ame time. That day was past. She hadn't
got to th' pint where she cud dhrink champagne an' keep it out iv her
nose. Th' passin' years had impaired all possible foundations f'r a new
crop iv hair. Sometimes conversation lagged.

"Mud Center is a long way fr'm th' Casino. Th' last successful
exthravaganza that th' lady had seen was a lecture be Jawn B. Gough. She
got her Eyetalian opry out iv a music box. What was there f'r this joynt
intelleck an' this household tyrant to talk about? No wondher he pined.
Think iv this Light iv th' Tendherloin bein' compelled to set down ivry
month or two an' chat about a new tooth that Hiven had just sint to a
fam'ly up th' sthreet! Nor was that all. She give him no rest. Time an'
time again she asked him was he comin' home that night. She tortured his
proud spirit be recallin' th' time whin she used to flag him fr'm th'
window iv th' room where Papa had locked her in. She aven wint so far
as to dhraw on him th' last cow'rdly weapon iv brutal wives--their
tears. One time she thravelled to New York an' wan iv his frinds seen
her. Oh, it was crool, crool. Hinnissy, tell me, wud ye condim this
gr-reat man to such a slavery just because he'd made a rash promise whin
he didn't have a cent in th' wurruld? Th' law said no. Whin th' Gr-reat
Fi-nanceer cud stand it no longer he called upon th' Judge to sthrike
off th' chains an' make him a free man. He got a divoorce.

"I dare ye to come down to my house an' say thim things," said Mr.
Hennessy.

"Oh, I know ye don't agree with me," said Mr. Dooley. "Nayether does th'
parish priest. He's got it into his head that whin a man's marrid he's
marrid, an' that's all there is to it. He puts his hand in th' grab-bag
an' pulls out a blank an' he don't get his money back.

"'Ill-mated couples?' says he. 'Ill-mated couples? What ar-re ye talkin'
about? Ar-re there anny other kinds? Ar-re there anny two people in th'
wurruld that ar-re perfectly mated?' he says. 'Was there iver a
frindship that was annything more thin a kind iv suspension bridge
between quarrels?' he says. 'In ivry branch iv life,' says he, 'we leap
fr'm scrap to scrap,' he says. 'I'm wan iv th' best-timpered men in th'
wurruld, am I not? ('Ye are not,' says I.) I'm wan iv th' kindest iv
mortals,' he says, 'but put me in th' same house with Saint Jerome,' he
says, 'an' there'd be at laste wan day in th' month whin I'd answer his
last wurrd be slammin' th' dure behind me,' he says. 'Man is