Finley Peter Dunne.

Mr. Dooley Says online

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on th' subject iv th' day to th' attintive knees an' feet iv th'
ministhry. It was into this here assimbly iv th' first gintlemen iv
Europe that ye see on ye'er way to France that th' furyous females
attimpted to enter. Undaunted be th' stairs iv th' building or th' rude
jeers iv th' multichood, they advanced to th' very outside dures iv th'
idifice. There an overwhelmin' force iv three polismen opposed thim.
'What d'ye want, mum?' asked the polls. 'We demand th' suffrage,' says
th' commander iv th' army iv freedom.

"The brutal polis refused to give it to thim an' a desp'rate battle
followed. Th' ladies fought gallantly, hurlin' cries iv 'Brute,'
'Monster,' 'Cheap,' et cethry, at th' constablry. Hat pins were dhrawn.
Wan lady let down her back hair; another, bolder thin th' rest, done a
fit on th' marble stairs; a third, p'raps rendered insane be sufferin'
f'r a vote, sthruck a burly ruffyan with a Japanese fan on th' little
finger iv th' right hand. Thin th' infuryated officers iv th' law
charged on th' champeens iv liberty. A scene iv horror followed.
Polismen seized ladies be th' arms and' led thim down th' stairs;
others were carried out fainting by th' tyrants. In a few minyits all
was over, an' nawthin' but three hundhred hairpins remained to mark th'
scene iv slaughter. Thus, Hinnissy, was another battle f'r freedom
fought an' lost."

"It sarves thim right," said Mr. Hennessy. "They ought to be at home
tindin' th' babies."

"A thrue statement an' a sound argymint that appeals to ivry man. P'raps
they havn't got any babies. A baby is a good substichoot f'r a ballot,
an' th' hand that rocks th' cradle sildom has time f'r anny other
luxuries. But why shud we give thim a vote, says I. What have they done
to injye this impeeryal suffrage that we fought an' bled f'r? Whin me
forefathers were followin' George Wash'nton an' sufferin' all th'
hardships that men endure campin' out in vacation time, what were th'
women doin'? They were back in Matsachoosetts milkin' th' cow, mendin'
socks, followin' th' plow, plantin' corn, keepin' store, shoein' horses,
an' pursooin' th' other frivvlous follies iv th' fair but fickle sect.
Afther th' war our brave fellows come back to Boston an' as a reward f'r
their devotion got a vote apiece, if their wives had kept th' Pilgrim
fathers that stayed at home fr'm foreclosin' th' morgedge on their
property. An' now, be hivens, they want to share with us what we won.

"Why, they wudden't know how to vote. They think it's an aisy job that
anny wan can do, but it ain't. It's a man's wurruk, an' a sthrong man's
with a sthrong stomach. I don't know annything that requires what Hogan
calls th' exercise iv manly vigor more thin votin'. It's th' hardest
wurruk I do in th' year. I get up befure daylight an' thramp over to th'
Timple iv Freedom, which is also th' office iv a livery stable. Wan iv
th' judges has a cold in his head an' closes all th' windows. Another
judge has built a roarin' fire in a round stove an' is cookin' red-hots
on it. Th' room is lit with candles an' karosene lamps, an' is crowded
with pathrites who haven't been to bed. At th' dure are two or three
polismen that maybe ye don't care to meet. Dock O'Leary says he don't
know annything that'll exhaust th' air iv a room so quick as a polisman
in his winter unyform. All th' pathrites an', as th' pa-apers call thim,
th' high-priests iv this here sacred rite, ar-re smokin' th' best
seegars that th' token money iv our counthry can buy.

"In th' pleasant warmth iv th' fire, th' harness on th' walls glows an'
puts out its own peculiar aromy. Th' owner iv th' sanchoo-ary iv Liberty
comes in, shakes up a bottle iv liniment made iv carbolic acid, pours it
into a cup an' goes out. Wan iv th' domestic attindants iv th' guests iv
th' house walks through fr'm makin' th' beds. Afther a while th' chief
judge, who knows me well, because he shaves me three times a week, gives
me a contimchous stare, asks me me name an' a number iv scand'lous
questions about me age.

