wan times in succession,
an' th' check rack was down to a margin iv eleven whites an'
fifty-three cints in change. Mike looked around th' crowd, an' turned
down th' box. 'Gintlemen,' says he, 'th' game is closed. Business
conditions are such,' he says, 'that I will not be able to cash in
ye'er checks,' he says. 'Please go out softly, so's not to disturb
th' gintlemen at th' roulette wheel,' he says, 'an' come back afther
th' iliction, whin confidence is restored an' prosperity returns to
th' channels iv thrade an' industhry,' he says. 'Th' exchange 'll be
opened promptly; an' th' usual rule iv chips f'r money an' money f'r
chips, fifty on cases an' sivinty-five f'r doubles, a hard-boiled egg
an' a dhrink f'r losers, will prevail,' he says. 'Return with th' glad
tidings iv renewed commerce, an' thank th' Lord I haven't took ye'er
clothes.' His was th' first stock exchange we had.

"Yes, Prosperity has come hollerin' an screamin'. To read th' papers,
it seems to be a kind iv a vagrancy law. No wan can loaf anny more.
Th' end iv vacation has gone f'r manny a happy lad that has spint six
months ridin' through th' counthry, dodgin' wurruk, or loafin' under
his own vine or hat-three. Prosperity grabs ivry man be th' neck, an'
sets him shovellin' slag or coke or runnin' up an' down a ladder with
a hod iv mortar. It won't let th' wurruld rest. If Humanity 'd been
victoryous, no wan 'd iver have to do a lick again to th' end iv his
days. But Prosperity's a horse iv another color. It goes round like a
polisman givin' th' hot fut to happy people that are snoozin' in th'
sun. 'Get up,' says Prosperity. 'Get up, an' hustle over to th'
rollin' mills: there's a man over there wants ye to carry a ton iv
coal on ye'er back.' 'But I don't want to wurruk,' says th' lad. 'I'm
very comfortable th' way I am.' 'It makes no difference,' says
Prosperity. 'Ye've got to do ye'er lick. Wurruk, f'r th' night is
comin'. Get out, an' hustle. Wurruk, or ye can't be unhappy; an', if
th' wurruld isn't unhappy, they'se no such a thing as Prosperity.'

"That's wan thing I can't understand," Mr. Dooley went on. "Th'
newspapers is run be a lot iv gazabos that thinks wurruk is th'
ambition iv mankind. Most iv th' people I know 'd be happiest layin'
on a lounge with a can near by, or stretchin' thimsilves f'r another
nap at eight in th' mornin'. But th' papers make it out that there 'd
be no sunshine in th' land without you an' me, Hinnissy, was up before
d