ichael Toole. Ps Make bill for two hundred dollars a
piece. Business is business. This is between us two. M. T."

A Keeper of the Water Goats had been selected with the utmost care,
combining in the choice practical politics with a sense of fitness.
Timothy Fagan was used to animals--for years he had driven a dumpcart.
He was used to children--he had ten or eleven of his own. And he
controlled several votes in the Fourth Ward. His elevation from the
dump-cart of the street cleaning department to the high office of
Keeper of the Water Goats was one that Dugan believed would give general
satisfaction.

When the goats arrived in Jeffersonville the two heavy crates were
hauled to Alderman Toole's back yard to await the opening of the park,
and there Mayor Dugan and Goat Keeper Fagan came to inspect them.
Alderman Toole led the way to them with pride, and Mayor Dugan's creased
brow almost uncreased as he bent down and peered between the bars of the
crates. They were fine goats. Perhaps they looked somewhat more dejected
than a goat usually looks--more dirty and down at the heels than a goat
often looks--but they were undoubtedly goats. As specimens of ordinary
Irish goats they might not have passed muster with a careful buyer, but
no doubt they were excellent examples of the dongola.

"Ye have done good, Mike," said the mayor. "Ye have done good! But ain't
they mebby a bit off their feed--or something?"

"Off their feed!" said Toole. "An' who wouldn't be, poor things? Mind
ye, Dugan, thim is not common goats--thim is dongolas--an' used to bein'
in th' wather con-continuous from mornin' till night. 'Tis sufferin' for
a swim they be, poor animals. Wance let thim git in th' lake an' ye will
see th' difference, Dugan. 'Twill make all th' difference in th' worrld
t' thim. 'Tis dyin' for a swim they are."

"Sure!" said the Keeper of the Water Goats. "Ye have done good, Mike,"
said the mayor again. "Thim dongolas will be a big surprise for th'
people."

They were. They surprised the Keeper of the Goats first of all. The day
before the park was to be opened to the public the goats were taken to
the park and turned over to their official keeper. At eleven
o'clock that morning Alderman Toole was leaning against Casey's bar,
confidentially pouring into his ear the story of how the dongolas had
given their captors a world of trouble, swimming violently to the far
reaches of Lake Geneva and hiding among the bulrushes and reeds, w