"I'm timpted to make an angry retort, whin I see th' polisman movin'
nearer, so I take me ballot an' wait me turn in th' booth. They're all
occypied be writhin' freemen, callin' in sthrangled voices f'r somewan
to light th' candle so they'll be sure they ain't votin' th' prohybition
ticket. Th' calico sheets over th' front iv th' booths wave an' ar-re
pushed out like th' curtains iv a Pullman car whin a fat man is
dhressin' inside while th' thrain is goin' r-round a curve. In time a
freeman bursts through, with perspyration poorin' down his nose, hurls
his suffrage at th' judge an' staggers out. I plunge in, sharpen an inch
iv lead pencil be rendin' it with me teeth, mutilate me ballot at th'
top iv th' dimmycratic column, an' run f'r me life.

"Cud a lady do that, I ask ye? No, sir, 'tis no job f'r th' fair. It's
men's wurruk. Molly Donahue wants a vote, but though she cud bound
Kamachatka as aisily as ye cud this precint, she ain't qualified f'r it.
It's meant f'r gr-reat sturdy American pathrites like Mulkowsky th'
Pollacky down th' sthreet. He don't know yet that he ain't votin' f'r
th' King iv Poland. He thinks he's still over there pretindin' to be a
horse instead iv a free American givin' an imytation iv a steam dhredge.

"On th' first Choosday afther th' first Monday in November an' April a
man goes ar-round to his house, wakes him up, leads him down th'
sthreet, an' votes him th' way ye'd wather a horse. He don't mind
inhalin' th' air iv liberty in a livery stable. But if Molly Donahue
wint to vote in a livery stable, th' first thing she'd do wud be to get
a broom, sweep up th' flure, open th' windows, disinfect th' booths,
take th' harness fr'm th' walls, an' hang up a pitcher iv Niagary be
moonlight, chase out th' watchers an' polis, remove th' seegars, make
th' judges get a shave, an' p'raps invalydate th' iliction. It's no job
f'r her, an' I told her so.

"'We demand a vote,' says she. 'All right,' says I, 'take mine. It's
old, but it's trustworthy an' durable. It may look a little th' worse
f'r wear fr'm bein' hurled again a republican majority in this counthry
f'r forty years, but it's all right. Take my vote an' use it as ye
please,' says I, 'an' I'll get an hour or two exthry sleep iliction day
mornin',' says I. 'I've voted so often I'm tired iv it annyhow,' says I.
'But,' says I, 'why shud anny wan so young an' beautiful as ye want to
do annything so foolish as to vote?' says I. 'Ain't we intilligent
enough?' says she. 'Ye'ar too intilligent,' says I. 'But intilligence
don't give ye a vote.'

"'What does, thin,' says she. 'Well,' says I, 'enough iv ye at wan time
wantin' it enough. How many ladies ar-re there in ye'er Woman's Rights
Club?' 'Twinty,' says she. 'Make it three hundher,' says I, 'an' ye'll
be on ye'er way. Ye'er mother doesn't want it, does she? No, nor ye'er
sister Katie? No, nor ye'er cousin, nor ye'er aunt? All that iliction
day means to thim is th' old man goin' off in th' mornin' with a light
step an' fire in his eye, an' comin' home too late at night with a dent
in his hat, news-boys hollerin' exthries with th' news that fifty-four
votes had been cast in th' third precint in th' sivinth ward at 8
o'clock, an' Packy an' Aloysius stealin' bar'ls fr'm th' groceryman f'r
th' bone-fire. If they iver join ye an' make up their minds to vote,
they'll vote. Ye bet they will.'

"'Ye see, 'twas this way votin' come about. In th' beginnin' on'y th'
king had a vote, an' ivrybody else was a Chinyman or an Indyan. Th' king
clapped his crown on his head an' wint down to th' polls, marked a cross
at th' head iv th' column where his name was, an' wint out to cheer th'
returns. Thin th' jooks got sthrong, an' says they: Votin' seems a
healthy exercise an' we'd like to thry it. Give us th' franchise or
we'll do things to ye. An' they got it. Thin it wint down through th'
earls an' th' markises an' th' rest iv th' Dooley fam'ly, till fin'lly
all that was left iv it was flung to th' ign'rant masses like Hinnissy,
because they made a lot iv noise an' threatened to set fire to th'

