hair,' he says. 'Well,' says I, 'this thing has gone far enough,' I
says. 'I've heerd me good ol' cast-iron gods or josses abused,' I says,
'an' I've been packed full iv canned goods, an' th' Peking Lightnin'
Express is r-runnin' sthraight through th' lot where th' bones iv me
ancesthors lies,' I says. 'I've shtud it all,' I says, 'but whin ye come
here to bounce me off iv me own primises,' I says, 'I'll have to take
th' leg iv th' chair to ye,' I says. An' we're to th' flure."

"That's th' way it stands in Chiny, Hinnissy, an' it looks to me as
though Westhren Civilization was in f'r a bump. I mind wanst whin a
dhrunk prize fighter come up th' r-road and wint to sleep on Slavin's
steps. Some iv th' good sthrong la-ads happened along an' they were near
bein' at blows over who shud have his watch an' who shud take his hat.
While they were debatin' he woke up an' begin cuttin' loose with hands
an' feet, an' whin he got through he made a collection iv th' things
they dhropped in escapin' an' marched ca'mly down th' sthreet. Mebbe
'twill tur-rn out so in Chiny, Hinnissy. I see be th' pa-apers that
they'se four hundherd millyons iv thim boys an' be hivins! 'twuddent
surprise me if whin they got through batin' us at home, they might say
to thimsilves: 'Well, here goes f'r a jaunt ar-roun' the wurruld.' Th'
time may come, Hinnissey, whin ye'll be squirtin' wather over Hop Lee's
shirt while a man named Chow Fung kicks down ye'er sign an' heaves rocks
through ye'er windy. The time may come, Hinnissy. Who knows?"

"End ye'er blather," said Mr. Hennessy. "They won't be anny Chinymen
left whin Imp'ror Willum gets through."

"Mebbe not," says Mr. Dooley. "He's a sthrong man. But th' Chinymen have
been on earth a long time, an' I don't see how we can push so manny iv
thim off iv it. Annyhow, 'tis a good thing f'r us they ain't Christyans