he says. 'Ah!' he says. 'Here's me
ol' frind Pat th' Clam,' he says. 'Pat, what d'ye know about this case?'
he says. 'None iv ye'er business,' says Pat. 'Answered like a man an' a
sojer,' says th' coort. 'Jackuse,' says Zola fr'm th' dureway. An' they
thrun him out. 'Call Col. Hinnery,' says th' coort. 'He ray-fuses to
answer.' 'Good. Th' case is clear. Cap forged th' will. Th' coort will
now adjourn f'r dools, an' all ladin' officers iv th' ar-rmy not in
disgrace already will assimble in jail, an' com-mit suicide,' he says.
'Jackuse,' says Zola, an' started f'r th' woods, pursued be his
fellow-editors. He's off somewhere in a three now hollerin' 'Jackuse' at
ivry wan that passes, sufferin' martyrdom f'r his counthry an' writin'
now an' thin about it all.

"That's all I know about Cap Dhry-fuss' case, an' that's all anny man
knows. Ye didn't know as much, Hinnissy, till I told ye. I don't know
whether Cap stole th' dog or not."

"What's he charged with?" Mr. Hennessy asked, in bewilderment.

"I'll niver tell ye," said Mr. Dooley. "It's too much to ask."

"Well, annyhow," said Mr. Hennessy, "he's guilty, ye can bet on that."

ON THE DECADENCE OF GREECE.

"That young Hogan is a smart la-ad," said Mr. Dooley. "A smart la-ad an'
a good wan, too."

"None betther," said Mr. Hennessy.

"None betther in th' ward," said Mr. Dooley, which was a high
appreciation. "But there ar-re things about human nature an' histhry
that ain't taught at Saint Ignateeus'. I tell thim to Hogan's la-ad.

"He was walkin' be th' store wan day las' week, an' I ast him how th'
wa-ar wint. 'Tis sthrange, with churches two in a block, an' public
schools as thick as lamp-posts, that, whin a man stops ye on th'
sthreet, he'll ayether ast ye th' scoor iv th' base-ball game or talk iv
th' Greek war with ye. I ain't seen annything that happened since
Parnell's day that's aroused so much enthusyasm on th' Ar-rchey Road as
th' Greek war. 'How goes th' war?' says I to young Hogan, 'How goes the
war between th' ac-cursed infidel an' th' dog iv a Christian?' I says.
'It goes bad,' he says. 'Th' Greeks won a thremenjous battle, killin'
manny millions iv th' Moslem murdherers, but was obliged to retreat
thirty-two miles in a gallop.' 'Is that so?' says I. 'Sure that seems to
be their luck,' I says. 'Whin-iver they win, they lose; an', whin they
lose, they lose,' I says. 'What ails thim?' I says. 'Is th' riferee
again thim?' 'I can't make it out,'