“Well,” said Mr. Hennessy, “Tiddy Rosenfelt is right.  A fellow that writes books f’r childher ought to write th’ truth.”

“Th’ little preciouses wudden’t read thim,” said Mr. Dooley.  “Annyhow, th’ truth is a tough boss in lithrachoor.  He don’t pay aven boord wages, an’ if ye go to wurruk f’r him ye want to have a job on th’ side.”

THE JAPANESE SCARE

“Did ye go to see th’ Japs whin they were here?” asked Mr. Dooley.

“I did not,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“Nor I,” said Mr. Dooley.  “I was afraid to.  They’re a divvle iv a sinsitive people thim Japs.  Look cross-eyed at thim an’ they’re into ye’er hair.  I stayed away fr’m th’ stock yards whin me frind Gin’ral Armour was showin’ Gin’ral Kroky some rale slaughter.  I didn’t dare to go down there f’r fear I’d involve this fair land iv ours in war.  Supposin’ th’ haughty little fellow was to see me grinnin’ at him.  A smile don’t seem th’ same thing to an Oryental that it is to us Cowcassians.  He might think I was insultin’ him.  ’Look at that fellow makin’ faces at me,’ says he.  ‘He ain’t makin’ faces at ye,’ says th’ Mayor.  ‘That’s th’ way he always looks.’  ’Thin he must have his face changed,’ says Kroky.  ‘If he don’t I’ll appeal to th’ Mickydoo an’ he’ll divastate this boasted raypublic iv ye’ers,’ he says, ‘fr’m sea to sea,’ he says.

“Well, what’s to be done about it?  I can’t change me face an’ there’s no legal way iv removin’ it.  Th’ Prisidint writes to th’ Gov’nor, th’ Gov’nor requests th’ Sheriff, th’ Sheriff speaks to th’ Mayor, th’ Mayor desires th’ Chief iv Polis, th’ Chief iv Polis ordhers th’ polisman on th’ beat, an’ th’ polisman on th’ beat commands me to take me alarmin’ visage out iv th’ public view.  Suppose I go down to see me counsel, Barrister Hogan.  He tells me that undher th’ rights guaranteed to me be th’ Constitution, which Gawd defind an’ help in these here days, an’ me liquor license, I’m entitled to stick me tongue in me cheek, wink, roll up me nose, wiggle me hands fr’m me ears, bite me thumb, or say ‘Pooh’ to any black-an’-tan I meet.

“Thin what happens?  Th’ first thing I know a shell loaded with dynnymite dhrops into th’ lap iv some frind iv mine in San Francisco; a party iv Jap’nese land in Boston an’ scalp th’ wigs off th’ descindants iv John Hancock an’ Sam Adams; an’ Tiddy Rosenfelt is discovered undher a bed with a small language book thryin’ to larn to say ‘Spare me’ in th’ Jap’nese tongue.  And me name goes bouncin’ down to histhry as a man that brought roon to his counthry, an’ two hundherd years fr’m now little childer atin’ their milk with chop sticks in Kenosha, Wisconsin, will curse me f’r me wickedness instead iv blessin’ th’ mimry iv a man that done so much to keep their fathers fr’m hurryin’ home at night.  So I stayed away.  F’r a moment th’ peril is over.