is hurtin’ himsilf.  Put a little pro-fanity by f’r rainy days, says I. Ye won’t miss it an’ at th’ end iv th’ year whin ye renew ye’er lease ye’ll be surprised to find out how much ye have on hand.  But if ye hurl it broadcast, if ivry time ye open ye’er mouth a hot wan lapes out, th’ time will come whin ye’ll want to say something scorchin’ an’ ye’ll have nawthin’ to say that ye haven’t said f’r fun.  I’d as soon think iv swearin’ f’r pleasure as iv lindin’ money f’r pleasure.  They ain’t too much pro-fanity in th’ wurruld.  A good dale iv it has been used up since th’ coal sthrike begun.  Th’ govermint ought to presarve it an’ prevint annywan fr’m swearin’ more thin was niciss’ry f’r to support life.

“I niver knew Father Kelly to swear but wanst.  ’Twas a little wan, Hinnissy.  Dhropped fr’m th’ lips iv a polisman it wud’ve sounded like a ‘thank ye kindly.’  But, be Hivins, whin I heerd it I thought th’ roof wud fall down on th’ head iv Scanlan that he was thryin’ to show th’ evil iv his ways.  Melia Murdher, but it was gran’!  They was more varchue in that wan damn thin in a fastin’ prayer.  Scanlan wint to wurruk th’ nex’ day an’ he hasn’t tasted a dhrop since.

“But th’ best thing about a little judicyous swearin’ is that it keeps th’ temper.  ‘Twas intinded as a compromise between runnin’ away an’ fightin’.  Befure it was invinted they was on’y th’ two ways out iv an argymint.”

“But I’ve heerd ye say a man was swearin’ mad,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“He wasn’t fightin’ mad, thin,” said Mr. Dooley.

The War Game

What’s this here war game I’ve been readin’ about?” asked Mr. Hennessy.

“It’s a kind iv a blind man’s buff,” said Mr. Dooley.  “It’s a thrile iv cunnin’ an’ darin’ between th’ army an’ th’ navy.  Be manes iv it we tarn whether th’ inimy cud sneak into Boston afther dark without annywan seein’ thim an’ anchor in Boston common.  Ye an’ I know diff’rent, Hinnissy.  We know how manny people are in th’ sthreets afther dark.  But th’ navy don’t know an’ th’ army don’t know.  Their idee is that a German fleet might gum-shoe up th’ harbor in th’ dark iv th’ moon an’ whin people turned out f’r their mornin’ dhram, there wud be th’ Impror Willum atin’ his breakfast iv Hungayrian Goolash an’ noodle soup on th’ steps iv th’ State House iv Matsachoosetts.  But it’s a gran’ game.  I’d like to play it mesilf.  It’s as noisy as forty-fives between Connock men an’ as harmless as a steeryopticon letcher.  If war an’ th’ war game was th’ same thing, I’d be an admiral, at laste, be this time with me face gashed an’ seamed be raspberry jam an’ me clothes stained with English breakfast tea.

“Th’ navy chose to be th’ inimy an’ ‘twas th’ jooty iv th’ navy to divastate th’ New England coast.  On th’ other hand, th’ business iv th’ army was to catch th’ navy at its neefaryous wurruk an’ tag it befure it cud get its fingers crost.  To play th’ game well, th’ navy must act as much like an inimy as it can an’ th’ army must pretind to be jus’ as cross at th’ navy as it is whin they are both on the same side.  Frindship ceases whin they set in.