s wanted,' he says, 'to do
something f'r ye,' he says. 'Th' time has come,' he says, 'whin I can
realize me wish,' he says. 'I offer ye,' he says, 'th' Prisidincy, to
succeed me,' he says. 'No, no,' he says, 'I'll not be rayfused,' he
says. 'I'm tired iv it,' he says. ''Twas foorced on me be foolish
frinds,' he says; 'but I'm not th' man f'r th' place,' he says. 'I
haven't dhrawn a comfortable breath, not to speak iv salary, since I
wint in,' he says.

"Th' speaker iv th' house burrid his face in his hands, an' sobs shook
him partly f'r manny minyits. Thin he raised his head, an' says he,
'Mack,' he says, 'I can't take it,' he says. ''Tis most gin'rous iv
ye,' he says, 'but me hear-rt fails me,' he says. 'What is it to be
Prisident?' says he. 'Th' White House,' he says, 'is a prison,' he
says, 'to which a man is condimned,' he says, 'f'r fine wurruk at th'
polls,' he says. 'Th' life iv a Prisident is slavery,' he says. 'If I
was to take th' job,' he says, 'I'd be tortured day an' night,' he
says, 'be th' fear iv assassination,' he says. 'Think,' he says, 'iv
some arnychist shootin' thirteen-inch shells at me,' he says, 'an'
maybe,' he says, 'dentin' me,' he says. 'No,' he says, 'I have a good
job where I am,' he says. 'All I've got to do,' he says, 'is to set up
at th' desk,' he says, 'an' not recall th' names iv th' gintlemen on
th' flure, an' me jooty's done,' he says. 'I thank ye kindly, Willum;
but I cannot accept ye'er gin'rous offer,' he says. 'Go back to th'
cell,' he says, 'an' slave like a convict,' he says. 'I will not rob
me frind,' he says, 'iv such an honor. But,' he says, 'tell me whin ye
thought iv throwin' up th' job, an' lavin' me br-reak into this
hateful prison,' he says. 'About th' year two thousan' an' eight, dear
frind,' says Mack. 'No, no,' says Tom Reed. 'I cannot accept it,' he
says, pressin' Mack's hand. ''Tis too much,' he says, 'an' too long,'
he says.

"'I lave ye,' he says, 'but I'll call on ye,' he says. 'Take,' he
says, 'this little silver-mounted bottle iv broomo-caffeen,' he says,
'an' think iv me,' he says. 'I will,' says Mack. 'Ar-ren't ye tired iv
ye'er long journey?' he says. 'Wudden't ye like to take a bath in th'
shark pond before ye go?' he says. An' so they backed away fr'm each
other, th' tears rollin' down their cheeks. Frindship, Hinnissy, is a
sacred thing."

"It is," said Mr. Hennessy, "if they are; but I don't b'lieve wan
wurrud ye tol' me."

"Well," said Mr. Dooley,