hile till a man got up an' shook
his fist at th' chairman. 'What's that? what's that?' says Hinnissy.
'What's that?' he says. 'Hurroo, hurroo,' he says, lammin' th' man
fr'm Iaway with his goold-headed cane. 'What ails ye, man alive?' says
I. 'Why,' he says, 'they've nommynated Billy,' he says. 'Billy who?'
says I. 'Why, Willum J. O'Brien,' he says.

"'A sthrong man,' says he, addhressin' th' man fr'm Iaway. 'I shud say
he was,' says th' man. 'Th' sthrongest man that iver come down th'
road,' says Hinnissy. 'Why,' he says, 'I see that man put up an' eight
iv beer with wan hand,' he says, 'holdin' it be th' rim,' he says.
'None sthronger,' he says. 'But will he carry Illinye?' says th' lad
fr'm Iaway. 'Will he carry Illinye?' says Hinnissy. 'Why, man alive,'
he says, 'I've see him carry a prim'ry in th' sixth precint,' he says.
'Is that enough f'r ye?' he says. 'He's a good speaker,' says th'
Iaway man. 'He is that,' says Hinnissy; 'an' he was wan iv th' best
waltzers that flung a foot at th' County Dimocracy picnic,' he says.
'But will he make a good fight?' says th' man. 'Will he?' says
Hinnissy. 'Will he make a good fight?' he says. 'Dooley,' he says,
'this here Dimmycrat wants to know if Bill 'll make a good fight. Why,'
he says, 'if he iver gets to Washington an' wan iv th' opprissors iv
th' people goes again him, give him Jackson Park or a clothes closet,
gun or soord, ice-pick or billyard cue, chair or stove leg, an'
Bill 'll make him climb a tree,' he says. 'I'd like to see wan iv thim
supreme justices again Bill O'Brien on an income tax or anny other
ord-nance,' he says. 'He'd go in an' lame thim with th' Revised
Statutes.' 'I presume,' says th' lad, 'that ye'er fr'm Omaha.' 'I'll
tear ye'er hair out,' says Hinnissy.'

"'Ye idjit,' says I, whin I had him in th' sthreet, 'it wasn't Bill
O'Brien was nommynated,' says I. 'What ar-re ye talkin' about?' says
he. 'I seen him on th' flure,' he says. 'He had th' sinitor iv
Missoury be th' throat whin ye took me away,' he says.

"I left him there; but he come into th' place at six o'clock, an'
borrid a paper an' pencil. Thin he wint back, an' sat down an' wrote.
'What ar-re ye doin' there?' says I. 'I've wrote a sketch iv th'
nominee f'r th' Stock-yards Sun,' he says. 'Listen to it. Willum J.
O'Brien,' he says, 'was born in th' County iv Mayo forty years ago,'
he says. 'He received a limited education, his parents even thin
designin' him f'r th' Prisidincy. Bein' unab