Thank th' Lord I'm not so big that anny man can get comfort fr'm pumpin'
a Winchester at me fr'm th' top iv a house."
"But if I was king ne'er an organ grinder'd get near enough me to take
me life with a Hotchkiss gun. I'd be so far away fr'm the multitood,
Hinnissy, that they cud on'y distinguish me rile features with a spy-
glass. I'd have polismen at ivry tur-rn, an' I'd have me subjicks retire
to th' cellar whin I took me walk. Divvle a bit wud you catch me
splattherin' mesilf with morthar an' stickin' newspapers in a hole in a
corner shtone to show future gin'rations th' progress iv crime in this
cinchry. They'd lay their own corner-shtone f'r all iv me. I'd
communicate with th' pop'lace be means iv ginral ordhers, an' I'd make
it a thing worth tellin' about to see th' face iv th' gr-reat an' good
King Dooley."
"Kings is makin' thimsilves too common. Nowadays an arnychist dhrops
into a lunch-room at th' railroad depot an' sees a man settin' on a
stool atin' a quarther section iv a gooseb'ry pie an' dhrinkin' a glass
iv buttermilk. 'D'ye know who that is?' says th' lunch-counter lady. 'I
do not,' says th' arnychist, 'but be th' look iv him he ain't much.'
'That's th' king,' says th' lady. 'Th' king, is it,' says th' arnychist.
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