Observations By Mr. Dooley Part 14

Arctic Exploration

"This here business iv Artic exploration's th' gran' pursoot,"

said Mr. Dooley. "A gran', comfortable, fightin', quarrelin'

business."

"What's it all about?" asked Mr. Hennessy. "Why shud annywan want to go to th' North Pole? Ain't it cold enough here?"

"I niver cud quite make it out," said Mr. Dooley. "I've heerd tell that years ago, befure th' fire or th' war, some wan had an idee in his foolish head that they was a gran' sea up there with blue wather dimplin' in th' moonlight an' cocynut threes growin'

on th' sh.o.r.e an' if a man cud on'y get in with his boat, he cud sail around th' wurruld an' fetch up in Chiny. That idee blew up an' thin some wan said 'twud be a fine thing f'r science if a white man cud get to th' North Pole. What he'd do if he got there no wan has anny thought. Accordin' to what I hear, th' North Pole ain't like a tillygraft pole, a barber pole, a fis.h.i.+n' pole, a clothes pole, a poll-tax, a Maypole, a Russhyan Pole, or annything that ye can see, smell or ate. Whin ye get to it, it is no diff'rent fr'm bein' annywhere on th' ice. Th' on'y way ye know ye're there is be consultin' a pocket arithmetic, a watch an' a compa.s.s. Don't get it into ye'er head that if me frind Baldwin or Peary iver wint north iv Milwaukee an' come acrost th' North Pole they'd carve their names on it or hist a flag over it or bring it home with thim on a thruck an' set it up on th' lake front. Th' north pole is a gigantic column iv cold air, some says hot, an' an enthusyastic explorer that wasn't lookin' where he wint might pa.s.s right through it without knowin'.

"In th' arly days whin an explorer wint off to find th' Pole, he bought himsilf a sheepskin coat, a couple iv dogs, a pair iv skates, an' a bottle iv pickled onions an' set out bravely, an' th' people watched th' fam'ly to see what other form th' lunacy wud take.

Afther awhile he ayether come back or he didn't. Sometimes th'

Esqueemo lady didn't care to lave her pleasant home in th' land iv perpetchool blubber an' in that case th' hardy mariner remained in th' frozen north. I niver cud see th' advantages iv life in th' Artic regions. 'Tis thrue th' nights is six months long an'

sleep is wan iv th' spoorts that age hasn't deprived me iv. It mus' be a gr-reat counthry f'r burglars. But f'r a plain wurrukin'

man it's very thryin'. Think iv a six months' wurrukin' day. Ye get ye'er breakfast at sun-up in March an' ye don't set down to dinner till th' first iv June. Thin comes a long afthernoon an'

I tell ye whin th' whistle blows at six o'clock October, it's a welcome sound it sinds to ye'er ears. Ye go home an' all th'

childher has growed up an' th' news in th' mornin' pa-per is six months' old. Ye lie around readin' an' playin' cards f'r a month or two an' thin ye yawn an' set th' alarm clock f'r March an' says: 'Mah, it's th' fifteenth iv Novimber an' time th' childher was abed,' an' go to sleep. About Christmas th' good woman wakes ye up to look f'r th' burglar an' afther ye've paddled around in th'

ice floe f'r a week, ye climb back into bed grumblin' an' go to sleep again. Afther awhile ye snore an' th' wife iv ye'er bosom punches ye. 'What time is it?' says ye. 'It's a quarther past th' fifteenth iv Janooary,' says she, 'an' that siren iv ye'ers has been goin' since New Year's day.' At March ye ar-re aroused be th' alarm clock an' ye go out to feed th' seals an' I tell ye, ye need a shave. It mus' be a quare sinsation to wake up in th'

mornin' an' find that th' kid ye tucked into bed th' night befure has grown side-whiskers in his sleep an' his feet has pushed out th' foot iv th' cradle. Not f'r my money, Hinnissy. Th' Artic regions f'r thim that likes thim but give me a land where ye don't tell th' time iv day be th' almynac.

