' Ye will
not."
[Illustration]
"That's what I thought," said Mr. Hennessy.
"No," said Mr. Dooley. "Whisky wudden't be so much iv a luxury if'twas
more iv a necissity. I don't believe 'tis a food, though whin me frind
Schwartzmeister makes a cocktail all it needs is a few noodles to look
like a biled dinner. No, whisky ain't food. I think betther iv it thin
that. I wudden't insult it be placin' it on th' same low plane as a
lobster salad. Father Kelly puts it r-right, and years go by without him
lookin' on it even at Hallowe'en. 'Whisky,' says he, 'is called the
divvle, because,' he says, ''tis wan iv the fallen angels,' he says. 'It
has its place,' he says, 'but its place is not in a man's head,' says
he. 'It ought to be th' reward iv action, not th' cause iv it,' he says.
'It's f'r th' end iv th' day, not th' beginnin',' he says. 'Hot whisky
is good f'r a cold heart, an' no whisky's good f'r a hot head,' he says.
'Th' minyit a man relies on it f'r a crutch he loses th' use iv his
legs. 'Tis a bad thing to stand on, a good thing to sleep on, a good
thing to talk on, a bad thing to think on. If it's in th' head in th'
mornin' it ought not to be in th' mouth at night. If it laughs in ye,
dhrink; if it weeps, swear off.
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