'Did he escape?' 'In a sinse.
He's dead.'

"So, Hinnissy, I'd like to be a judge iv a high coort, dhreamin'
th' happy hours away. No hurry, no sthrivin' afther immejet
raysults, no sprintin', no wan hollenin' 'Dooley J. hurry up with
that ne exeat,' or 'Dooley, hand down that opinyion befure th'
batthry gives out.' 'Tis th' thrue life iv aise an' gintlemanly
comfort. 'Tis wait till th' clouds rowl by; 'tis time was meant
for slaves; 'tis a long life an' a happy wan. Like th' Shamrock
II, th' coort acts well in stays but can't run befure th' wind.
A jury is f'r hangin' ivry man, but th' high coort says: 'Ye must
die, but take ye'er time about it an' go out th' way ye like.' If
I wanted to keep me money so that me gran'childher might get it
f'r their ol' age, I'd appeal it to th' supreme coort. Oh, th'
fine judge I'd make, f'r I can sleep annywhere, an' I'm niver
impatient f'r annywan to get his jooes."

"I don't see," said Mr. Hennessy, "why they have anny juries. Why
don't they thry ivry man before th' supreme coort an' have done
with it?"

"I have a betther way than that," said Mr. Dooley. "Ye see they'e
wurrukin' on time now. I wondher if they wudden't sthep livelier
if they were paid be th' piece."

Sherlock Holmes

"Dorsey an' Dugan are havin' throuble," said Mr. Hennessy.

"What about?" asked Mr. Dooley.

"Dorsey," said Mr. Hennessy, "says Dugan stole his dog. They had
a party at Dorsey's an' Dorsey heerd a noise in th' back yard an'
wint out an' see Dugan makin' off with his bull tarryer."

"Ye say he see him do it?"

"Yis, he see him do it."

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "'twud baffle th' injinooty iv a Sherlock
Holmes."

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?"

"He's th' gr-reatest detictive that iver was in a story book.
I've been r-readin' about him an' if I was a criminal, which I wud
be if I had to wurruk f'r a livin', an' Sherlock Holmes got afther
me, I'd go sthraight to th' station an' give mesilf up. I'd lay
th' goods on th' desk an' say: 'Sargeant, put me down in th' hard
cage. Sherlock Holmes has jus' see a man go by in a cab with a
Newfoundland dog an' he knows I took th' spoons.' Ye see, he ain't
th' ordh'nry fly cop like Mulcahy that always runs in th' Schmidt
boy f'r ivry crime rayported fr'm stealin' a ham to forgin' a check
in th' full knowledge that some day he'll get him f'r th' right
thing. No, sir; he's an injanyous man that can put two an' two
together an' make eight iv th