"But other people is diff'rent. Th' boldest Artic explorer is a man that's made his money out iv sellin' base-burnin' stoves an'

has chillblains in July. Such a man is niver continted till he's started somebody off f'r th' northest north. An' he has no throuble to find a man. Nex' to bein' invited on a private yacht to sail in th' Middyteranyan, th' nicest thing a millyonaire can do f'r ye is to make an Artic explorer iv ye. Th' prelim'naries is great spoort. F'r two years ye go round th' counthry letchrin' on 'What I will see in th' Artic regions whin I get there if at all.' Fin'lly ye set off with th' fleet, consistin' iv a s.h.i.+p f'r ye'ersilf, three f'r th' provisions, two f'r th' clothes an' wan f'r th'

diaries. They'se also a convoy. Th' business iv th' convoy is to dhrop in at Thromsoe in Norway an' ast f'r news iv ye. Thromsoe is wan iv th' farthest north places that anny explorer has been.

But it well repays a visit, bein' a thrivin', bustlin' Swede city with a good club. Afther th' long sthruggle with th' pitiliss ice machine it is very pleasant to dhrop in on this hospital community an' come back that night be thrain. Well, as I was sayin', wan explorer starts off in a fur suit an' has th' time iv his life an'

th' other explorer stays at home an' suffers th' crool hards.h.i.+ps an' bitther disapp'intments iv life in Brooklyn. Lashed to his rockin' chair, he s.h.i.+vers ivry time th' wind blows an' he thinks iv his hardy partner facin' th' purls iv that far-off region iv ice an' snow an' funny little Esqueemo women in union garments iv fur. 'He's in Greenland now; he's battlin' with th' deadly ice floe; now he's ra.s.slin' with a Polar bear; he's up; he's away; he's reached th' Pole; he's pullin' it up be th' roots; bravo Baldy!' An' so he goes till his hands is all chapped fr'm thinkin'

iv th' cold an' his leg is lame fr'm th' encounther with a Polar bear an' his rockin' chair is in danger iv bein' dashed to pieces again' th' threacherous pianny. An' wan day a message comes fr'm th' other explorer: 'Rio Janeiro. We have rayturned, baffled but not defeated. Th' pickled walnuts give out befure we reached th'

West Indies. As far as we've gone we've had excellent raysults.

Th' cap'n, th' mate, th' cook, th' stewart an' eighty per cint iv th' crew is in ir'ns an' as soon as I've got this tillygram off I'm goin' in to punch th' surgeon. I congratylate ye. Ye'er name will stand high among th' binnyfactors iv science. We have demonsthrated beyond fear iv conthrydiction that th' gulf sthream is jus' where it was an' that volcanoes ain't what they are cracked up to be. Our motto is: "Niver give up th' s.h.i.+p. It's too comfortable." Who's ye'er banker here?' Whin th' millyionaire dies iv exposure, a victim to science, th' mariner rayturns an' letchers on th' subject: 'Quarrels I have had in th' frozen north.' Talk about th' terrors, iv Artic exploration, Hinnissy! There's where ye get thim. Did ye iver go to an Artic exploration letcher? I did wanst. They was wan down at th' brothers' school las' winther.

I've been lame iver since.

"None iv it in mine, if ye plaze. It's too hot wurrik in thim clothes. An' aven if ye get up near th' pole, what's it good f'r?

Th' climate is disagreeable, an' th' s'ciety is monotonous.

Ivrybody dhresses alike. Th' wan tailor makes th' clothes f'r pah, mah, Lucille an' th' Polar bear out iv th' same patthern.

If ye go to coort a girl, ye don't know befure she speaks whether 'tis hersilf or her Uncle Mike. I heerd iv an Artic explorer wanst that held hands with a Swede sicond mate f'r over an hour befure he ralized his mistake.

"No, sir, no Artic explorations f'r me, ayether pers'nally or be check. But if I did go into it, I know who I'd sind. I'd not fool around with people who begin to cough within sight iv th' car barns. I'd utilize th' folks in th' neighborhood. I'd pathronize home industhries. Th' Pole f'r th' polars, says I. They mus' be hundherds iv la-ads up in that part iv th' wurruld that'd be willin' to earn an honest dollar be discoverin' th' pole. With thim 'twud be like ye goin' down to explore th' stock yards. I bet manny iv thim knows th' pole as well as I know Haley's slough.

Ye'd prob'ly find they've hung their was.h.i.+n' on it f'r years an'

manny iv th' kids has s.h.i.+nned up it."

"Who'd ye sind?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Esqueemos," said Mr. Dooley.

Machinery

Mr. Dooley was reading from a paper.

"'We live,' he says, 'in an age iv wondhers. Niver befure in th'

histhry iv th' wurruld has such progress been made.'

