Vacations
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I raaly don’t know whether I’m glad or sorry to get back. It seems a little sthrange to be here again in the turmoil iv life in a large city, but thin, again, ’tis pleasant to see th’ familyar faces wanst more. Has annything happened since I wint away on me vacation? Did ye miss me? Am I much sunburnt?”
“What ar-re ye talkin’ about?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “I see ye on’y last night.”
“Ye did not,” said Mr. Dooley. “Ye may have seen me undherstudy, but ye didn’t see me. Where was I? It depinds on what time iv night it was. If it was eight o’clock, I was croosin’ in Pierpont Morgan’s yacht off th’ coast iv Labrador. We were both iv us settin’ up on th’ front stoop iv th’ boat. I had just won thirty millyon dollars fr’m him throwin’ dice, an’ he remarked to me ‘I bet it’s hot in Chicago.’ But about eight thirty, th’ wind, which had been blowin’ acrost th’ brick-yard, changed into th’ northeast an’ I moved back to Newpoort.”
“Ar-re ye crazy fr’m th’ heat?” Mr. Hennessy asked.
“Divvle th’ bit,” said Mr. Dooley, “but long ago I made up me mind not to be th’ slave iv me vacation. I don’t take a vacation whin a vacation comes around an’ knocks at th’ dure an’ dhrags me out to a summer resort. If I did I’d wait a long time. I take it whiniver I feel like it. Whiniver I have a moment to spare, whin ye’re talkin’ or business is slack fr’m anny other reason, I throw a comb an’ brush into a gripsack an’ hurry away to th’ mountain or th’ seashore. While ye think ye’re talkin’ to me, at that very minyit I may be floatin’ on me back in th’ Atlantic ocean or climbin’ a mountain in Switzerland, yodellin’ to mesilf.
“Most iv me frinds take their vacations long afther they are overdue. That’s because they don’t know how to take thim. They depind on railroads an’ steamers an’ what th’ boss has to say about it. Long afther th’ vacation will do thim no good, about th’ fifteenth iv August, they tear off for th’ beauties iv nature. Nachrally they can’t tear off very far or they wudden’t hear th’ whistle whin it blew to call thim back. F’r a week or two they spind their avenin’s larnin’ th’ profissyon iv baggageman, atin’ off thrunks be day an sleepin’ on thim be night. Evenchooly th’ time comes f’r thim to lave th’ sthrife an’ throuble iv th’ city that they’re used to f’r th’ sthrife an’ throuble iv th’ counthry that they don’t know how to handle. They catch th’ two two f’r Mudville-be-th’-Cannery, or they are just about to catch it whin they remimber that they left their tickets, money an’ little Abigail Ann behind thim, an’ they catch th’ six forty-five which doesn’t stop at Mudville excipt on Choosdahs an’ Fridahs in Lent, an’ thin on’y on signal. Fin’lly they’re off. Th’ dust an’ worry iv th’ city with its sprinkled pavements an’ its glowin’ theaytres is left behind. Th’ cool counthry air blows into th’ car laden with th’ rich perfume iv dainty food with which th’ fireman is plyin’ his ir’n horse. Th’ thrain stops occasion’lly. In fact ye might betther say that occasion’lly it don’t stop. A thrain that is goin’ to anny iv th’ penal colonies where most men spind their vacations will stop at more places thin a boy on an errand. Whiniver it sees a human habitation it will pause an’ exchange a few wurruds iv pleasant greetin’. It will stop at annything. It wud stop at nawthin’.
“In this way ye get a good idee iv th’ jography iv ye’er native land. Ye make a ten minyit stay at bustlin’ little villages that ye didn’t know were on th’ map, an’ ain’t on anny map that ye buy. Th’ on’y place th’ thrain don’t stop is at Mudville-be-th’-Cannery. Ye look into th’ folder an’ see ye’er town marked ‘see note b.’ Note b says: ‘Thrains two to sixteen stop at Mudville on’y whin wrecked.’ ‘What is th’ number iv this here cannon-ball express?’ says ye to th’ conductor man. ‘Number twelve,’ says he. ‘How am I goin’ to get off there?’ says ye. ‘How do ye usually get off a movin’ thrain?’ says he. ‘Forward or backward?’ says he. ‘If ye’ll go ahead to th’ postal car an’ get into a mail bag th’ clerk may hang ye on th’ hook as we pass. He’s a good shot. He made three out iv tin last week,’ he says.
