“No, sir, between th’ two, th’ polisman’s life’s th’ hard wan. He can’t rethreat f’r reinfoorcemints or surrindher with all th’ honors iv war. If he surrindhers, he’s kilt an’ if he rethreats, his buttons comes off. He gets no soord fr’m Congress whin he brings in Starkey be th’ burnin’ hair iv his head. If he’s promoted to sergeant, he’s sure to be bounced be th’ first rayform administhration. He takes his ordhers, carries his stick iv timber up hill an’ down dale undher th’ gleamin’ stars, has nawthin’ to say but ‘Move on there, now,’ an’ if his foot slips another round-headed man pushes him into a cell an’ a impartyal jury iv men that’s had throuble with th’ polis befure convicts him heartily.
“Now, suppose Gilligan’s father whin he was young had looked him over an’ said: ’Agathy, Michael’s head is per-fictly round. It’s like a baseball. ‘Tis so pecoolyar. An’ he has a fightin’ face. ‘Tis no good thryin’ to tache him a thrade. Let’s make a sojer iv him.’ An’ he wint into th’ army. If he’d done there what he’s done in th’ patch, ’tis Gin’ral Gilligan he’d be be this time—Gin’ral Gilligan stormin’ th’ heights iv San Joon Hill; Gin’ral Mike Gilligan suspindin’ th’ haveas corpus in th’ Ph’lippeens an’ th’ anti-impeeryalists at home; Gin’ral Mike Gilligan capturin’ Aggynaldoo, an’ he’d do it with bare hands an’ without th’ aid iv a mustache; Gin’ral Mike Gilligan abolishin’ th’ third reader; Gin’ral Mike Gilligan discoorsin’ to th’ public on ’Books I have niver read: Series wan, th’ Histhry iv th’ United States.’ If his foot slips an’ he grows a little cross with a pris’ner iv war on th’ way to th’ station an’ dhrops his soord or his club on th’ top iv him, is he up befure th’ judge an’ thried be a jury iv his peers? Officer Mike, yes; Gin’ral Mike, no. Gin’ral Mike has no peers. He raceives a letther notifyin’ him that he has broken a human skull divine an’