"Thrue wurruds an' often spoken. Even in me time things has changed. Whin I was a la-ad Long Jawn Wintworth cud lean his elbows on th' highest buildin' in this town. It took two months to come here fr'm Pittsburg on a limited raft an' a stage coach that run fr'm La Salle to Mrs. Murphy's hotel. They wasn't anny tillygraft that I can raymimber an' th' sthreet car was pulled be a mule an' dhruv be an engineer be th' name iv Mulligan. We thought we was a pro-grissive people. Ye bet we did. But look at us today. I go be Casey's house tonight an' there it is a fine storey-an'-a-half frame house with Casey settin' on th' dure shtep dhrinkin' out iv a pail. I go be Casey's house to-morrah an'

it's a hole in th' groun'. I rayturn to Casey's house on Thursdah an' it's a fifty-eight storey buildin' with a morgedge onto it an'

they're thinkin' iv takin' it down an' replacin' it with a modhren sthructure. Th' shoes that Corrigan th' cobbler wanst wurruked on f'r a week, hammerin' away like a woodp.e.c.k.e.r, is now tossed out be th' dozens fr'm th' mouth iv a masheen. A cow goes lowin'

softly in to Armours an' comes out glue, beef, gelatine, fertylizer, celooloid, joolry, sofy cus.h.i.+ons, hair restorer, was.h.i.+n' sody, soap, lithrachoor an' hed springs so quick that while aft she's still cow, for'ard she may be annything fr'm huttons to Pannyma hats. I can go fr'm Chicago to New York in twinty hours, but I don't have to, thank th' Lord. Thirty years ago we thought 'twas marvelous to be able to tillygraft a man in Saint Joe an' get an answer that night. Now, be wireless tillygraft ye can get an answer befure ye sind th' tillygram if they ain't careful. Me friend Macroni has done that. Be manes iv his wondher iv science a man on a s.h.i.+p in mid-ocean can sind a tillygram to a man on sh.o.r.e, if he has a confid'rate on board. That's all he needs. Be mechanical science an' thrust in th' op'rator annywan can set on th' sh.o.r.e iv Noofoundland an' chat with a frind in th' County Kerry.

"Yes, sir, mechanical science has made gr-reat sthrides. Whin I was a young man we used to think Hor'ce Greeley was th' gr-reatest livin' American. He was a gran' man, a gran' man with feathers beneath his chin an' specs on his nose like th' windows in a diver's hemlet. His pollyticks an' mine cudden't live in th' same neighborhood but he was a gran' man all th' same. We used to take th' Cleveland Plain Daler in thim days f'r raycreation an' th' New York Thrybune f'r exercise. 'Twas considhered a test iv a good natured dimmycrat if he cud read an article in th' Thrybune without havin' to do th'

stations iv th' cross aftherward f'r what he said. I almost did wanst but they was a line at th' end about a frind iv mine be th'

name iv Andhrew Jackson an' I wint out an' broke up a Methodist prayer meetin'. He was th' boy that cud put it to ye so that if ye voted th' dimmycrat tickit it was jus' th' same as demandin'

a place in purgytory. Th' farmers wud plant annything fr'm a ruty baga to a congressman on his advice. He niver had money enough to buy a hat but he cud go to th' sicrety iv th' threasury an'

tell him who's pitcher to put on th' useful valentines we thrade f'r groceries.

"But if Hor'ce Greeley was alive today where'd he be? Settin' on three inches iv th' edge iv a chair in th' outside office iv me frind Pierpont Morgan waitin' f'r his turn. In th' line is th'

Imp'ror iv Germany, th' new cook, th' prisidint iv a railroad, th'

cap'n iv th' yacht, Rimbrandt th' painther, Jawn W. Grates, an'

Hor'ce. Afther awhile th' boy at th' dure says: 'Ye're next, ol'

party. Shtep lively f'r th' boss has had a Weehawken Peerooginy sawed off on him this mornin' an' he mustn't he kep' waitin'.' An'

th' iditor goes in. 'Who ar-re ye?' says th' gr-reat man, givin' him wan iv thim piercin' looks that whin a man gets it he has to be sewed up at wanst. 'I'm ye'er iditor,' says Hor'ce.

'What's ye'er spis.h.i.+lty?' 'Tahriff an' th' improvemint iv th'

wurruld,' says Hor'ce. 'See Perkins,' says Pierpont, an' th'

intherview is over. Now what's made th' change? Mechanical Science, Hinnissy. Some wan made a masheen that puts steel billets within th' reach iv all. Hince Charlie Schwab.

