"D'ye think th' soul can be weighed?" asked Mr. Hennessy. "I know it's
there, but I think--I kind iv feel--I wondher--I don't hardly know--"

"I see what ye mean" said Mr. Dooley. "Scales an' clocks ar-re not to be
thrusted to decide annything that's worth deciding. Who tells time be a
clock? Ivry hour is th' same to a clock an' ivry hour is different to
me. Wan long, wan short. There ar-re hours in th' avenin' that pass
between two ticks iv th' clock; there ar-re hours in th' arly mornin'
whin a man can't sleep that Methusalah's age cud stretch in. Clocks
ar-re habichool liars, an' so ar-re scales. As soon as annything gets
good enough to weigh ye can't weigh it. Scales ar-re f'r th' other
fellow. I'm perfectly willin' to take ye'er weight or ye'er soul's
weight fr'm what th' scales say. Little I care. A pound or two more or
less makes no diff'rence. But when it comes to measurin' something
that's precious to me, I'll not thrust it to a slight improvement on a
see-saw.

"But what do I know about it, annyhow? What do I know about annything?
I've been pitchin' information into ye f'r more years thin anny wan iver
wint to colledge, an' I tell ye now I don't know annything about
annything. I don't like to thrust mesilf forward. I'm a modest man.
Won't somebody else get up? Won't ye get up, Tiddy Rosenfelt; won't ye,
Willum Jennings Bryan; won't ye, Prisidint Eliot; won't ye, pro-fissors,
preachers, doctors, lawyers, iditors? Won't annybody get up? Won't
annybody say that they don't know annything about annything worth
knowin' about? Thin, be Hivens, I will. All alone I'll stand up befure
me class an' say: 'Hinnissy, about annything that can't be weighed on a
scales or measured with a tape line I'm as ign'rant as--ye'ersilf. I'll
have to pay ye back th' money I took fr'm ye f'r ye'er schoolin'. It was
obtained be false pretences.'