Part 10 (2/2)

”That if you want to see Dooley you'll have to call upon him at his place of business. It's a saloon, I believe,” I observed. ”Or a club--most American saloons are clubs, I understand.”

”I wonder if there's a ladies' day there?” laughed Dolly. ”If there isn't, perhaps I'd better not.”

And I of course agreed, for when Dolly thinks perhaps she'd better not, I always agree with her, particularly when the thing is a trifle unconventional.

”I am sorry,” she said, as we reached the conclusion. ”To visit Chicago without meeting Mr. Dooley strikes me as like making the Mediterranean trip without seeing Gibraltar.”

But we were not to be disappointed, after all, for that afternoon who should call but the famous philosopher himself, accompanied by his friend Mr. Hennessey. They were ushered into our little parlor, and Dolly received them radiantly.

”Iv coorse,” said Dooley, ”I hatter come t' see me new-found cousin.

Hennessey here says, he says, 'She ain't yer cousin,' he says; but whin I read yer car-r-rd over th' second time, an' see yer na-a-ame was R.

Dooley-Ra.s.sendyll, wid th' hifalution betwixt th' Dooley an' th'

Ra.s.sendyll, I says, 'Hennessey,' I says, 'that shmall bit iv a coupler in that na-a-ame means only wan thing,' I says. 'Th' la-ady,' I says, 'was born a Dooley, an' 's prood iv it,' I says, 'as she'd ought to be,'

I says. 'Shure enough,' says Hennessey; 'but they's Dooleys an'

Dooleys,' he says. 'Is she Roscommon or Idunnaw?' he says. 'I dinnaw meself,' I says, 'but whichiver she is,' I says, 'I'm goin' to see her,'

I says. 'Anny wan that can feel at home in a big hotel like the Hippojorium,' I says, 'is wort' lookin' at, if only for the curawsity of it,' I says. Are ye here for long?”

”We are just pa.s.sing through,” said Dolly, with a pleased smile.

”It's a gud pla-ace for that,” said Dooley. ”Thim as pa.s.s troo Chicago ginerally go awaa pleased, an' thim as stays t'ink it's th' only pla-ace in th' worruld, gud luk to 'em! for, barrin' Roscommon an' New York, it's th' only pla-ace I have anny use for. Is yer hoosband anny relation t' th' dood in the _Prizner iv Cinders_?”

I laughed quietly, but did not resent the implication. I left Dolly to her fate.

”He is the very same person,” said Dolly.

”I t'ought as much,” said Dooley, eying me closely. ”Th' strorberry mark on his hair sort of identified him,” he added. ”Cousin Roopert, I ta-ak ye by the hand. Ye was a bra-ave lad in th' first book, an' a dom'd fool in th' second; but I read th' second first, and th' first lasht, so whin I left ye ye was all right. I t'ought ye was dead?”

”No,” said I. ”I am only dead in the sense that Mr. Hope has no further use for me.”

”A wise mon, that Mr. Ant'ny Hawp,” said Dooley. ”Whin I write me book,”

he continued, ”I'm goin' t' shtop short whin folks have had enough.”

”Oh, indeed!” cried Dolly, enthusiastically. ”Are you writing a book, Mr. Dooley? I am so glad.”

”Yis,” said Dooley, deprecatingly, yet pleased by Dolly's enthusiasm.

”I'm half finished already. That is to say, I've made th'

ill.u.s.thrations. An' the publishers have accepted the book on th'

stringth iv them.”

”Really?” said Dolly. ”Do you really draw?”

”Nawm,” said Dooley. ”I niver drew a picture in me life.”

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