'Dooley,' he says,
'this here Dimmycrat wants to know if Bill 'll make a good fight. Why,'
he says, 'if he iver gets to Washington an' wan iv th' opprissors iv
th' people goes again him, give him Jackson Park or a clothes closet,
gun or soord, ice-pick or billyard cue, chair or stove leg, an'
Bill 'll make him climb a tree,' he says. 'I'd like to see wan iv thim
supreme justices again Bill O'Brien on an income tax or anny other
ord-nance,' he says. 'He'd go in an' lame thim with th' Revised
Statutes.' 'I presume,' says th' lad, 'that ye'er fr'm Omaha.' 'I'll
tear ye'er hair out,' says Hinnissy.'
"'Ye idjit,' says I, whin I had him in th' sthreet, 'it wasn't Bill
O'Brien was nommynated,' says I. 'What ar-re ye talkin' about?' says
he. 'I seen him on th' flure,' he says. 'He had th' sinitor iv
Missoury be th' throat whin ye took me away,' he says.
"I left him there; but he come into th' place at six o'clock, an'
borrid a paper an' pencil. Thin he wint back, an' sat down an' wrote.
'What ar-re ye doin' there?' says I. 'I've wrote a sketch iv th'
nominee f'r th' Stock-yards Sun,' he says.
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