ake
an' to make ye sleep sound, a kind of nightcap, d'ye mind. But a gr-reat
deal iv wurruk, especially in th' summer time, will hurt anny man that
indulges in it. So, though I don't sympathize with sthrikers, I
congratulate thim. Sthrike, says I, while the iron is hot an' ye'er most
needed to pound it into a horseshoe. An' especially wud I advise
ivrybody to sthrike whin th' weather is hot."

DRUGS

"What ails ye?" asked Mr. Dooley of Mr. Hennessy, who looked dejected.

"I'm a sick man," said Mr. Hennessy.

"Since th' picnic?"

"Now that I come to think iv it, it did begin th' day afther th'
picnic," said Mr. Hennessy. "I've been to see Dock O'Leary. He give me
this an' these here pills an' some powdhers besides. An' d'ye know,
though I haven't taken anny iv thim yet, I feel betther already."

"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "'tis a grand thing to be a doctor. A man
that's a doctor don't have to buy anny funny papers to enjye life. Th'
likes iv ye goes to a picnic an' has a pleasant, peaceful day in th'
counthry dancin' breakdowns an' kickin' a football in th' sun an' ivry
fifteen minyits or so washin' down a couple of dill-pickles with a
bottle of white pop. Th' next day ye get what's comin' to ye in th'
right place an' bein' a sthrong, hearty man that cudden't be kilt be
annything less thin a safe fallin' on ye fr'm a twenty-story building ye
know ye ar-re goin' to die. Th' good woman advises a mustard plasther
but ye scorn th' suggestion. What good wud a mustard plasther be again
this fatal epidemic that is ragin' inside iv ye? Besides a mustard
plasther wud hurt. So th' good woman, frivilous crather that she is,
goes back to her wurruk singin' a light chune. She knows she's goin' to
have to put up with ye f'r some time to come. A mustard plasther,
Hinnissy, is th' rale test iv whether a pain is goin' to kill ye or not.
If the plasther is onbearable ye can bet th' pain undherneath it is not.

"But ye know ye are goin' to die an' ye're not sure whether ye'll send
f'

Mr. Dooley Says

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