The Wit and Humor of America Volume II Part 10

"I--I dinnaw," said Mr. Hennessy, whose dreaming had not gone this far.

Then, recovering himself, he exclaimed with great enthusiasm, "I'd throw up me job an'--an' live like a prince."

"I tell ye what ye'd do," said Mr. Dooley. "Ye'd come back here an'

sthrut up an' down th' sthreet with ye'er thumbs in ye'er armpits; an'

ye'd dhrink too much, an' ride in sthreet ca-ars. Thin ye'd buy foldin'

beds an' piannies, an' start a reel estate office. Ye'd be fooled a good deal an' lose a lot iv ye'er money, an' thin ye'd tighten up. Ye'd be in a cold fear night an' day that ye'd lose ye'er fortune. Ye'd wake up in th' middle iv th' night, dhreamin' that ye was back at th' gas-house with ye'er money gone. Ye'd be prisidint iv a charitable society. Ye'd have to wear ye'er shoes in th' house, an' ye'er wife'd have ye around to rayciptions an' dances. Ye'd move to Mitchigan Avnoo, an' ye'd hire a coachman that'd laugh at ye. Ye'er boys'd be joods an' ashamed iv ye, an' ye'd support ye'er daughters' husbands. Ye'd rackrint ye'er tinants an' lie about ye'er taxes. Ye'd go back to Ireland on a visit, an' put on airs with ye'er cousin Mike. Ye'd be a mane, close-fisted, onscrupulous ol' curmudgeon; an', whin ye'd die, it'd take haf ye'er fortune f'r rayqueems to put ye r-right. I don't want ye iver to speak to me whin ye get rich, Hinnissy."

"I won't," said Mr. Hennessy.

LOVE SONNETS OF A HOODLUM

BY WALLACE IRWIN

I

Say, will she treat me white, or throw me down, Give me the gla.s.sy glare, or welcome hand, Shovel me dirt, or treat me on the grand, Knife me, or make me think I own the town?

Will she be on the level, do me brown, Or will she jolt me lightly on the sand, Leaving poor Willie froze to beat the band, Limp as your grandma's Mother Hubbard gown?

I do not know, nor do I give a whoop, But this I know: if she is so inclined She can come play with me on our back stoop, Even in office hours, I do not mind-- In fact I know I'm nice and good and ready To get an option on her as my steady.

VIII

I sometimes think that I am not so good, That there are foxier, warmer babes than I, That Fate has given me the calm go-by And my long suit is sawing mother's wood.

Then would I duck from under if I could, Catch the hog special on the jump and fly To some Goat Island planned by destiny For dubs and has-beens and that solemn brood.

But spite of bug-wheels in my cocoa tree, The trade in lager beer is still a-humming, A schooner can be purchased for a V Or even grafted if you're fierce at b.u.mming.

My finish then less clearly do I see, For lo! I have another think a-coming.

IX

Last night I tumbled off the water cart-- It was a peacherino of a drunk; I put the c.o.c.ktail market on the punk And tore up all the sidewalks from the start.

The package that I carried was a tart That beat Vesuvius out for sizz and s.p.u.n.k, And when they put me in my little bunk You couldn't tell my jag and me apart.

Oh! would I were the ice man for a s.p.a.ce, Then might I cool this red-hot cocoanut, Corral the jim-jam bugs that madly race Around the eaves that from my forehead jut-- Or will a carpenter please come instead And build a picket fence around my head?

XII

Life is a combination hard to buck, A proposition difficult to beat, E'en though you get there Zaza with both feet, In forty flickers, it's the same hard luck, And you are up against it nip and tuck, Shanghaied without a steady place to eat, Guyed by the very copper on your beat Who lays to jug you when you run amuck.

O Life! you give Yours Truly quite a pain.

On the T square I do not like your style; For you are playing favorites again And you have got me handicapped a mile.

Avaunt, false Life, with all your pride and pelf: Go take a running jump and chase yourself!

XIV

O mommer! wasn't Mame a looty toot Last night when at the Rainbow Social Club She did the bunny hug with every scrub From Hogan's Alley to the Dutchman's Boot, While little Willie, like a plug-eared mute, Papered the wall and helped absorb the grub, Played nest-egg with the benches like a dub When hot society was easy fruit!

Am I a turnip? On the strict Q.T., Why do my Trilbys get so ossified?

Why am I minus when it's up to me To brace my Paris Pansy for a glide?

Once more my hoodoo's thrown the game and scored A flock of zeros on my tally-board.

XXI

At noon to-day Murphy and Mame were tied.

A gospel huckster did the referee, And all the Drug Clerks' Union loped to see The queen of Minnie Street become a bride, And that bad actor, Murphy, by her side, Standing where Yours Despondent ought to be.

I went to hang a smile in front of me, But weeps were in my glimmers when I tried.

The pastor murmured, "Two and two make one,"

And slipped a sixteen K on Mamie's grab; And when the game was tied and all was done The guests s.h.i.+ed footwear at the bridal cab, And Murphy's little gilt-roofed brother Jim Snickered, "She's left her happy home for him."

HOW "RUBY" PLAYED

BY GEORGE W. BAGBY

(Jud Brownin, when visiting New York, goes to hear Rubinstein, and gives the following description of his playing.)

Well, sir, he had the blamedest, biggest, catty-cornerdest pianner you ever laid eyes on; somethin' like a distracted billiard-table on three legs. The lid was hoisted, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't been, he'd 'a' tore the entire inside clean out and shattered 'em to the four winds of heaven.

_Played well?_ You bet he did; but don't interrupt me. When he first sit down he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin' and wisht he hadn't come. He tweedle-leedled a little on a treble, and twoodle-oodled some on the base,--just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in his way. And I says to a man sittin' next to me, says I, "What sort of fool playin' is that?" And he says, "Heis.h.!.+" But presently his hands commenced chasin' one another up and down the keys, like a pa.s.sel of rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar squirrel turnin' the wheel of a candy cage.

"Now," I says to my neighbor, "he's showin' off. He thinks he's a-doin'

of it, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of nothin'. If he'd play me a tune of some kind or other, I'd--"

But my neighbor says, "Heis.h.!.+" very impatient.

I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of that foolishness, when I heard a little bird waking up away off in the woods and call sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up and see that Rubin was beginning to take some interest in his business, and I sit down again.

It was the peep of day. The light came faint from the east, the breezes blowed gentle and fresh, some more birds waked up in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all begun singin' together.

People began to stir, and the gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and it techt the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day; the sun fairly blazed, the birds sung like they'd split their little throats; all the leaves was movin', and flas.h.i.+n' diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a fine mornin'.

And I says to my neighbor, "That's music, that is."

But he glared at me like he'd like to cut my throat.

Presently the wind turned; it begun to thicken up, and a kind of gray mist came over things; I got low-spirited directly. Then a silver rain began to fall. I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed up like long pearl ear-rings, and the rest rolled away like round rubies.

It was pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered themselves into long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver streams, running between golden gravels, and then the streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook that flowed silent, except that you could kinder see the music, especially when the bushes on the banks moved as the music went along down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the meadow. But the sun didn't s.h.i.+ne, nor the birds sing: it was a foggy day, but not cold.

The most curious thing was the little white angel-boy, like you see in pictures, that run ahead of the music brook and led it on, and on, away out of the world, where no man ever was, certain, I could see the boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moonlight came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit-up windows, and men that loved 'em, but could never get anigh 'em, who played on guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable I could have cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with the guitars did.