. Dooley
and Mr. Schwartzmeister, the German saloon-keeper down Archey Road, for
some years. It was based upon racial differences, but had been accented
when Mr. Schwartzmeister put in a pool table. Of course there was no
outburst. When the two met on the street, Mr. Dooley saluted his
neighbor cordially, in these terms: "Good-nobben, Hair Schwartzmeister,
an' vas magst too yet, me brave bucko!" To which Mr. Schwartzmeister
invariably retorted: "Py chapers, Tooley, where you haf been all der
time, py chapers?" But this was mere etiquette. In the publicity of
their own taverns they entertained no great regard for each other. Mr.
Schwartzmeister said a friend of his had been poisoned by Mr. Dooley's
beer, and Mr. Dooley confessed that he would rather go to a harness-shop
for whiskey than to Mr. Schwartzmeister's. Consequently, Mr. McKenna
was amazed to learn that Mr. Schwartzmeister had been entertained by the
philosopher, and that they had paraded Archey Road arm-in-arm at a late
hour.

"Tubby sure he was," said Mr. Dooley. "Tubby sure he was. Right where
ye're standin' at this moment, me dhrinkin' beer an' him callin' f'r hot
Irish. 'Make it hot,' he says. 'Make it hot, me frind; an' we'll make it
hot f'r th' British between us,' says Schwartzmeister.

"It come about this way: Ye see Willum Joyce come in, an' says he,
'We've got thim.' 'Sure,' says I. 'We've the comityman, haven't we?'
'Th' Dutch is with us,' he says. 'I mane the Germans is our frinds.'
'Ye're goin' too far there,' says I. 'Stuckart was again Reed las'
spring.' 'No, no,' says Willum Joyce, he says. 'Th' Germans is up in
ar-rms again th' Sassenach,' he says. 'Mind ye,' he says, 'mind ye,' he
says, ''tis our jooty to be frindly with th' Germans,' he says. 'I'm
now on me way f'r to organize a camp iv me Dutch frinds down be th'
slough,' he says. An' off he goes.

"'Twas not long afther whin I heerd a man singin' 'Th' Wearin' iv th'
Green' down th' sthreet, an' in come Schwartzmeister. 'Faugh a ballagh,'
says he, meanin' to be polite. 'Lieb vaterland,' says I. An' we had a
dhrink together.

"'Vell,' says he (ye know th' murdhrin' way he has iv speakin'), 'here
we are,' he says, 'frinds at las'.' 'Thrue f'r ye,' says I. 'Tooley,' he
says, f'r he calls me that, 'we're wan to-night, alretty,' he says. 'We
are that,' says I. 'But, glory be, who iver thought th' Irish'd live to
see th' day whin they'd be freed be th' Dutch? Schwartz, me lieber
frind,' I say