ght to wan, the odds again an Orangeman at a
wake, that ye'll not know where ye're goin'."

"Tut, tut," said Mr. McKenna, indifferently.

"Ye may tut-tut till ye lay an egg," said Mr. Dooley, severely, "ye
ol' hen; but 'tis so. I read it in th' pa-papers yesterdah afthernoon
that Brinnan--'tis queer how thim Germans all get to be polismen,
they're bright men, th' Germans, I don't think--Brinnan says, says he,
that th' city do be overrun with burglars an' highwaymen, so he
ordhers th' polis to stick up ivry pedesthreen they meet afther
closin' time. 'Tis good for him he named th' hour, f'r 'tis few
pedesthreens save an' except th' little kids with panneckers that most
iv th' polis meet befure midnight. Look at there table, will ye? 'An
ax done it,' says ye? No, faith, but th' fist iv a Kerry polisman they
put on this here bate last week. He done it ladin' thrumps. 'Thank
Gawd," says I, 'ye didn't have a good hand,' I says, 'or I might have to
call in th' wreckin' wagon.' Thim Kerry men shud be made to play
forty-fives with boxin'-gloves on.

"I read about th' ordher, but it slipped me min' las' night. I was
down at a meetin' iv th' Hugh O'Neills, an' a most intherestin'
meetin' it was, Jawn. I'd been niglictful iv me jooty to th' cause iv
late, an' I was surprised an' shocked to hear how poor ol' Ireland was
sufferin'. Th' rayport fr'm th' Twinty-third Wa-ard, which is in th'
County Mayo, showed that th' sthreet clanin' conthract had been give
to a Swede be th' name iv Oleson; an' over in th' Nineteenth Wa-ard
th' County Watherford is all stirred up because Johnny Powers is
filled th' pipe-ya-ard with his own rilitives. I felt dam lonely, an'
with raison, too; f'r I was th' on'y man in th' camp that didn't have
a job. An' says I, 'Gintlemen,' says I, 'can't I do something f'r
Ireland, too?' I says. 'I'd make a gr-reat city threasurer,' says I,
'if ye've th' job handy,' I says; and at that they give me th' laugh,
and we tuk up a subscription an' adjourned.

"Well, sir, I started up Ar-rchey Road afther th' meetin', forgettin'
about Brennan's ordhers, whin a man jumps out fr'm behind a tree near
th' gas-house. 'Melia murther!' says I to mesilf. ''Tis a highwayman!'
Thin, puttin' on a darin' front an' reachin' f'r me handkerchief, I
says, 'Stand back, robber!' I says. 'Stand back, robber!' I says.
'Stand back!' I says.

"'Excuse _me_,' says th' la-ad. 'I beg ye'er pardon,' he says.

"'Beg th' pardon iv Hiven,' says I