rice iv a dhrink in New York. He sets on his high stool
an' says he: 'Five times eight is twinty-nine, subthract three
f'r th' duchess, a quarther to one o'clock an' eighty miles fr'm
Narragansett pier is two-an'-a-half, plus th' load-wather-line iv
th' saloon companionway, akel to two-fifths iv th' differentyal
tangent. Huroo! Misther Sicrety, ye can go home an' tell ye'er
wife th' counthry's safe.' He has to be a smart man. A good
book-keeper, as th' pote says, is th' counthry's on'y safety. He
mus' be careful, too, d'ye mind. Th' honor iv th' army an' the
navy is at stake. Wan or th' other iv thim has been careless."

"D'ye think a foreign fleet cud capture this counthry?" asked Mr.
Hennessy.

"Not onless it was op'rated be a throlley," said Mr. Dooley.

"Supposin' ye an' I had throuble, Hinnissy, an' both iv us was
armed with bricks an' ye was on roller skates an' I was on th' top
iv a house, how much chanst wud ye have again' me? Ships is good
to fight other ships. That's all. I'd sooner be behind a bank
iv mud thin in th' finest ship in th' wurruld. A furrin inimy
thryin' to get up to New York wud be like a blind burglar attimptin'
to walk on th' top iv a hot-house with all th' neighbors an' th'
neighbors' dogs waitin' f'r him. Th' war game is all right. It
don't do anny harm. But it's like punchin' th' bag an' I'd jus'
as soon thrain a man f'r a fight be larnin' him to play th' mandolin,
as be insthructin' him in bag punchin'. It's a fine game. I don't
know who won, but I know who lost."

"Who's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Th' threeasury," said Mr. Dooley.

Newspaper Publicity

"Was ye iver in th' pa-apers?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"Wanst," said Mr. Hennessy. "But it wasn't me. It was another
Hinnissy. Was you?"

"Manny times," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin I was prom'nent socyally,
ye cud hardly pick up a pa-aper without seein' me name in it an'
th' amount iv th' fine. Ye must lade a very simple life. Th'
newspaper is watchin' most iv us fr'm th' cradle to th' grave, an'
befure an' afther. Whin I was a la-ad thrippin' continted over
th' bogs iv Roscommon, ne'er an iditor knew iv me existence, nor
I iv his. Whin annything was wrote about a man 'twas put this
way: 'We undhershtand on good authority that M--l--chi H---y,
Esquire, is on thrile before Judge G----n on an accusation iv
l--c--ny. But we don't think it's true.' Nowadays th' larceny is
discovered be a newspa-aper. Th' lea