ve me coat-tails,' he says, 'they'll be no kick comin', he says.
'Long live Spain, long live mesilf.'

"Well, sir, in twinty-eight minyits be th' clock Dewey he had all th'
Spanish boats sunk, an' that there harbor lookin' like a Spanish stew.
Thin he r-run down th' bay, an' handed a few war-rm wans into th' town.
He set it on fire, an' thin wint ashore to war-rm his poor hands an'
feet. It chills th' blood not to have annything to do f'r an hour or
more."

"Thin why don't he write something?" Mr. Hennessy demanded.

"Write?" echoed Mr. Dooley. "Write? Why shud he write? D'ye think Cousin
George ain't got nawthin' to do but to set down with a fountain pen, an'
write: 'Dear Mack,--At 8 o'clock I begun a peaceful blockade iv this
town. Ye can see th' pieces ivrywhere. I hope ye're injyin' th' same
gr-reat blessin'. So no more at prisint. Fr'm ye'ers thruly, George
Dooley.' He ain't that kind. 'Tis a nice day, an' he's there smokin' a
good tin-cint see-gar, an' throwin' dice f'r th' dhrinks. He don't care
whether we know what he's done or not. I'll bet ye, whin we come to find
out about him, we'll hear he's ilicted himself king iv th' F'lip-ine
Islands. Dooley th' Wanst. He'll be settin' up there undher a pa'm-three
with naygurs fannin' him an' a dhrop iv licker in th' hollow iv his
ar-rm, an' hootchy-kootchy girls dancin' befure him, an' ivry tin or
twinty minyits some wan bringin' a prisoner in. 'Who's this?' says King
Dooley. 'A Spanish gin'ral,' says th' copper. 'Give him a typewriter
an' set him to wurruk,' says th' king. 'On with th' dance,' he says. An'
afther awhile, whin he gits tired iv th' game, he'll write home an' say
he's got the islands; an' he'll tur-rn thim over to th' gover'mint an'
go back to his ship, an' Mark Hanna'll organize th' F'lip-ine Islands
Jute an' Cider Comp'ny, an' th' rivolutchinists'll wish they hadn't.
That's what'll happen. Mark me wurrud."

ON SOME ARMY APPOINTMENTS.

"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "I didn't vote f'r Mack, but I'm with him
now. I had me doubts whether he was th' gr-reatest military janius iv
th' cinchry, but they'se no question about it. We go into this war, if
we iver do go into it, with th' most fash'n-able ar-rmy that iver
creased its pants. 'Twill be a daily hint fr'm Paris to th' crool foe.

"Other gin'rals iv th' r-rough-house kind, like Napoleon Bonypart, th'
impror iv th' Frinch, Gin'ral Ulis S. Grant, an' Cousin George Dooley,
hired coarse, rude me