, Jawn, f’r th’ McGuires is a clane fam’ly; but th’ docthor said a bug got into me system.  ‘What sort iv bug?’ says I.  ‘A lah grip bug,’ he says.  ‘Ye have Mickrobes in ye’er lungs,’ he says.  ‘What’s thim?’ says I.  ‘Thim’s th’ lah grip bugs,’ says he.  ‘Ye took wan in, an’ warmed it,’ he says; ‘an’ it has growed an’ multiplied till ye’er system does be full iv’ thim,’ he says, ‘millions iv thim,’ he says, ‘marchin’ an’ counthermarchin’ through ye.’  ‘Glory be to the saints!’ says I.  ’Had I better swallow some insect powdher?’ I says.  ’Some iv thim in me head has a fallin’ out, an’ is throwin’ bricks.’  ‘Foolish man,’ says he.  ‘Go to bed,’ he says, ‘an’ lave thim alone,’ he says, ’Whin they find who they’re in,’ he says, ‘they’ll quit ye.’