An’ with th’ missionaries we sint sharpshooters that cud pick off a Chinyman beatin’ th’ conthribution box at five hundherd yards.  We put up palashal goluf-coorses in the cimitries an’ what was wanst th’ tomb iv Hung Chang, th’ gr-reat Tartar Impror, rose to th’ dignity iv bein’ th’ bunker guardin’ th’ fifth green.  No Chinyman cud fail to be pleased at seein’ a tall Englishman hittin’ th’ Chinyman’s grandfather’s coffin with a niblick.  We sint explorers up th’ Nile who raypoorted that th’ Ganzain flows into th’ Oboo just above Lake Mazap, a fact that th’ naygurs had known f’r a long time.  Th’ explorer announces that he has changed th’ names iv these wather-coorses to Smith, Blifkins an’ Winkinson.  He wishes to deny th’ infamyous story that he iver ate a native alive.  But wan soon succumbs to th’ customs iv a counthry an’ Sir Alfred is no viggytaryan.

“An’ now, be Hivin, all these here wretched millyons that we’ve done so much f’r ar-re turnin’ on us.  Th’ Japs threaten us with war.  Th’ Chinese won’t buy shoes fr’m us an’ ar-re chasin’ th’ missionaries out iv their cozy villas an’ not even givin’ thim a chance to carry away their piannies or their silverware.  There’s th’ divvle to pay all along th’ levee fr’m Manchurya to Madagascar, accordin’ to Hogan.  I begin to feel onaisy.  Th’ first thing we know all th’ other subjick races will be up.  Th’ horses will kick an’ bite, the dogs will fly at our throats whin we lick thim, th’ fishes will refuse to be caught, th’ cattle an’ pigs will set fire to th’ stock yards an’ there’ll be a gineral rebellyon against th’ white man.

“It’s no laughin’ matther, I tell ye.  A subjick race is on’y funny whin it’s raaly subjick.  About three years ago I stopped laughin’ at Jap’nese jokes.  Ye have to feel supeeryor to laugh an’ I’m gettin’ over that feelin’.  An’ nawthin’ makes a man so mad an’ so scared as whin something he looked down on as infeeryor tur-rns on him.  If a fellow man hits him he hits him back.  But if a dog bites him he yells ‘mad dog’ an’ him an’ th’ neighbors pound th’ dog to pieces with clubs.  If th’ naygurs down South iver got together an’ flew at their masters ye’d hear no more coon songs f’r awhile.  It’s our conceit makes us supeeryor.  Take it out iv us an’ we ar-re about th’ same as th’ rest.”

“I wondher what we’d do if all thim infeeryor races shud come at us together?” said Mr. Hennessy.  “They’re enough iv thim to swamp us.”

“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “I’d have to go on bein’ white or, to speak more acc’rately, pink.  An’ annyhow I guess they’ve been infeeryor too long to change.  It’s got to be a habit with thim.”

PANICS