"'An' there ye ar-re. Ye'll niver get it be askin' th' polis f'r it. No
wan iver got his rights fr'm a polisman, an' be th' same token, there
ar-re no rights worth havin' that a polisman can keep ye fr'm gettin'.
Th' ladies iv London ar-re followin' the right coorse, on'y there ain't
enough iv thim. If there were forty thousand iv thim ar-rmed with hat
pins an' prepared to plunge th' same into th' stomachs iv th' inimies iv
female suffrage, an' if, instead iv faintin' in th' ar-rms iv th'
constablry, they charged an' punctured thim an' broke their way into th'
House iv Commons, an' pulled th' wig off the speaker, an' knocked th'
hat over th' eyes iv th' prime ministher it wudden't be long befure some
mimber wud talk in his sleep in their favor. Ye bet! If ye'er suffrage
club was composed iv a hundhred thousand sturdy ladies it wudden't be
long befure Bill O'Brien wud be sindin' ye a box iv chocolate creams f'r
ye'er vote.'

"'Some day ye may get a vote, but befure ye do I'll r-read this in th'
pa-apers: A hundhred thousand armed an' detarmined women invaded th'
capital city to-day demandin' th' right to vote. They chased th' polis
acrost th' Pottymac, mobbed a newspaper that was agin th' bill, an'
tarred an' feathered Sinitor Glue, th' leader iv th' opposition. At 10
o'clock a rumor spread that th' Prisident wud veto th' bill, an'
instantly a huge crowd iv excited females gathered in front of the White
House, hurlin' rocks an' cryin' 'Lynch him!' Th' tumult was on'y quelled
whin th' Prisident's wife appeared on th' balcony an' made a brief
speech. She said she was a mimber iv th' local suffrage club, an' she
felt safe in assuring her sisters that th' bill wud be signed. If
nicissry, she wud sign it hersilf. (Cheers.) Th' Prisident was a little
onruly, but he was frequently that way. Th' marrid ladies in th'
aujeence wud undherstand. He meant nawthin'. It was on'y wan iv his
tantrums. A little moral suasion wud bring him ar-round all right. At
prisint th' Chief Magistrate was in th' kitchen with his daughter
settin' on his head.

"'Th' speech was received with loud cheers, an' th' mob proceeded down
Pinnslyvanya Avnoo. Be noon all enthrances to th' capital were jammed.
Congressmen attimptin' to enter were seized be th' hair iv th' head an'
made to sign a pa-aper promisin' to vote right. Immejately afther th'
prayer th' Hon'rable Clarence Gumdhrop iv Matsachoosetts offered th'
suffrage bill f'r passage. 'Th' motion is out iv ordher,' began th'
Speaker. At this minyit a lady standin' behind th' chair dhrove a
darning needle through his coat tails. 'But,' continued th' Speaker,
reachin' behind him with an agnized ex'pression, 'I will let it go
annyhow.' 'Mr. Speaker, I protest,' began th' Hon'rable Attila Sthrong,
'I protest - ' At this a perfeck tornado iv rage broke out in th'
gall'ries. Inkwells, bricks, combs, shoes, smellin' bottles, hand
mirrors, fans, an' powdher puffs were hurled at th' onforchnit mimber.
In the midst iv th' confusion th' wife iv Congressman Sthrong cud be
seen wavin' a par'sol over her head an' callin' out: 'I dare ye to come
home to-night, polthroon.'

"'Whin th' noise partially subsided, th' bold Congressman, his face
livid with emotion, was heard to remark with a sob: 'I was on'y about to
say I second th' motion, deary.' Th' bill was carried without a
dissintin' voice, an' rushed over to th' Sinit. There it was opposed be
Jeff Davis but afther a brief dialogue with th' leader iv th'
suffrageites, he swooned away. Th' Sinit fin'lly insthructed th' clerk
to cast th' unanimous vote f'r th' measure. To-night in th' prisince iv
a vast multichood th' Prisident was led out be his wife. He was
supported, or rather pushed, be two iv his burly daughters. He seemed
much confused, an' his wife had to point out th' place where he was to
sign. With tremblin' fingers he affixed his signature an' was led back.

