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.'
"How can I know annything, whin I haven't puzzled out what I am mesilf.
I am Dooley, ye say, but ye're on'y a casual obsarver. Ye don't care
annything about me details. Ye look at me with a gin'ral eye. Nawthin'
that happens to me really hurts ye. Ye say, 'I'll go over to see
Dooley,' sometimes, but more often ye say, 'I'll go over to Dooley's.'
I'm a house to ye, wan iv a thousand that look like a row iv model
wurrukin'men's cottages. I'm a post to hitch ye'er silences to. I'm
always about th' same to ye. But to me I'm a millyon Dooleys an' all iv
thim sthrangers to ME. I niver know which wan iv thim is comin' in.
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