“What ar-re these Turkish athrocities I’ve been r-readin’ about?” said Mr. Hennessy.

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Dooley.  “I don’t keep thim.  Have a cigar?”

VACATIONS

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I raaly don’t know whether I’m glad or sorry to get back.  It seems a little sthrange to be here again in the turmoil iv life in a large city, but thin, again, ’tis pleasant to see th’ familyar faces wanst more.  Has annything happened since I wint away on me vacation?  Did ye miss me?  Am I much sunburnt?”

“What ar-re ye talkin’ about?” asked Mr. Hennessy.  “I see ye on’y last night.”

“Ye did not,” said Mr. Dooley.  “Ye may have seen me undherstudy, but ye didn’t see me.  Where was I?  It depinds on what time iv night it was.  If it was eight o’clock, I was croosin’ in Pierpont Morgan’s yacht off th’ coast iv Labrador.  We were both iv us settin’ up on th’ front stoop iv th’ boat.  I had just won thirty millyon dollars fr’m him throwin’ dice, an’ he remarked to me ‘I bet it’s hot in Chicago.’  But about eight thirty, th’ wind, which had been blowin’ acrost th’ brick-yard, changed into th’ northeast an’ I moved back to Newpoort.”

“Ar-re ye crazy fr’m th’ heat?” Mr. Hennessy asked.

“Divvle th’ bit,” said Mr. Dooley, “but long ago I made up me mind not to be th’ slave iv me vacation.  I don’t take a vacation whin a vacation comes around an’ knocks at th’ dure an’ dhrags me out to a summer resort.  If I did I’d wait a long time.  I take it whiniver I feel like it.  Whiniver I have a moment to spare, whin ye’re talkin’ or business is slack fr’m anny other reason, I throw a comb an’ brush into a gripsack an’ hurry away to th’ mountain or th’ seashore.  While ye think ye’re talkin’ to me, at that very minyit I may be floatin’ on me back in th’ Atlantic ocean or climbin’ a mountain in Switzerland, yodellin’ to mesilf.

“Most iv me frinds take their vacations long afther they are overdue.  That’s because they don’t know how to take thim.  They depind on railroads an’ steamers an’ what th’ boss has to say about it.  Long afther th’ vacation will do thim no good, about th’ fifteenth iv August, they tear off for th’ beauties iv nature.  Nachrally they can’t tear off very far or they wudden’t hear th’ whistle whin it blew to call thim back.  F’r a week or two they spind their avenin’s larnin’ th’ profissyon iv baggageman, atin’ off thrunks be day an sleepin’ on thim be night.  Evenchooly th’ time comes f’r thim to lave th’ sthrife an’ throuble iv th’ city that they’re used to f’r th’ sthrife an’ throuble iv th’ counthry that they don’t know how to handle.  They catch th’ two two f’r Mudville-be-th’-Cannery, or they are just about to catch it whin they remimber that they left their tickets, money an’ little Abigail Ann behind thim, an’ they catch th’ six forty-five which doesn’t stop at Mudville excipt on Choosdahs an’ Fridahs in Lent, an’ thin