“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “onaisy lies th’ crown on anny king’s head these days.  Th’ time was whin it was me ambition or wan iv thim to be a king.  Arly in life I’d committed the youthful folly iv bein’ born outside iv th’ counthry an’ so I cuddent be Prisidint.  But it don’t make anny diff’rence what counthry a king comes from so long as he don’t come fr’m th’ counthry where he’s king.  ‘No natives need apply,’ is th’ motto.  If a counthry is so bad off that it has to have a king, they sind a comity down to Ellis Island an’ pick out a good healthy Scandinavyan, make him throw away his wooden shoes an’ leather cap, an’ proclaim him king, Definder iv th’ Faith.  Kings are th’ on’y assisted immygrants that are let in.  Th’ King iv England is German, th’ King iv Italy is a Sardine, th’ King iv Sweden is a Fr-rinchman, an’ all th’ other kings an’ queens are Danes excipt th’ King iv Denmark, an’ th’ Lord knows what he is.

“So ye see, Hinnissy, there’s nawthin’ in th’ Constitution to prevint me fr’m bein’ a king, an I looked forward to th’ time whin I’d turn th’ Illinye Cinthral deepo into a rile palace an’ rule me subjicks, ye’ersilf among thim, with a high hand.  I’d be a just but marciful monarch.  No wan that come to th’ palace wud go away empty handed.  I’d always lave thim a little something.  Divvle a bit iv a cabinet I’d have, but I’d surround mesilf with th’ best thrained flattherers that cud be hired f’r love or money, an’ no wan wud tell me th’ truth, an’ I’d live an’ die happy.  I’d show these modhern kings how a king ought to behave.  Ye wudden’t see Martin I, iv beloved mim’ry, runnin’ around like a hired entertainer, wan day doin’ th wurruk iv a talkative bricklayer at th’ layin’ iv a cornerstone, another day presidin’ over a bankit iv th’ Amalgamated Society iv Mannyfacthrers iv Hooks-an’-Eyes or racin’ horses with Boots Durnell an’ Charlie Ox or waitin’ out in th’ rain f’r a balloon to come down that’s stuck on a church steeple forty miles away.  No, sir, I’d niver appear in public but wanst a year, an’ thin I’d blindfold me lile subjicks so that they’d stay lile.  An’ I’d niver open me mouth excipt to command music an’ dhrink.  But th’ low taste iv kings has rooned th’ business as a pursoot f’r gintlemen, an’ to-day I’d think twict befure takin’ th’ job.  ’Tis as preecaryous as a steeple jack’s, an’ no more permanent thin a Rosenfelt holdover undher Taft.  If a king goes out an’ looks haughty some wan iv his subjicks fires a gas pipe bomb at him, an’ if he thries to be janial he’s li’ble to be slapped on th’ back in th’ paddock an’ called ‘Joe.’

“Look at me frind, Abdul Hamid.  Whin I dhreamed iv bein’ king, sometimes I let me mind run on till I had mesilf promoted to be Sultan iv Turkey.  There, me boy, was a job that always plazed me.  It was well paid, it looked to be permanent, and I thought it about th’ best situation in th’ wurruld.  Th’ Sultan was a kind iv a combination iv pope an’ king.  If he didn’t like