“And what ’ll pay for it?” asked Mr. McKenna, in blank amazement.

“This,” said Mr. Dooley, whacking the pile before him.  “Here’s twinty thousand dollars iv th’ bonds iv th’ raypublic.  They bear inthrest at twinty-five per cint; an’ they’re signed be Xavier O’Malley, Pagan O’Leary (th’ wicked man), an’ O’Brien, th’ threeasurer.  Me cousin Mike put thim up with me f’r a loan iv five.  He wurruked in th’ threeasurer’s office; an’, whin th’ polis broke up th’ Irish rivolution, he put on his coat an’ stuck a month’s bond issue in his pocket.  ‘They’ll come in handy wan day,’ he says; for he was a philosopher, if he did take a dhrop too much.  Whin he give me th’ bonds, he says, says he, ‘Hol’ to thim,’ he says, ‘an’ some time or other they’ll make a rich man iv ye.’  Jawn, I feel th’ time has come.  Cleveland’s on th’ rampage; an’, if Ireland ain’t a raypublic befure a month, I’ll give ye these here documents f’r what I paid on thim.  I have me information fr’m Hinnissy, an’ Hinnissy have it fr’m Willum Joyce, an’ ye know how close Joyce is to Finerty.  Hinnissy was in last night.  ‘Well,’ says I, ‘what’s th’ news?’ I says.  ‘News?’ says he.  ‘They’se on’y wan thing talked about,’ he says.  ‘We’re goin’ to have a war with England,’ he says.  ‘An’ th’ whole Irish army has inlisted,’ he says.  ‘Has Finerty gone in?’ says I.  ‘He has,’ he says.  ‘Thin,’ says I, ‘’tis all off with th’ Sassenach.  We’ll run thim fr’m th’ face iv th’ earth,’ I says. ‘’Tis th’ prisint intintion iv mesilf to hire a good big tug an’ put a hook into Ireland, an’ tow it over th’ big dhrink, an’ anchor it ayether in th’ harbor iv New York or in th’ lake.

“D’ye know, Jawn, ‘twas Cleveland that definded th’ Fenians whin they was took up f’r invadin’ Canada.  ’Twas so.  He was not much in thim days,—­a kid iv a lawyer, like Doheny’s youngest, with a lot iv hair an’ a long coat an’ a hungry look.  Whin th’ Fenians come back fr’m Canada in a boat an’ landed in th’ city iv Buf-falo, New York, they was all run in; an’ sare a lawyer cud they get to defind thim till this here Cleveland come up, an’ says he:  ‘I’ll take th’ job,’ he says.  ‘I’ll go in an’ do th’ best I can f’r ye.’  Me uncle Mike was along with thim, an’ he looked Cleveland over; an’ says he:  ’Ye’ll do th’ best ye can f’r us,’ he says, ‘will ye?’ he says.  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I’ll take no chances,’ he says.  ‘Sind f’r th’ desk sergeant,’ he says.  ‘I’m goin’ to plead guilty an’ turn informer,’ he says.  ’Tis lucky f’r Cleveland me uncle died befure he r-run f’r President.  He’d ’ve had wan vote less.

“I’ll niver forget th’ night me uncle Mike come back fr’m Canada.  Ye know he was wan iv th’ most des’prit Fenians that iver lived; an’, whin th’ movement begun, he had to thread on no wan’s shadow befure he was off f’r th’ battle.  Ivry wan in town knew he was goin’; an’ he wint away with a thrunk full iv bottles an’ all th’ good wishes iv th’ neighborhood, more be reason iv th’ fact that he was a boistherous man whin he was th’ worse f’r wear, with a bad habit iv throwin’ bricks through his neighbors’ windys.  We cud see him as th’ thrain moved out, walkin’ up an’ down th’ aisle, askin’ iv there was anny Englishman in th’ car that ‘d like to go out on th’ platform an’ rowl off with him.