hange th' subject,' says Duggan, 'What show has Dorsey got in
th' Twinty-ninth? 'None at all,' says wan iv th' O'Neills who 'd come
over. 'He have th' Civic Featheration again him.' 'Who cares f'r th'
Civic Featheration?' says Mulcahey. 'They don't vote,' he says.
'What 'll kill Dorsey,' he says, 'is his bein' an Apee-a.' 'He's no
Apee-a,' says Mike O'Neill. 'I wint to th' Brothers' school with him,'
he says. 'Whiniver a man comes up that can't be downed anny way, he's
called an Apee-a,' he says. 'He's no more an Apee-a thin ye are,' he
says. 'D'ye mean to call me that?' says Mulcahey. 'Come out, an' have
a dhrink,' I says; an' we wint down.

"Well, Jawn, we had wan iv th' liveliest political argumints ye iver
see without so much as a blow bein' sthruck. Evenly matched, d'ye
mind, with a chair f'r ivry man. An' th' bar-tinder was a frind iv
mine. I knowed him whin he was with Schwartzmeister. A good la-ad,--a
good lad."

"But what about th' opera?" asked Mr. McKenna.

"Th' op'ra wus gr-reat," said Mr. Dooley; "but I think Mulcahey was
right. Dorsey can't win."

THE CHURCH FAIR.

"Wanst I knew a man," said Mr. Dooley, laying down his newspaper, "be
th' name iv Burke, that come fr'm somewhere around Derry, though he
was no Presbyteryan. He was iv th' right sort. Well, he was feelin'
how-come-ye-so, an' he dhrifted over to where we was holdin' a fair.
They was a band outside, an' he thought it was a grand openin'. So he
come in with a cigar in th' side iv his mouth an' his hat hangin' onto
his ear. It was th' last night iv th' fair, an' ivrything was wide
open; f'r th' priest had gone home, an' we wanted f'r to break th'
record. This Burke was f'r lavin' whin he see where he was; but we run
him again th' shootin' gallery, where ye got twinty-five cints, a
quarther iv a dollar, f'r ivry time ye rang th' bell. Th' ol' gun we
had was crooked as a ram's horn, but it must 've fitted into Burke's
squint; f'r he made that there bell ring as if he was a conducthor iv
a grip-car roundin' a curve. He had th' shootin' gallery on its last
legs whin we run him again th' wheel iv fortune. He broke it. Thin we
thried him on th' grab-bag. They was four goold watches an' anny
quantity iv brickbats an' chunks iv coal in th' bag. He had four
dives, an' got a watch each time. He took a chanst on ivrything; an'
he won a foldin'-bed, a doll that cud talk like an old gate, a pianny,
a lamp-shade, a Life iv St. Aloysius, a pair iv s