“But in due time ye reach ye’er destynation an’ onpack ye’er thrunks an’ come home again. A frind iv mine, a prom’nent railroad officyal who calls th’ thrains at th’ Union deepo, tells me he’s cured his wife iv wantin’ to go on a vacation. Whiniver he sees her readin’ advertisements iv th’ summer resorts he knows that th’ fit is coming on, an’ befure she gets to th’ stage iv buyin’ a cure f’r freckles he takes her down to th’ deepo an’ shows her th’ people goin’ on their vacations an’ comin’ back. Thin he gives her a boat ride in th’ park, takes her to th’ theaytre, an’ th’ next mornin’ she wakes up with hardly anny sign iv her indisposition.
“But th’ kind iv vacation I take does ye some good. It is well within me means. In fact it sildom costs me annything but now an’ thin th’ thrade iv a customer that I give a bottle iv pop to whin he ast f’r a gin sour, not knowin’ that at th’ minyit I was whilin’ me time away in th’ Greek islands or climbin’ Mount Vesoovyous. I don’t have to carry anny baggage. I don’t pay anny railroad fares. I’m not bothered be mosquitoes or rain. In fact, it’s on rainy days that I thravel most. I’m away most iv th’ time. I suppose me business suffers. But what care I?
“In th’ autumn I am pretty apt to be shootin’ in th’ Rocky Mountains. In th’ winter I am liable to go to Florida or to th’ West Indies or to Monty Carlo. I’m th’ on’y American citizen that iver beat Monty Carlo. I plugged away at number siventeen an’ it came up eighty-two times runnin’. ’Tis thrue I squandhered th’ money on th’ fickle Countess de Brie, but aisy came aisy go. Me disappointment was soon f’rgotten among th’ gayeties iv Algeers. I often go up th’ Nile because it’s handy to th’ Ar-rchey Road. I can get back befure bedtime. In summer I may go to Newpoort, although it ain’t th’ place it was whin I first wint there. It was simple thin. People laughed at Clarence Von Steenevant because he wore a hat encrusted in dimons instead iv th’ rough-an’-ready goold bonnet that ye grabbed fr’m th’ rubbish iv old pearl necklaces an’ marredge certyficates on th’ hall table whin ye wint out to play tennis. It has changed since. But there are still a few riprisintatives iv th’ older memberships iv th’ stock exchange who cannot lave th’ familyar scenes, an’ I like to dhrop in on these pathricyans an’ gossip iv days that ar-re no more. Faith, there’s hardly a place that I don’t spind me summers. If I don’t like a place I can move. I sail me yacht into sthrange harbors. I take me private car wheriver I want to go. I hunt an’ I fish. Last year I wint to Canada an’ fished f’r salmon. I made a gr-reat catch—near thirty cans. An’ whin I’m tired I can go to bed. An’ it is a bed, not a rough sketch iv a brick-yard.
“Well, well, what places I have seen. An’ I always see thim at their best. Th’ on’y way to see anny place at its best is niver to go there. No place can be thruly injyeable whin ye have to take ye’ersilf along an’ pay rent f’r him whin ye get there. An’ wan iv th’ gr-reat comforts iv my kind iv a vacation is that I always knows what’s goin’ on at home. Whin Hogan goes on his kind iv vacation th’ newspa-aper he gets was printed just afther th’ third inning iv th’ baseball game th’ day befure yisterdah. Th’ result is that whin Hogan comes home he don’t know what’s happened. He doesn’t know who’s been murdhered or whether Chicago or Pittsburg is at th’ head iv th’ league.
