Mr. Dooley: In the Hearts of His Countrymen

by Finley Peter Dunne

OLD AGE.

"Skatin'," said Mr. Dooley, "was intinded f'r th' young an' gay. 'Tis not f'r th' likes iv me, now that age has crept into me bones an' whitened th' head iv me. Divvle take th' rheumatics! An' to think iv me twinty years ago cuttin' capers like a bally dancer, whin th' Desplaines backed up an' th' pee-raires was covered with ice fr'm th' mills to Riverside. Manny's th' time I done th' thrick, Jawn, me an' th' others; but now I break me back broachin' a kag iv beer, an' th' height iv me daily exercise is to wind th' clock befure turnin' in, an' count up th' cash."

"You haven't been trying to skate?" Mr. McKenna asked in tones of alarm.

"Not me," said Mr. Dooley. "Not me, but Hinnissy have. Hinnissy, th' gay young man; Hinnissy, th' high-hearted, divvle-may-care sphread-th'-light,—Hinnissy's been skatin' again. May th' Lord give that man sinse befure he dies! An' he needs it right away. He ain't got long to live, if me cousin, Misther Justice Dooley, don't appoint a garjeen f'r him.

"I had no more thought whin I wint over with him that th' silly goat 'd thry his pranks thin I have iv flyin' over this here bar mesilf. Hinnissy is—let me see how ol' Hinnissy is. He was a good foot taller thin me th' St. John's night whin th' comet was in th' sky. Let me see, let me see! Jawn Dorgan was marrid to th' widdy Casey (her that was Dora O'Brien) in th' spring iv fifty-two, an' Mike Callahan wint to Austhreelia in th' winter iv sixty. Hinnissy's oldest brother was too old to inlist in th' army. Six an' thirty is thirty-six. Twict thirty-six is sivinty-two, less eight is sixty-four, an' nine, carry wan,—let me see. Well, Hinnissy is ol' enough to know betther.

"We wint to th' pond together, an' passed th' time iv day with our frinds an' watched th' boys an' girls playin' shinny an' sky-larkin' hand in hand. They come separate, Jawn; but they go home together, thim young wans. I see be his face Spoort Hinnissy was growin' excited. 'Sure,' says he, 'there's nawthin' like it,' he says. 'Martin,' he says, 'I'll challenge ye to race,' he says. 'So ye will,' says I. 'So ye will,' I says. 'Will ye do it?' says he. 'Hinnissy,' says I, 'come home,' I says, 'an' don't disgrace ye'er gray hairs befure th' whole parish,' says I. 'I'll have ye to know,' says he, 'that 'tis not long since I cud cut a double eight with anny wan in Bridgeport,' he says.

"At that Tom Gallagher's young fly-be-night joined in; an' says he, 'Misther Hinnissy,' he says, 'if ye'll go on,' he says, 'I'll fetch ye a pair iv skates.' 'Bring thim along,' says Hinnissy. An' he put thim on. Well, Jawn, he sthud up an' made wan step, an' wan iv his feet wint that way an' wan this; an' he thrun his hands in th' air, an' come down on his back. I give him th' merry laugh. He wint clear daft, an' thried to sthruggle to his feet; an', th' more he thried, th' more th' skates wint fr'm undher him, till he looked f'r all th' wurruld like wan iv thim little squirrels that goes roun' on th' wheel in Schneider's burrud store.

"Gallagher's lad picked him up an' sthud him on his feet; an' says he, politely, 'Come on,' he says, 'go roun' with me.' Mind ye, he took him out to th' middle iv th' pond, Hinnissy movin' like a bridge horse on a slippery thrack; an' th' lad shook him off, an' skated away. 'Come back!' says Hinnissy. 'Come back!' he says. 'Tom, I'll flay ye alive whin I catch ye on th' sthreet! Come here, like a good boy, an' help me off. Dooley,' he roars to me, 'ain't ye goin' to do annything?' he says. 'Ne'er a thing,' says I, 'but go home.' 'But how 'm I goin' to cross?' he says. 'Go down on ye'er knees an' crawl,' says I. 'Foolish man!' I says. An' he done it, Jawn. It took him tin minyits to get down in sections, but he done it. An' I sthud there, an' waited f'r him while he crawled wan block over th' ice, mutterin' prayers at ivry fut.

"I wint home with him aftherwards; an' what d'ye think he said? 'Martin,' says he, 'I've been a sinful man in me time; but I niver had th' like iv that f'r a pinance,' he says. 'Think iv doin' th' stations iv th' cross on th' ice,' he says. 'Hinnissy,' I says, 'they'se no crime in th' catalogue akel to bein' old,' I says. 'Th' nearest thing to it,' I says, 'is bein' a fool,' I says; 'an' ye're both,' I says."