' Pathriteism always dies when ye
establish a polis foorce."
"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'm kind iv sorry f'r th' la-ads with th'
bows an' arrows. Maybe they think they're pathrites."
"Divvle th' bit iv difference it makes what they think, so long as we
don't think so," said Mr. Dooley. "It's what Father Kelly calls a case
iv mayhem et chew 'em. That's Latin, Hinnissy; an' it manes what's wan
man's food is another man's pizen."
RUDYARD KIPLING.
"I think," said Mr. Dooley, "th' finest pothry in th' wurruld is wrote
be that frind iv young Hogan's, a man be th' name iv Roodyard Kipling.
I see his pomes in th' pa-aper, Hinnissy; an' they're all right.
They're all right, thim pomes. They was wan about scraggin' Danny
Deever that done me a wurruld iv good. They was a la-ad I wanst knew
be th' name iv Deever, an' like as not he was th' same man. He owed me
money. Thin there was wan that I see mintioned in th' war news wanst
in a while,--th' less we f'rget, th' more we raymimber. That was a
hot pome an' a good wan. What I like about Kipling is that his pomes
is right off th' bat, like me con-versations with you, me boy.
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