“Well, I wondher will Mike come back?” said Mr. Hennessy.

“Me cousin Mike,” said Mr. Dooley, “niver missed an iliction.  An’ whin th’ campaign opened, there wasn’t a man on th’ ticket, fr’m mayor to constable, that didn’t claim him f’r a first cousin.  There are different kinds iv hands from acrost th’ sea.  There are pothry hands an’ rollin’-mill hands; but on’y wan kind has votes.”

“Cyrano de Bergerac.”

“Ivry winter Hogan’s la-ad gives a show with what he calls th’ Sixth Wa-ard Shakspere an’ Willum J. Bryan Club, an’ I was sayjooced into goin’ to wan las’ night at Finucane’s hall,” said Mr. Dooley.

“Th’ girls was goin’,” said Mr. Hennessy; “but th’ sthovepipe come down on th’ pianny, an’ we had a minsthrel show iv our own.  What was it about, I dinnaw?”

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I ain’t much on th’ theayter.  I niver wint to wan that I didn’t have to stand where I cud see a man in blue overalls scratchin’ his leg just beyant where the heeroyne was prayin’ on th’ palace stairs, an’ I don’t know much about it; but it seemed to me, an’ it seemed to Hartigan, th’ plumber, that was with me, that ‘twas a good play if they’d been a fire in th’ first act.  They was a lot iv people there; an’, if it cud ’ve been arranged f’r to have injine company fifteen with Cap’n Duffy at th’ head iv thim come in through a window an’ carry off th’ crowd, ’twud’ve med a hit with me.

“’Tis not like anny play I iver see before or since.  In ’Tur-rble Tom; or, th’ Boys iv Ninety-eight,’ that I see wanst, th’ man that’s th’ main guy iv th’ thing he waits till ivry wan has said what he has to say, an’ he has a clean field; an’ thin he jumps in as th’ man that plays th’ big dhrum gives it an upper cut.  But with this here play iv ‘Cyrus O’Bergerac’ ‘tis far diff’rent.  Th’ curtain goes up an’ shows Bill Delaney an’ little Tim Scanlan an’ Mark Toolan an’ Packy Dugan, that wurruks in the shoe store, an’ Molly Donahue an’ th’ Casey sisters, thim that scandalized th’ parish be doin’ a skirt dance at th’ fair, all walkin’ up an’ down talkin’.  ‘Tin to wan on Sharkey,’ says Toolan.  ‘I go ye, an’ make it a hundherd,’ says Tim Scanlan.  ’Was ye at th’ cake walk?’ ‘Who stole me hat?’ ‘Cudden’t ye die waltzin’?’ ‘They say Murphy has gone on th’ foorce.’  ‘Hivins, there goes th’ las’ car!’ ‘Pass th’ butther, please:  I’m far fr’m home.’  All iv thim talkin’ away at once, niver carin’ f’r no wan, whin all at wanst up stheps me bold Hogan with a nose on him,—­glory be, such a nose!  I niver see th’ like on a man or an illyphant.

“Well, sir, Hogan is Cy in th’ play; an’ th’ beak is pa-art iv him.  What does he do?  He goes up to Toolan, an’ says he:  ’Ye don’t like me nose.  It’s an ilicthric light globe.  Blow it out.  It’s a Swiss cheese.  Cut it off, if ye want to.  It’s a brick in a hat.  Kick it.  It’s a balloon.  Hang a basket on it, an’ we’ll have an’ ascinsion.  It’s a dure-bell