"'The night passed quietly. Th' sthreets were crowded all avenin' with
good-natured throngs iv ladies, an' in front iv th' dry goods stores,
which were illuminated f'r th' occasion, it was almost impossible to get
through. Iv coorse there were th' usual riochous scenes in th' dhrug
stores, where th' bibulous gathered at th' sody-wather counthers an'
cillybrated th' victory in lemon, vanilla, an' choc'late, some iv thim
keepin' it up till 9 o'clock, or aven later.' 'Whin that comes about,
me child,' says I, 'ye may sheathe ye'er hat pins in ye'er millinary,
f'r ye'll have as much right to vote as th' most ignorant man in th'
ward. But don't ask f'r rights. Take thim. An' don't let anny wan give
thim to ye. A right that is handed to ye f'r nawthin' has somethin' th'
matther with it. It's more than likely it's on'y a wrong turned inside
out,' says I. 'I didn't fight f'r th' rights I'm told I injye, though to
tell ye th' truth I injye me wrongs more; but some wan did. Some time
some fellow was prepared to lay down his life, or betther still, th'
other fellows', f'r th' right to vote.'"

"I believe ye're in favor iv it ye'ersilf," said Mr. Hennessy.

"Faith," said Mr. Dooley, "I'm not wan way or th' other. I don't care.
What diff'rence does it make? I wudden't mind at all havin' a little
soap an' wather, a broom an' a dusther applied to pollyticks. It
wudden't do anny gr-reat harm if a man cudden't be illicted to office
onless he kept his hair combed an' blacked his boots an' shaved his chin
wanst a month. Annyhow, as Hogan says, I care not who casts th' votes
iv me counthry so long as we can hold th' offices. An' there's on'y wan
way to keep the women out iv office, an' that's to give thim a vote."


"This here pa-aper says," said Mr. Hennessy, "that they're goin' to put
a tax on bachelors. That's r-right. Why shudden't there be a tax on
bachelors? There's one on dogs."

"That's r-right," said Mr. Dooley. "An' they're goin' to make it five
dollars a year. Th' dogs pay only two. It's quite a concession to us.
They consider us more thin twice as vallyable, or annyhow more thin
twice as dangerous as dogs. I suppose ye expect next year to see me
throttin' around with a leather collar an' a brass tag on me neck. If me
tax isn't paid th' bachelor wagon'll come over an' th' bachelor
catcher'll lassoo me an' take me to th' pound an' I'll be kept there
three days an' thin, if still unclaimed, I'll be dhrowned onless th'
pound keeper takes a fancy to me. Ye'll niver see it, me boy. No, Sir.
Us bachelors ar-re a sthrong body iv men polytickally, as well as
handsome and brave. If ye thry to tax us we'll fight ye to th' end. If
worst comes to worst we won't pay th' tax. Don't ye think f'r a minyit
that light-footed heroes that have been eludin' onprincipled females all
their lives won't be able to dodge a little thing like a five-dollar
tax. There's no clumsy collector in th' wurruld that cud catch up with a
man iv me age who has avoided the machinations iv th' fair f'r forty
years an' remains unmarrid.

"An' why shud we be taxed? We're th' mainstay iv th' Constitution an'
about all that remains iv liberty. If ye think th' highest jooty iv
citizenship is to raise a fam'ly why don't ye give a vote to th' shad?
Who puts out ye'er fire f'r ye, who supports th' Naytional Governmint be
payin' most iv th' intarnal rivnoo jooties, who maintains th' schools ye
sind ye'er ignorant little childher to, be payin' th' saloon licenses,
who does th' fightin' f'r ye in th' wars but th' bachelors? Th' marrid
men start all th' wars with loose talk whin they're on a spree. But whin
war is declared they begin to think what a tur-rble thing 'twud be if
they niver come home to their fireside an' their wife got marrid again
an' all their grandchildher an' their great-grandchildher an' their
widow an' th' man that marrid her an' his divoorced wife an' their
rilitives, descindants, friends, an' acquaintances wud have to live on
afther father was dead and gone with a large piece iv broken iron in his
stomach or back, as th' case might be, but a pension come fr'm th'
Governmint. So, th' day war is declared ye come over here an' stick a
sthrange-lookin' weepin in me hand an' I close down me shop an' go out
somewhere I niver was befure an' maybe lose me leg defindin' th' hearths
iv me counthry, me that niver had a hearth iv me own to warm me toes by
but th' oil stove in me bedroom. An' that's th' kind iv men ye'd be
wantin' to tax like a pushcart or a cow. Onscrupulous villain!

