nce 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' corner 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 smoke-house, is Flannigan, payin' his first visit this side iv
th' thracks."

ON PATERNAL DUTY.

"I'm havin' a time iv it with Terence," said Mr. Hennessy, despondently.

"What's th' la-ad been doin'?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"It ain't so much what he's doin'," Mr. Hennessy explained, "as what he
ain't doin.' He ain't stayin' home iv nights, an' he ain't wurrukin';
but he does be out on th' corner with th' Cromleys an' th' rest, dancin'
jig steps an' whistlin' th' 'Rogue's March' whin a polisman goes by.
Sure, I can do nawthin' with him, f'r he's that kind an' good at home
that he'd melt th' heart iv a man iv stone. But it's gray me life is,
thinkin' iv what's to become iv him whin he gets to be a man grown.
Ye're lucky, Martin, that ye're childless."

"Sure, I cudden't be anny other way, an' hold me good name," said Mr.
Dooley. "An', whin I look about me sometimes, it's glad I am. They'se
been times, perhaps--But lave that go. Is there somethin' in th' air or
is it in oursilve