THE RISING OF THE SUBJECT RACES
"Ye'er frind Simpson was in here awhile ago," said Mr. Dooley, "an' he was that mad."
"What ailed him?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "it seems he wint into me frind Hip Lung's laundhry to get his shirt an' it wasn't ready. Followin' what Hogan calls immemoryal usage, he called Hip Lung such names as he cud remimber and thried to dhrag him around th' place be his shinin' braid. But instead iv askin' f'r mercy, as he ought to, Hip Lung swung a flat-iron on him an' thin ironed out his spine as he galloped up th' stairs. He come to me f'r advice an' I advised him to see th' American consul. Who's th' American consul in Chicago now? I don't know. But Hogan, who was here at th' time, grabs him be th' hand an' says he: 'I congratulate ye, me boy,' he says. 'Ye have a chance to be wan iv th' first martyrs iv th' white race in th' gr-reat sthruggle that's comin' between thim an' th' smoked or tinted races iv th' wurruld,' he says. 'Ye'll be another Jawn Brown's body or Mrs. O'Leary's cow. Go back an' let th' Chink kill ye an' cinchries hence people will come with wreathes and ate hard-biled eggs on ye'er grave,' he says.
"But Simpson said he did not care to be a martyr. He said he was a retail grocer be pro-fissyon an' Hip Lung was a customer iv his, though he got most iv his vittles fr'm th' taxydermist up th' sthreet an' he thought he'd go around to-morrah an' concilyate him. So he wint away.
"Hogan, d'ye mind, has a theery that it's all been up with us blondes since th' Jap'nese war. Hogan is a prophet. He's wan iv th' gr-reatest prophets I know. A prophet, Hinnissy, is a man that foresees throuble. No wan wud listen a minyit to anny prophet that prophesized pleasant days. A successful weather prophet is wan that predicts thunder storms, hurrycanes an' earthquakes; a good financial prophet is wan that predicts panics; a pollytickal prophet must look into th' tea leaves an' see th' institutions iv th' wurruld cracked wide open an' th' smiling not to say grinnin', fields iv this counthry iv ours,' or somebody's laid waste with fire and soord. Hogan's that kind iv a prophet. I'm onhappy about to-day but cheerful about to-morrah. Hogan is th' happyest man in th' wurruld about to-day but to-morrah something is goin' to happen. I hate to-day because to-morrah looks so good. He's happy to-day because it is so pleasant compared with what to-morrah is goin' to be. Says I: 'Cheer up; well have a good time at th' picnic next Saturdah.' Says he: 'It will rain at th' picnic.'
"He's a rale prophet. I wudden't pick him out as a well-finder. He cudden't find a goold mine f'r ye but he cud see th' bottom iv wan through three thousand feet iv bullyon. He can peer into th' most blindin' sunshine an' see th' darkness lurkin' behind it. He's predicted ivry war that has happened in our time and eight thousand that haven't happened to happen. If he had his way th' United States navy wud be so big that there wudden't be room f'r a young fellow to row his girl in Union Park. He can see a war cloud where I can't see annything but somebody cookin' his dinner or lightin' his pipe. He'd made th' gr-reat foreign iditor an' he'd be fine f'r th' job f'r he's best late at night.
"Hogan says th' time has come f'r th' subjick races iv th' wurruld to rejooce us fair wans to their own complexion be batin' us black and blue. Up to now 'twas: 'Sam, ye black rascal, tow in thim eggs or I'll throw ye in th' fire. 'Yassir,' says Sam. 'Comin',' he says. 'Twas: 'Wow Chow, while ye'er idly stewin' me cuffs I'll set fire to me unpaid bills.' I wud feel repaid be a kick,' says Wow Chow. 'Twas: 'Maharajah Sewar, swing th' fan swifter or I'll have to roll over f'r me dog whip.' 'Higgins Sahib,' says Maharajah Sewar, 'Higgins Sahib, beloved iv Gawd an' Kipling, ye'er punishments ar-re th' nourishment iv th' faithful. My blood hath served thine f'r manny ginerations. At laste two. 'Twas thine old man that blacked my father's eye an' sint my uncle up f'r eighty days. How will ye'er honor have th' accursed swine's flesh cooked f'r breakfast in th' mornin' when I'm through fannin' ye?'
"But now, says Hogan, it's all changed. Iver since th' Rooshyans were starved out at Port Arthur and Portsmouth, th' wurrad has passed around an' ivry naygur fr'm lemon color to coal is bracin' up. He says they have aven a system of tilly-graftin' that bates ours be miles. They have no wires or poles or wathered stock but th' population is so thick that whin they want to sind wurrud along th' line all they have to do is f'r wan man to nudge another an' something happens in Northern Chiny is known in Southern Indya befure sunset. And so it passed through th' undherwurruld that th' color line was not to be dhrawn anny more, an' Hogan says that almost anny time he ixpicts to see a black face peerin' through a window an' in a few years I'll be takin' in laundhry in a basement instead iv occypyin' me present impeeryal position, an' ye'll be settin' in front iv ye'er cabin home playin' on a banjo an' watchin' ye'er little pickahinnissies rollickin' on th' ground an' wondhrn' whin th' lynchin' party'll arrive.
"That's what Hogan says. I niver knew th' subjick races had so much in thim befure. A few years ago I had no more thought iv Japan thin I have iv Dorgan's cow. I admire Dorgan's cow. It's a pretty cow. I have often leaned on th' fence an' watched Dorgan milkin' his cow. Sometimes I wondhered in a kind iv smoky way why as good an' large a cow as that shud let a little man like Dorgan milk her. But if Dorgan's cow shud stand up on her hind legs, kick over the bucket, chase Dorgan out iv th' lot, put on a khaki unyform, grab hold of a Mauser rifle an' begin shootin' at me, I wudden't be more surprised thin I am at th' idee iv Japan bein' wan iv th' nations iv th' wurruld. I don't see what th' subjick races got to kick about, Hinnissy. We've been awfully good to thim. We sint thim missionaries to teach thim th' error iv their relligyon an' nawthin' cud be kinder thin that f'r there's nawthin' people like betther thin to be told that their parents are not be anny means where they thought they were but in a far more crowded an' excitin' locality. An' with th' missionaries we sint sharpshooters that cud pick off a Chinyman beatin' th' conthribution box at five hundherd yards. We put up palashal goluf-coorses in the cimitries an' what was wanst th' tomb iv Hung Chang, th' gr-reat Tartar Impror, rose to th' dignity iv bein' th' bunker guardin' th' fifth green. No Chinyman cud fail to be pleased at seem' a tall Englishman hittin' th' Chinyman's grandfather's coffin with a niblick. We sint explorers up th' Nile who raypoorted that th' Ganzain flows into th' Oboo just above Lake Mazap, a fact that th' naygurs had known f'r a long time. Th' explorer announces that he has changed th' names iv these wather-coorses to Smith, Blifkins an' Winkinson. He wishes to deny th' infamyous story that he iver ate a native alive. But wan soon succumbs to th' customs iv a counthry an' Sir Alfred is no viggytaryan.