"Whin ye tax th' bachelors ye tax valor. Whin ye tax th' bachelors ye
tax beauty. Ye've got to admit that we're a much finer lookin' lot iv
fellows thin th' marrid men. That's why we're bachelors. 'Tis with us as
with th' ladies. A lady with an erratic face is sure to be marrid befure
a Dhream iv Beauty. She starts to wurruk right away an' what Hogan calls
th' doctrine iv av'rages is always with thim that starts early an' makes
manny plays. But th' Dhream iv Beauty figures out that she can wait an'
take her pick an' 'tis not ontil she is bumpin' thirty that she wakes up
with a scream to th' peril iv her position an' runs out an' pulls a man
down fr'm th' top iv a bus. Manny a plain but determined young woman
have I seen happily marrid an' doin' th' cookin' f'r a large fam'ly whin
her frind who'd had her pitcher in th' contest f'r th' most beautiful
woman in Brighton Park was settin' behind th' blinds waitin' f'r some
wan to take her buggy ridin'.

"So it is with us. A man with a face that looks as if some wan had
thrown it at him in anger nearly always marries befure he is old enough
to vote. He feels he has to an' he cultivates what Hogan calls th'
graces. How often do ye hear about a fellow that he is very plain but
has a beautiful nature. Ye bet he has. If he hadn't an' didn't always
keep it in th' show-case where all th' wurruld cud see he'd be lynched
be th' Society f'r Municipal Improvement. But 'tis diff'rent with us
comely bachelors. Bein' very beautiful, we can afford to be haughty an'
peevish. It makes us more inthrestin'. We kind iv look thim over with a
gentle but supeeryor eye an' say to oursilves: 'Now, there's a nice,
pretty atthractive girl. I hope she'll marry well.' By an' by whin th'
roses fade fr'm our cheeks an' our eye is dimmed with age we bow to th'
inivitable, run down th' flag iv defiance, an' ar-re yanked into th'
multichood iv happy an' speechless marrid men that look like flashlight
pitchers. Th' best-lookin' iv us niver get marrid at all.

"Yes, Sir, there's no doubt we do a good deal to beautify th' landscape.
Whose pitchers ar-re those ye see in th' advertisemints iv th'
tailorman? There's not a marrid man among thim. They're all bachelors.
What does th' gents' furnishing man hang his finest neckties in th'
front window f'r but to glisten with a livelier iris, as Hogan says, th'
burnished bachelor? See th' lordly bachelor comin' down th' sthreet,
with his shiny plug hat an' his white vest, th' dimon stud that he wint
in debt f'r glistenin' in his shirt front, an' th' patent-leather shoes
on his feet out-shinin' th' noonday sun.

"Thin we see th' marrid man with th' wrinkles in his coat an' his tie
undher his ear an' his chin unshaven. He's walkin' in his gaiters in a
way that shows his socks ar-re mostly darned. I niver wore a pair iv
darned socks since I was a boy. Whin I make holes in me hosiery I throw
thim away. 'Tis a fine idee iv th' ladies that men are onhappy because
they have no wan to darn their socks an' put buttons on their shirts.
Th' truth is that a man is not onhappy because his socks ar-re not
darned but because they ar-re. An' as f'r buttons on his shirt, whin
th' buttons comes off a bachelor's shirt he fires it out iv th' window.
His rule about clothes is thurly scientific. Th' survival iv th' fit,
d'ye mind. Th' others to th' discard. No marrid man dares to wear th'
plumage iv a bachelor. If he did his wife wud suspict him. He lets her
buy his cravats an' his seegars an' 'tis little diff'rence it makes to
him which he smokes.

"'Twud be villanous to tax th' bachelors. Think iv th' moral side iv it.
What's that? Ye needn't grin. I said moral. Yes, Sir. We're th' most
onselfish people in th' wurruld. All th' throubles iv th' neighborhood
ar-re my throubles an' my throubles ar-re me own. If ye shed a tear f'r
anny person but wan ye lose ye'er latch-key, but havin' no wan in
partiklar to sympathize with I'm supposed to sympathize with ivry wan.
On th' conthry if ye have anny griefs ye can't bear ye dump thim on th'
overburdened shoulders iv ye'er wife. But if I have anny griefs I must
bear thim alone. If a bachelor complains iv his throubles people say:
'Oh, he's a gay dog. Sarves him right.' An' if he goes on complainin'
he's liable to be in gr-reat peril. I wudden't dare to tell me woes to
ye'er wife. If I did she'd have a good cry, because she injyes cryin',
an' thin she'd put on her bonnet an' r-run over an' sick th' widow
O'Brien on me.

