ar-re not frivolous, excitable people like us an' th' Frinch, but can
take a batin' without losin' their heads."

   "Sure," said Mr. Hennessy, "tis not thim that does th' fightin'. Th' la-
ads with th' guns has that job."

   "Well," said Mr. Dooley, "they'se two kinds iv fightin'. Th' experts
wants th' ar-rmy to get into Pretoria dead or alive, an' th' sojers
wants to get in alive. I'm no military expert, Hinnissy. I'm too well
known. But I have me own opinyon on th' war. All this talk about th'
rapid fire gun an' modhren methods iv warfare makes me wondher. They'se
not so much diff'rence between war now an' war whin I was a kid, as they
let on. Th' gun that shoots ye best fr'm a distance don't shoot ye so
well close to. A pile iv mud is a pile iv mud now just th' same as it
was whin Gin'ral Grant was pokin' ar-round. If th' British can get over
th' mud pile they win th' fight. If they can't they're done. That's all
they'se to it. Mos' men, sthrongest backs, best eyes an' th' ownership
iv th' mud piles. That's war, Hinnissy. Th' British have th' men.
They're shy iv backs, eyes an' mud piles, an' they will be until they
larn that sheep-herdin' an' gin'ralship ar-re diff'rent things, an' fill
up their ar-rmy with men that ar-re not fightin' f'r money or glory, but
because they want to get home to their wives alive."

   "Ye talk like an' ol book," said Mr. Hennessy, in disgust. "Ye with ye-
re maundhrin' ar-re no betther thin thim expert la-ads."

   "Well annyhow," said Mr. Dooley thoughtfully, "th' expert is sarvin' a
useful purpose. Th' papers says th' rapid fire gun'll make war in th'
future impossible. I don't think that, but I know th' expert will."

   "If iver I wanted to go to war," said Mr. Dooley, "an' I niver did, th'
desire has passed fr'm me iv late. Ivry time I read iv th' desthructive
power iv modhern explosives col' chills chase each other up an' down me
spine."

   "What's this here stuff they calls lyddite?" Mr. Hennessy asked.

   "Well, 'tis th' divvle's own med'cine," said Mr. Dooley. "Compared with
lyddite joynt powdher is Mrs. Winslow's soothin' surup, an' ye cud lave

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