He's got a good job--forty-nine
ninety-two, sixty-six a month--an' 'tis up to him to feel good. 'I--I
mean we,' he says, 'congratulate th' counthry on th' matchless
statesmanship, on-shrinkin' courage, steady devotion to duty an'
principle iv that gallant an' hon'rable leader, mesilf,' he says to his
sicrety. 'Take that,' he says, 'an' elaborate it,' he says. 'Ye'll find
a ditchnry on th' shelf near the dure,' he says, 'if ye don't think I've
put what I give ye sthrong enough,' he says. 'I always was,' he says,
'too retirin' f'r me own good,' he says. 'Spin out th' r-rest,' he says,
'to make about six thousan' wurruds,' he says, 'but be sure don't write
annything too hot about th' Boer war or th' Ph'lippeens or Chiny, or th'
tariff, or th' goold question, or our relations with England, or th'
civil sarvice,' he says. 'Tis a foolish man,' he says,'that throws a
hunk iv coal fr'm his own window at th' dhriver iv a brick wagon,' he
says."
"But with Billy Bryan 'tis diff'rent. He's out in Lincoln, Neebrasky,
far fr'm home, an' he says to himsilf: 'Me throat is hoarse, an' I'll
exercise me other fac'lties,' he says. 'I'll write a platform,' he says.
An' he sets down to a typewriter, an' denounces an' deplores till th'
hired man blows th' dinner horn.
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