"What's it done f'r th' wurruld? says ye. It's done ivrything.

It's give us fast s.h.i.+ps an' an autymatic hist f'r th' hod, an'

small flats an' a taste iv solder in th' peaches. If annybody says th' wurruld ain't betther off thin it was, tell him that a masheen has been invinted that makes honey out iv pethrolyum. If he asts ye why they ain't anny Shakesperes today, say: 'No, but we no longer make sausages he hand.'

"'Tis pro-gress. We live in a cinchry iv pro-gress an' I thank th' Lord I've seen most iv it. Man an' boy I've lived pretty near through this wondherful age. If I was proud I cud say I seen more thin Julyus Caesar iver see or cared to. An' here I am, I'll not say how old, still pus.h.i.+n' th' malt acrost th' counther at me thirsty counthrymen. All around me is th' refinemints iv mechanical janius. Instead iv broachin' th' beer kag with a club an' dhrawin'

th' beer through a fa.s.sit as me Puritan forefathers done, I have that wondher iv invintive science th' beer pump. I cheat mesilf with a cash raygisther. I cut off th' end iv me good cigar with an injanyous device an' pull th' cork out iv a bottle with a conthrivance that wud've made that frind that Hogan boasts about, that ol' boy Archy Meeds, think they was witchcraft in th' house.

Science has been a gr-reat blessin' to me. But amidst all these granjoors here am I th' same ol' antiquated combination iv bellows an' pump I always was. Not so good. Time has worn me out. Th'

years like little boys with jackknives has carved their names in me top. Ivry day I have to write off something f'r deprecyation.

'Tis about time f'r whoiver owns me to wurruk me off on a thrust.

Mechanical science has done ivrything f'r me but help me. I suppose I ought to feel supeeryor to me father. He niver see a high buildin'

but he didn't want to. He cudden't come here in five days but he was a wise man an' if he cud've come in three he'd have stayed in th' County Roscommon.

"Th' pa-apers tells me that midical science has kept pace with th' hop-skip-an'-a-jump iv mechanical inginooty. Th' doctors has found th' mickrobe iv ivrything fr'm lumbago to love an' fr'm jandice to jealousy, but if a brick bounces on me head I'm crated up th' same as iv yore an' put away. Rockyfellar can make a pianny out iv a bar'l iv crude ile, but no wan has been able to make a blade iv hair grow on Rockyfellar. They was a doctor over in France that discovered a kind iv a thing that if 'twas pumped into ye wud make ye live till people got so tired iv seein' ye around they cud scream. He died th' nex' year iv premachure ol' age.

They was another doctor cud insure whether th' flex' wan wud be a boy or a girl. All ye had to do was to decide wud it be Arthur or Ethel an' lave him know. He left a fam'ly iv unmarredgeable daughters.

"I sometimes wondher whether pro-gress is anny more thin a kind iv a s.h.i.+ft. It's like a merry-go-round. We get up on a speckled wooden horse an' th' mechanical pianny plays a chune an' away we go, hollerin'. We think we're thravellin' like th' divvle but th'

man that doesn't care about merry-go-rounds knows that we will come back where we were. We get out dizzy an' sick an' lay on th'

gra.s.s an' gasp: 'Where am I? Is this th' meelin-yum?' An' he says: 'No, 'tis Ar-rchey Road.' Father Kelly says th' Agyptians done things we cudden't do an' th' Romans put up sky-sc.r.a.pers an' aven th' c.h.i.n.ks had tillyphones an' phony-grafts.

"I've been up to th' top iv th' very highest buildin' in town, Hinnissy, an' I wasn't anny nearer Hivin thin if I was in th'

sthreet. Th' stars was as far away as iver. An' down beneath is a lot iv us runnin' an' lapin' an' jumpin' about, pus.h.i.+n' each other over, haulin' little sthrips iv ir'n to pile up in little buildin's that ar-re called sky-sc.r.a.pers but not be th' sky; wurrukin' night an' day to make a masheen that'll carry us fr'm wan jack-rabbit colony to another an' yellin', 'Pro-gress! 'Pro-gress, oho! I can see th' stars winkin' at each other an' sayin': 'Ain't they funny!

Don't they think they're playin' h.e.l.l!'