MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES
by Finley Peter Dunne
"That frind iv ye'ers, Dugan, is an intilligent man," said
Mr. Dooley. "All he needs is an index an' a few illusthrations
to make him a bicyclopedja iv useless information."
"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, judiciously, "he ain't no Soc-rates
an' he ain't no answers-to-questions colum; but he's a good
man that goes to his jooty, an' as handy with a pick as some
people are with a cocktail spoon. What's he been doin' again
"Nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "but he was in here Choosday.
'Did ye vote?' says I. 'I did,' says he. 'Which wan iv th'
distinguished bunko steerers got ye'er invalu'ble suffrage?'
says I. 'I didn't have none with me,' says he, 'but I voted
f'r Charter Haitch,' says he. 'I've been with him in six
ilictions,' says he, 'an' he's a good man,' he says. 'D'ye
think ye're votin' f'r th' best?' says I. 'Why, man alive,'
I says, 'Charter Haitch was assassinated three years ago,'
I says. 'Was he?' says Dugan. 'Ah, well, he's lived that
down be this time. He was a good man,' he says.
"Ye see, that's what thim rayform lads wint up again. If I
liked rayformers, Hinnissy, an' wanted f'r to see thim win
out wanst in their lifetime, I'd buy thim each a suit iv
chilled steel, ar-rm thim with raypeatin' rifles, an' take
thim east iv State Sthreet an' south iv Jackson Bullyvard.
At prisint th' opinion that pre-vails in th' ranks iv th'
gloryous ar-rmy iv ray-form is that there ain't anny-thing
worth seein' in this lar-rge an' commodyous desert but th'
pest-house an' the bridewell. Me frind Willum J. O'Brien is
no rayformer. But Willum J. undherstands that there's a few
hundherds iv thousands iv people livin' in a part iv th'
town that looks like nawthin' but smoke fr'm th' roof iv th'
Onion League Club that have on'y two pleasures in life, to
wur-ruk an' to vote, both iv which they do at th' uniform
rate iv wan dollar an' a half a day. That's why Willum
J. O'Brien is now a sinitor an' will be an aldherman afther
next Thursdah, an' it's why other people are sinding him
"This is th' way a rayform candydate is ilicted. Th' boys down
town has heerd that things ain't goin' r-right somehow. Franchises
is bein' handed out to none iv thim; an' wanst in a while a mimber
iv th' club, comin' home a little late an' thryin' to riconcile a
pair iv r-round feet with an embroidered sidewalk, meets a sthrong
ar-rm boy that pushes in his face an' takes away all his marbles.
It begins to be talked that th' time has come f'r good citizens
f'r to brace up an' do somethin', an' they agree to nomynate a
candydate f'r aldherman. 'Who'll we put up?' says they. 'How's
Clarence Doolittle?' says wan. 'He's laid up with a coupon thumb,
an' can't r-run.' 'An' how about Arthur Doheny?' 'I swore an oath
whin I came out iv colledge I'd niver vote f'r a man that wore a
made tie.' 'Well, thin, let's thry Willie Boye.' 'Good,' says th'
comity. 'He's jus' th' man f'r our money.' An' Willie Boye, after
thinkin' it over, goes to his tailor an' ordhers three dozen pairs
iv pants, an' decides f'r to be th' sthandard-bearer iv th' people.
Musin' over his fried eyesthers an' asparagus an' his champagne,
he bets a polo pony again a box of golf-balls he'll be ilicted
unanimous; an' all th' good citizens make a vow f'r to set th'
alar-rm clock f'r half-past three on th' afthernoon iv iliction
day, so's to be up in time to vote f'r th' riprisintitive iv
"'Tis some time befure they comprehind that there ar-re other
candydates in th' field. But th' other candydates know it. Th'
sthrongest iv thim--his name is Flannigan, an' he's a re-tail
dealer in wines an' liquors, an' he lives over his establishment.
Flannigan was nomynated enthusyastically at a prim'ry held in
his bar-rn; an' befure Willie Boye had picked out pants that
wud match th' color iv th' Austhreelyan ballot this here Flannigan
had put a man on th' day watch, tol' him to speak gently to anny
raygistered voter that wint to sleep behind th' sthove, an' was
out that night visitin' his frinds. Who was it judged th' cake
walk? Flannigan. Who was it carrid th' pall? Flannigan. Who was
it sthud up at th' christening? Flannigan. Whose ca-ards did th'
grievin' widow, th' blushin' bridegroom, or th' happy father find
in th' hack? Flannigan's. Ye bet ye'er life. Ye see Flannigan
wasn't out f'r th' good iv th' community. Flannigan was out f'r
Flannigan an' th' stuff.
"Well, iliction day come around; an' all th' imminent frinds
iv good gover'mint had special wires sthrung into th' club, an'
waited f'r th' returns. Th' first precin't showed 28 votes f'r
Willie Boye to 14 f'r Flannigan. 'That's my precin't,' says
Willie. 'I wondher who voted thim fourteen?' 'Coachmen,' says
Clarence Doolittle. 'There are thirty-five precin'ts in this
ward,' says th' leader iv th' rayform ilimint. 'At this rate,
I'm sure iv 440 meejority. Gossoon,' he says, 'put a keg iv
sherry wine on th' ice,' he says. 'Well,' he says, 'at last th'
community is relieved fr'm misrule,' he says. 'To-morrah I will
start in arrangin' amindmints to th' tariff schedool an' th'
ar-bitration threety,' he says. 'We must be up an' doin',' he
says. 'Hol' on there,' says wan iv th' comity. 'There must be
some mistake in this fr'm th' sixth precin't,' he says. 'Where's
the sixth precin't?' says Clarence. 'Over be th' dumps,' says
Willie. 'I told me futman to see to that. He lives at th'
cor-ner iv Desplaines an' Bloo Island Av'noo on Goose's Island,'
he says. 'What does it show?' 'Flannigan, three hundherd an'
eighty-five; Hansen, forty-eight; Schwartz, twinty; O'Malley,
sivinteen; Casey, ten; O'Day, eight; Larsen, five; O'Rourke,
three; Mulcahy, two; Schmitt, two; Moloney, two; Riordon, two;
O'Malley, two; Willie Boye, wan.' 'Gintlemin,' says Willie
Boye, arisin' with a stern look in his eyes, 'th' rascal has
bethrayed me. Waither, take th' sherry wine off th' ice.
They'se no hope f'r sound financial legislation this year.
I'm goin' home.'
"An', as he goes down th' sthreet, he hears a band play an'
sees a procission headed be a calceem light; an', in a carredge,
with his plug hat in his hand an' his di'mond makin' th' calceem
look like a piece iv punk in a smokehouse, is Flannigan, payin'
his first visit this side iv th' thracks."
~~~~~~~ THE END ~~~~~~~