“An’ summer is th’ best time iv th’ year f’r news. Th’ heat an’ sthrong dhrink brings out pleasant peculyarities in people. They do things that make readin’ matther. They show signs iv janus. Ivrything in th’ pa-aper inthrests me. Here’s th’ inside news iv a cillybrated murdher thrile blossomin’ out in th’ heat. Here’s a cillybrated lawyer goin’ to th’ cillybrated murdherer an’ demandin’ an increase in th’ honoraryum iv his cillybrated collague. Lawyers don’t take money. What they get f’r their public sarvices in deludin’ a jury is th’ same as an offerin’ in a church. Ye don’t give it thim openly. Ye sind thim a bunch iv sweet peas with the money in it. This here larned counsel got wan honoraryum. But whin things begun to took tough f’r his protegee he suggested another honoraryum. Honoraryum is fr’m th’ Latin wurruds honor an’ aryum, mainin’ I need th’ money.
“Yes, sir, ye can’t injye a vacation without th’ pa-apers. How glad I am to know that Congress has adjourned afther rejoocin’ th’ tariff to a level where th’ poorest are within its reach. An’ how cud I be happy away fr’m here if I didn’t know how me frind Willum Taft was gettin’ on at goluf. Iv coorse I’m inthrested in all that goes on at th’ summer capitol. I am glad to know that Charles played tennis fr’m ten to iliven an’ aftherward took a throlley car ride to Lynn, where he bought a pair iv shoes an’ a piece iv blueberry pie, but at two o’clock had entirely recovered. But th’ rale inthrest is in th’ prisidint’s goluf. Me fav’rite journal prints exthries about it. ‘Specyal exthry; six thirty. Horrible rumor. Prisidint Taft repoorted stymied.’ He’s th’ best goluf player we’ve iver had as prisidint. He cud give Abra’m Lincoln a shtroke a stick. He bate th’ champeen iv the’ wurruld last week be a scoore iv wan hundhred an’ eighty-two to siventy-six. He did so.
“Here’s a column about yisterdah’s game. ‘A large crowd assimbled to see th’ match. Prisidint appeared ca’m an’ collected. He wore his club unyform, gray pants, black leather belt, an’ blue shirt. His opponent, th’ sicrety iv war, was visibly narvous. Th’ prisident was first off th’ tee with an excellent three while his opponent was almost hopelessly bunkered in a camera. But he made a gallant recovery with a vaccuum cleaner an’ was aven with th’ prisidint in four. Th’ prisidint was slightly to th’ left in th’ long grass on his fifth, but, nawthin’ daunted, he took a hoe an’ was well out in siven. Both players were in th’ first bunker in eight, th’ sicrety iv war havin’ flubbed his sixth an’ bein’ punished f’r overdarin’ on th’ siventh. Th’ prisidint was first out iv th’ bunker at a quarther past two, his opponent followin’ at exactly three sixteen. Th’ prisidint was within hailin’ distance iv home on his sixteenth shot, while his opponent had played eighteen. But th’ pace had been too swift an’ it was merely a question iv which wud be th’ first to crack. That misfortune fell to th’ lot iv th’ sicrety iv war. Findin’ himsilf in a bad lie, he undhertook to use a brassy in a spirit iv nawthin’ venture nawthin’ gain. It was raaly a brillyant shot. A foot nearer th’ ball an’ he might have accomplished a feat in golufing histhry. But th’ luck iv war was against him an’ he sthruck himsilf upon th’ ankle. Th’ prisidint, resolvin’ to give him no mercy, took his dhriver an’ made a sterling carry to within thirty yards iv th’ green. There was now nawthin’ to it. Continuin’ to play with great dash, but always prudently, he had a sure putt iv not more thin forty feet to bate th’ records f’r prisidints f’r this hole, a record that was established be th’ prisident iv th’ Women’s Christyan Timp’rance Union in nineteen hundhred an’ three. His opponent cried ‘I give it to ye,’ an’ th’ prisidint was down in a brillyant twinty two. His opponent was obliged to contint himsilf with a more modest but still sound an’ meritoryous thirty-eight (estimated).
“An’ there ye ar-re. I’m ivrywhere, but I can always keep in touch with what’s goin’ on.”
“What kind iv a game is goluf?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “Why do they call it rile an’ ancient?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Dooley, “onless it is because th’ prisidint iv th’ United States has just took it up.”