Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen | Page 4

man be th' name iv Roodyard Kipling. I
see his pomes in th' pa-aper, Hinnissy; an' they're all right. They're all
right, thim pomes. They was wan about scraggin' Danny Deever that
done me a wurruld iv good. They was a la-ad I wanst knew be th' name
iv Deever, an' like as not he was th' same man. He owed me money.
Thin there was wan that I see mintioned in th' war news wanst in a
while,--th' less we f'rget, th' more we raymimber. That was a hot pome
an' a good wan. What I like about Kipling is that his pomes is right off

th' bat, like me con-versations with you, me boy. He's a minyit-man, a
r-ready pote that sleeps like th' dhriver iv thruck 9, with his poetic pants
in his boots beside his bed, an' him r-ready to jump out an' slide down
th' pole th' minyit th' alarm sounds.
"He's not such a pote as Tim Scanlan, that hasn't done annything since
th' siege iv Lim'rick; an' that was two hundherd year befure he was
bor-rn. He's prisident iv th' Pome Supply Company,--fr-resh pothry
delivered ivry day at ye'er dure. Is there an accident in a grain illyvator?
Ye pick up ye'er mornin' pa-aper, an' they'se a pome about it be
Roodyard Kipling. Do ye hear iv a manhole cover bein' blown up?
Roodyard is there with his r-ready pen. ''Tis written iv Cashum-Cadi an'
th' book iv th' gr-reat Gazelle that a manhole cover in anger is tin
degrees worse thin hell.' He writes in all dialects an' anny language,
plain an' fancy pothry, pothry f'r young an' old, pothry be weight or
linyar measuremint, pothry f'r small parties iv eight or tin a specialty.
What's the raysult, Hinnissy? Most potes I despise. But Roodyard
Kipling's pothry is aisy. Ye can skip through it while ye're atin'
breakfuss an' get a c'rrect idee iv th' current news iv th' day,--who won
th' futball game, how Sharkey is thrainin' f'r th' fight, an' how manny
votes th' pro-hybitionist got f'r gov'nor iv th' State iv Texas. No col'
storage pothry f'r Kipling. Ivrything fr-resh an' up to date. All lays laid
this mornin'.
"Hogan was in to-day readin' Kipling's Fridah afthernoon pome, an' 'tis
a good pome. He calls it 'Th' Thruce iv th' Bear.' This is th' way it
happened: Roodyard Kipling had just finished his mornin' batch iv
pothry f'r th' home-thrade, an' had et his dinner, an' was thinkin' iv
r-runnin' out in th' counthry f'r a breath iv fr-resh air, whin in come a
tillygram sayin' that th' Czar iv Rooshia had sint out a circular letther
sayin' ivrybody in th' wurruld ought to get together an' stop makin' war
an' live a quite an' dull life. Now Kipling don't like the czar. Him an' th'
czar fell out about something, an' they don't speak. So says Roodyard
Kipling to himsilf, he says: 'I'll take a crack at that fellow,' he says. 'I'll
do him up,' he says. An' so he writes a pome to show that th' czar's
letter's not on th' square. Kipling's like me, Hinnissy. When I want to
say annything lib-lous, I stick it on to me Uncle Mike. So be Roodyard

Kipling. He doesn't come r-right out, an' say, 'Nick, ye're a liar!' but he
tells about what th' czar done to a man he knowed be th' name iv
Muttons. Muttons, it seems, Hinnissy, was wanst a hunter; an' he wint
out to take a shot at th' czar, who was dhressed up as a bear. Well,
Muttons r-run him down, an' was about to plug him, whin th' czar says,
'Hol' on,' he says,--'hol' on there,' he says. 'Don't shoot,' he says. 'Let's
talk this over,' he says. An' Muttons, bein' a foolish man, waited till th'
czar come near him; an' thin th' czar feinted with his left, an' put in a
right hook an' pulled off Muttons's face. I tell ye 'tis so. He jus' hauled
it off th' way ye'd haul off a porous plasther,--raked off th' whole iv
Muttons's fr-ront ilivation. 'I like ye'er face,' he says, an' took it. An' all
this time, an' 'twas fifty year ago, Muttons hasn't had a face to shave.
Ne'er a one. So he goes ar-round exhibitin' th' recent site, an' warnin'
people that, whin they ar-re shootin' bears, they must see that their gun
is kept loaded an' their face is nailed on securely. If ye iver see a bear
that looks like a man, shoot him on th' spot, or, betther still, r-run up an
alley. Ye must niver lose that face, Hinnissy.
"I showed th' pome to Father Kelly," continued Mr. Dooley.
"What did he say?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"He