"Whin a lady begins to wondher if I'm not onhappy in me squalid home
without th' touch iv a woman's hand ayether in th' tidy on th' chair or
in th' inside pocket iv th' coat, I say: 'No, ma'am, I live in gr-reat
luxury surrounded be all that money can buy an' manny things that it
can't or won't. There ar-re Turkish rugs on th' flure an' chandyleers
hang fr'm th' ceilins. There I set at night dhrinkin' absinthe, sherry
wine, port wine, champagne, beer, whisky, rum, claret, kimmel, weiss
beer, cream de mint, curaso, an' binidictine, occas'nally takin' a dhraw
at an opeem pipe an' r-readin' a Fr-rinch novel. Th' touch iv a woman's
hand wudden't help this here abode iv luxury. Wanst, whin I was away,
th' beautiful Swede slave that scrubs out me place iv business broke
into th' palachal boodoor an' in thryin' to set straight th' ile
paintin' iv th' Chicago fire burnin' Ilivator B, broke a piece off a
frame that cost me two dollars iv good money.' If they knew that th'
on'y furniture in me room was a cane-bottomed chair an' a thrunk an'
that there was nawthin' on th' flure but oilcloth an' me clothes, an'
that 'tis so long since me bed was made up that it's now a life-size
plaster cast iv me, I'd be dhragged to th' altar at th' end iv a chain.

"Speakin' as wan iv th' few survivin' bachelors, an old vethran that's
escaped manny a peril an' got out iv manny a difficult position with
honor, I wish to say that fair woman is niver so dangerous as whin she's
sorry f'r ye. Whin th' wurruds 'Poor man' rises to her lips an' th'
nurse light comes into her eyes, I know 'tis time f'r me to take me hat
an' go. An' if th' hat's not handy I go without it.

"I bet ye th' idee iv taxin' bachelors started with th' dear ladies. But
I say to thim: 'Ladies, is not this a petty revenge on ye'er best
frinds? Look on ye'er own husbands an' think what us bachelors have
saved manny iv ye'er sisters fr'm. Besides aren't we th' hope iv th'
future iv th' instichoochion iv mathrimony? If th' onmarrid ladies ar-re
to marry at all, 'tis us, th' bold bachelors, they must look forward to.
We're not bachelors fr'm choice. We're bachelors because we can't make a
choice. Ye all look so lovely to us that we hate to bring th' tears into
th' eyes iv others iv ye be marryin' some iv ye. Considher our
onforchnit position an' be kind. Don't oppress us. We were not meant f'r
slaves. Don't thry to coerce us. Continue to lay f'r us an' hope on. If
ye tax us there's hardly an old bachelor in th' land that won't fling
his five dollars acrost th' counter at th' tax office an' say: 'Hang th'


"Ye'er frind Simpson was in here awhile ago," said Mr. Dooley, "an' he
was that mad."

"What ailed him?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "it seems he wint into me frind Hip Lung's
laundhry to get his shirt an' it wasn't ready. Followin' what Hogan
calls immemoryal usage, he called Hip Lung such names as he cud remimber
and thried to dhrag him around th' place be his shinin' braid. But
instead iv askin' f'r mercy, as he ought to, Hip Lung swung a flat-iron
on him an' thin ironed out his spine as he galloped up th' stairs. He
come to me f'r advice an' I advised him to see th' American consul.
Who's th' American consul in Chicago now? I don't know. But Hogan, who
was here at th' time, grabs him be th' hand an' says he: 'I
congratulate ye, me boy,' he says. 'Ye have a chance to be wan iv th'
first martyrs iv th' white race in th' gr-reat sthruggle that's comin'
between thim an' th' smoked or tinted races iv th' wurruld,' he says.
'Ye'll be another Jawn Brown's body or Mrs. O'Leary's cow. Go back an'

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Online LibraryFinley Peter DunneMr. Dooley Says → online text (page 2 of 10)