“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “it seems he wint into me frind Hip Lung’s laundhry to get his shirt an’ it wasn’t ready.  Followin’ what Hogan calls immemoryal usage, he called Hip Lung such names as he cud remimber and thried to dhrag him around th’ place be his shinin’ braid.  But instead iv askin’ f’r mercy, as he ought to, Hip Lung swung a flat-iron on him an’ thin ironed out his spine as he galloped up th’ stairs.  He come to me f’r advice an’ I advised him to see th’ American consul.  Who’s th’ American consul in Chicago now?  I don’t know.  But Hogan, who was here at th’ time, grabs him be th’ hand an’ says he:  ’I congratulate ye, me boy,’ he says.  ‘Ye have a chance to be wan iv th’ first martyrs iv th’ white race in th’ gr-reat sthruggle that’s comin’ between thim an’ th’ smoked or tinted races iv th’ wurruld,’ he says.  ‘Ye’ll be another Jawn Brown’s body or Mrs. O’Leary’s cow.  Go back an’ let th’ Chink kill ye an’ cinchries hence people will come with wreathes and ate hard-biled eggs on ye’er grave,’ he says.

“But Simpson said he did not care to be a martyr.  He said he was a retail grocer be pro-fissyon an’ Hip Lung was a customer iv his, though he got most iv his vittles fr’m th’ taxydermist up th’ sthreet an’ he thought he’d go around to-morrah an’ concilyate him.  So he wint away.

“Hogan, d’ye mind, has a theery that it’s all been up with us blondes since th’ Jap’nese war.  Hogan is a prophet.  He’s wan iv th’ gr-reatest prophets I know.  A prophet, Hinnissy, is a man that foresees throuble.  No wan wud listen a minyit to anny prophet that prophesized pleasant days.  A successful weather prophet is wan that predicts thunder storms, hurrycanes an’ earthquakes; a good financial prophet is wan that predicts panics; a pollytickal prophet must look into th’ tea leaves an’ see th’ institutions iv th’ wurruld cracked wide open an’ th’ smiling not to say grinnin’, fields iv this counthry iv ours,’ or somebody’s laid waste with fire and soord.  Hogan’s that kind iv a prophet.  I’m onhappy about to-day but cheerful about to-morrah.  Hogan is th’ happyest man in th’ wurruld about to-day but to-morrah something is goin’ to happen.  I hate to-day because to-morrah looks so good.  He’s happy to-day because it is so pleasant compared with what to-morrah is goin’ to be.  Says I:  ‘Cheer up; well have a good time at th’ picnic next Saturdah.’  Says he:  ‘It will rain at th’ picnic.’

“He’s a rale prophet.  I wudden’t pick him out as a well-finder.  He cudden’t find a goold mine f’r ye but he cud see th’ bottom iv wan through three thousand feet iv bullyon.  He can peer into th’ most blindin’ sunshine an’ see th’ darkness lurkin’ behind it.  He’s predicted ivry war that has happened in our time and eight thousand that haven’t happened to happen.  If he had his way th’ United States navy wud be so big that there wudden’t be room f’r a young fellow to row his girl in Union Park.  He can see a war cloud where I can’t see annything but somebody cookin’ his dinner or lightin’ his pipe.  He’d made th’ gr-reat foreign iditor an’ he’d be fine f’r th’ job f’r he’s best late at night.