Mr. Dooley's Philosophy
   "An' so it goes. Ivrywhere th' dillygates tur-rns they see th' sign:
'This is me busy day.' An' whin they get back home they can tell th'
people they found th' United States exudin' sympathy at ivry pore—
'marked private.'"

   "Don't ye think th' United States is enthusyastic f'r th' Boers?" asked
the innocent Hennessy.

   "It was," said Mr. Dooley. "But in th' las' few weeks it's had so manny
things to think iv. Th' enthusyasm iv this counthry, Hinnissy, always
makes me think iv a bonfire on an ice-floe. It burns bright so long as
ye feed it, an' it looks good, but it don't take hold, somehow, on th'
ice."

   "Well, sir," said Mr. Hennessy, "to think iv th' audacity iv thim

   Chinymen! It do bate all."

   "It do that," said Mr. Dooley. "It bates th' wurruld. An' what's it
comin' to? You an' me looks at a Chinyman as though he wasn't good f'r
annything but washin' shirts, an' not very good at that. Tis wan iv th'
spoorts iv th' youth iv our gr-reat cities to rowl an impty beer keg
down th' steps iv a Chinee laundhry, an' if e'er a Chinyman come out to
resint it they'd take him be th' pigtail an' do th' joynt swing with
him. But th' Chinyman at home's a diff'rent la-ad. He's with his frinds
an' they're manny iv thim an' he's rowlin' th' beer kegs himsilf an'
Westhren Civilization is down in th' laundhry wondhrin' whin th'
police'll come along."

   "Th' Lord f'rgive f'r sayin' it, Hinnissy, but if I was a Chinyman,
which I will fight anny man f'r sayin,' an' was livin' at home, I'd tuck
me shirt into me pants, put me braid up in a net, an' go out an' take a
fall out iv th' in-vader if it cost me me life. Here am I, Hop Lung
Dooley, r-runnin' me little liquor store an' p'rhaps raisin' a family in
th' town iv Koochoo. I don't like foreigners there anny more thin I do
here. Along comes a bald-headed man with chin whiskers from Baraboo,
Wisconsin, an' says he: 'Benighted an' haythen Dooley,' says he, 'ye
have no God,' he says. 'I have,' says I. 'I have a lot iv thim,' says I.
'Ye ar-re an oncultivated an' foul crather,' he says. 'I have come six
thousan' miles f'r to hist ye fr'm th' mire iv ignorance an' 
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