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Mr Dooley on the Pursuit of Riches, by F. P. Dunne

The Naked Word electronic
edition of
Mr Dooley on the Pursuit of Riches
by F. P. Dunne, 1904



Dear me, I wisht I had money," said Mr, Hennessy.
"So do I," said Mr. Dooley. "I need it."
"Ye wudden't get it fr'm me," said Mr. Hennessy.
"If I didn't," said Mr. Dooley, "'twud be because I was poor or tired. But what
d'ye want money f'r? Supposin' I lost me head an' handed over all me accumylated
wealth? What wud ye do with that gr-reat fortune? Befure ye had spint half iv
it, ye'd be so sick ye'd come to me an' hand me back th' remainin' eighteen
dollars.
"A man has more fun wishin' f'r th' things he hasn't got thin injyin' th' things
he has got. Life, Hinnissy, is like a Pullman dinin' car: a fine bill iv fare,
but nawthin' to eat. Ye go in fresh an' hungry, tuck ye'er napkin in ye'er
collar, an' square away at th' list iv groceries that th' black man hands ye.
What'll ye have first? Ye think ye'd like to be famous an' ye ordher a dish iv
fame an' bid th' waither make it good an' hot. He's gone an age, an' whin he
comes back ye'er appytite is departed. Ye taste th' ordher an' says ye: 'Why,
it's cold an' full iv broken glass.' 'Tbat's th' way we always sarve Fame on
this car,' says th' coon. 'Don't ye think ye'd like money f'r th' sicond coorse?
Misther Rockyfellar over there has had forty- two helpin's,' says he. 'It don't
seem to agree with him,' says ye, 'but ye may bring me some,' ye say. Away he
goes an' stays till ye're bald an' ye'er teeth fall out, an' ye set dhrummin' on
th' table an' lookin' out at th' scenery. By an' by he comes back with ye'er
ordher, but jus' as he's goin' to hand it to ye, Rockyfellar grabs th' plate.
'What kind iv a car is this?' says ye. 'Don't I get annything to eat? Can't ye
give me a little happiness?' 'I wudden't ricommend th' happiness,' says th'
waither. 'It's canned an' it kilt th' las' man that thried it.' 'Well,
gracious,' says ye, 'I've got to have something. Give me a little good health
an' I'll thry to make a meal out iv that.' 'Sorry, sir,' says th' black man,
'but we're all out iv good health. Besides,' he says, takin' ye gintly by th'
ar-rm, 'we're goin' into th' deepo an' ye'll have to get out,' he says.
"An' there ye ar-re. Ye'll niver get money onless ye fix th' waither an' grab
th' dishes away fr'm th' other passengers. An' ye won't do that. So ye'll niver
be rich. No poor man iver will be. Wan iv th' sthrangest things about life is
that th' poor who need th' money th' most ar-re th' very wans that niver have
it. A poor man is a poor man an' a rich man is a rich man. Ye're ayether born
poor or rich. It don't make anny diff'rence whether or not ye have money to
begin with. If ye're born to be rich, ye'll be rich, an' if ye're born to be
poor, ye'll be poor. Th' buttons on ye'er vest tell th' story. Rich man, poor
man, beggar man, rich man, or wurruds to that effect. I always find that I have
ayether two buttons or six.
"A poor man is a man that rayfuses to cash in. Ye don't get annything f'r
nawthin', an' to gather in a millyon iv thim beautiful lithographs iv Salmon P.