because I
don't invy thim, an' ye can't be down on anny man ye don't invy.
'Tis a hard job an' a thankless wan. A king nowadays is no more
thin a hitchin' post f'r wan pollytician afther another. He ain't
allowed to move himsilf, but anny crazy pollytician that ties up
to him is apt to pull him out be th' roots. He niver has anny
childhood. He's like th' breaker-boys in th' mines; he's put to
wurruk larnin' his thrade as soon as he can walk. Whin it comes
time f'r him to marry, th' prime ministher takes him out wan day
an' says: 'There's th' on'y woman in th' wurruld f'r ye.' 'But I
niver see her befure,' says th' unforchnit king. 'Ye'll see less
iv her afther nex' week,' says th' prime ministher. 'Ye're goin'
to marry her,' he says. An' he backs him up to th' bench where
th' young lady sets an' inthrajooces thim an' they're marrid.
Think iv havin' th' boord iv aidhermen silict a wife f'r ye an'
ye'll know how th' king feels whin a warrant is sarved again' him
to hook up with his cousin Agoosta Ann, a German lady who freckles
aisily an' croshays neckties f'r a lift'nant in th' army. All his
life long a king is bossed about like a hired girl in a boardin'
house, an' he can't aven die without havin' a lot iv people runnin'
in ivry tin minyits to ask has he done it yet so they can be on
th' mark to holler 'God save th' king' out iv th' front window th'
moment th' flag falls. No, sir; I don't want to be a king an'
whiniver I see a good fellow takin' th' job, I feel sorry f'r him.
I know what he is up again'."

"I believe ye're no betther thin th' rest iv thim thraitors," said
Mr. Hennessy.

"I'm diff'rent," said Mr. Dooley, calmly. "They helped him in an'
I'd do annything in me power, now that he is king, to help him out."

One Advantage of Poverty

"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "ye ought to be glad ye're not sick
an' illusthrees at th' same time."

"How's that?" Mr. Hennessy demanded.

"Well, ye see," said Mr. Dooley, "suppose annything happens to ye
now; a fellow counthryman dhrops a hammer on ye th' day afther th'
picnic or ye'er di-gestion listens to a walkin' dillygate fr'm th'
Union iv Microbes an' goes out on sthrike. Th' polisman on th'
corner has th' usual suspicions among gintlemen an' hits ye over
th' head an' calls th' wagon an' sinds ye home. Th' good woman
wrings her hands an' calls Hiven to witness that if ye have a
toothache ye wake th' neighborhood, an' slaps a mustard plasthe