“I—” said the Picked Chicken.
“—up as much as I do,” concluded the Rat.
“Excuse me for living,” said the Picked Chicken, “but—”
“Without consumers like me,” said the Rat, “there would be no demand for the feathers which you produce.”
“I shall vote for a change,” said the Picked Chicken.
“Only those who have feathers should have the Privilege of voting,” remarked the Rat.
“Mr. Dooley” on Prosperity
(See pages [683], [692], [698], [706], [709])
Yes, Prosperity has come hollerin’ an’ screamin’. To read th’ papers, it seems to be a kind iv a vagrancy law. No wan can loaf anny more. Th’ end iv vacation has gone f’r manny a happy lad that has spint six months ridin’ through th’ counthry, dodgin’ wurruk, or loafin’ under his own vine or hat-three. Prosperity grabs ivry man be th’ neck, an’ sets him shovellin’ slag or coke or runnin’ up an’ down a ladder with a hod iv mortar. It won’t let th’ wurruld rest.... It goes around like a polisman givin’ th’ hot fut to happy people that are snoozin’ in th’ sun. ‘Get up,’ says Prosperity. ‘Get up, an’ hustle over to th’ rollin’ mills: there’s a man over there wants ye to carry a ton iv coal on ye’er back.’ ‘But I don’t want to wurruk,’ says th’ lad. ‘I’m very comfortable th’ way I am.’ ‘It makes no difference,’ says Prosperity. ‘Ye’ve got to do ye’er lick. Wurruk, f’r th’ night is comin’. Get out, an’ hustle. Wurruk, or ye can’t be unhappy; an’, if th’ wurruld isn’t unhappy, they’se no such a thing as Prosperity.“