'Why, Terrence,' says me
mother, 'ye're smokin' again.' 'I'm not,' says he: ''tis a dhry
smoke,' he says; ''tisn't lighted,' he says. Wan week afther th'
swear-off he came fr'm th' field with th' pipe in his face, an' him
puffin' away like a chimney. 'Terrence,' says me mother, 'it isn't
Easter morn.' 'Ah-ho,' says he, 'I know it,' he says; 'but,' he says,
'what th' divvle do I care?' he says. 'I wanted f'r to find out
whether it had th' masthery over me; an',' he says, 'I've proved that
it hasn't,' he says. 'But what's th' good iv swearin' off, if ye don't
break it?' he says. 'An' annyhow,' he says, 'I glory in me shame.'
"Now, Jawn," Mr. Dooley went on, "I've got what Hogan calls a theery,
an' it's this: that what's thrue iv wan man's thrue iv all men. I'm me
father's son a'most to th' hour an' day. Put me in th' County
Roscommon forty year ago, an' I'd done what he'd done. Put him on th'
Ar-rchey Road, an' he'd be deliverin' ye a lecture on th' sin iv
thinkin' ye're able to overcome th' pride iv th' flesh, as Father
Kelly says. Two weeks ago I looked with contimpt on Hinnissy f'r an'
because he'd not even promise to fast an' obstain fr'm croquet durin'
Lent.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164