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THE MEXICAN HERALD Mexico City, Mexico 21 April 1901 (page 13)
MR DOOLEY CLIMBS POPO.
"How are yez, Hinnessey, me b'y," said Mr. Dooley as he came up the street walking by the assistance of a cane.
"Foiner 'n silk," replied
Hinnessey, "but why the stick; is it lame yez are?"
"But, Mr. Dooley . . . ."
"Hinnessey, be thrue to me. Me woife hez denied me bid an' bard, an' oim a por outchast in the worruld, charged with havin' no sinse at all. Oi wint, Hinnessey, in the inthrusts iv Seance, wid me former counthrymon, the Shivvyleer O'Rourke [Chevalier O'Rourke—pseudonym of Aleister Crowley], an' his parthner-in-crime, Barron von Eckenstein [Oscar Eckenstein]. Kape away from him, Hinnessey, er ye'll be inveigle into some desperate skame be th' which ye'll be robbed iv yure bodily comfort an' fam'ly this. Th're a bloomin' pair iv human dayceivers who cahnt till th' diff'rence betwane hate and co'ld, upon me soul th' cahn't.
"We'll tike yez t' th' top, sid me spurious fellow-cithizen, Misther O'Rourke, er we'll know th' rayson ov it. It's th' topmost pint iv th' sachred mount oim afther tridden, sez oi, worruds oi hev larnt to raygrit with tears in me oyes."
"Did yez make the trip on becycles er be an autymobile, Mr. Dooley?"
"The S'intspreserve us, Hinnessey! Hez the silver dog lost his lining? or hez the cloud hed its day? or hez the goulden chain ben busthed, or what th' divvle? Thir's no Passy dilly Rayformy laden to th' blarsted crather iv Popey, me b'y. It is a path iv Glury which lades but to th' ghrave, an' fr'm whose borne no traveler ivver hez a sickond birthday. It is a tist iv morrul curridge an' shoe lither. It is not a pliseant dhrive iv a moon-light ave'nin, Mr. Hinnessey. There's no canteenys er fither bids hung up be the way. Th' mounthin was kivvered wid althichude. Iverything ilse but th' dhust an' wind hed fled fer its loife. Th' wind hed blowed th' atmosphere into a foreign country, an' there was nothin' for th' brith iv man but the' althichude. Yez sthop ivery ither sthep to pull in a ghop of condensed air wid yure mouth, an' whin yez close in yer hide to ristyer shoulders on a brist filled wid air, yez'll find it soft an' unsusthainin', an' yer tongue rolls out an' flaps limply in the breezes, upon me honor it do, Hinnessey.
"Th' Shivvyleer and th' ither professor sthrolled along wid hateful haze, an' whrote in books, th' divvle knows what, on th' althichude, the wind, an' so on, an' me wid me pick-axe hackin' off an exthra hunk of hair th' gale hed overlook. Th' closer hivven we crawled the harder it blew, an' whin it beghan whistlin' the sphots off me vist, oi sid in tones mint to traggick loike dith, Boys, lit me lodge in some vhast Wilderniss; anyway lit me lodge! It was niver intended thet oi shud tickle th' fate iv th' angels in hivven. Thir'fure, oi boolt!
"It cannot was, sid the gay Shivvyleer. Our agraymint to tike yez t' th' top was saled be th' coorts iv hivven, an' up yez go. A rope was knotted to me lift laig, Hinnessey, an' oi wint hippen' along, while th' Shivvyleer an' th' Bar-ron pl'yed chump th' rope achrossth' boulders wid mesilf in th' centher iv tha' rope, tied fast. Oi pled as a fellow-counthymon, thin as a mon wid a woife an' childer an' me juty to thim. Thin, as me last brithhed gone out to th' hivvens, oi fell, swearin' be th' gods oi was a carpse, be the mouth iv th' terrible crather.
"Thir she was, Hinnessey, sthamin' and frothin', an' sthinkin' loike a boiled owl, wid wather at th' botthum as graneezth' damons iv purgathory. It was thot fur down thot she cudden't be sane without lookin' twice. Sezoi, Whar'sth' cimmithry ferth' did, an' saylict a sphot, by's, fer oim brathin' me last, an' as oi spoke th' bones iv me body were rhenderin' a snare dhrum solo be the shivers iv th' wind.
"Be iv gude chare, me b'y, sidth' Bar-ron, th' top is not yitr'ached.
Th' rist is onsartin in me brain, Hinnessey. I recollect, wid me oyes soked in tears, the how I was jirked fr'm stun t' stun to th' peenackle iv th' crathur, an' hearin' th' Bar-ron announce in treeump that his bayrommether sid we ware siventanethousan' eight hunert an' ninety fate above the say.
"If it's anny wurse siventane thousan' fate unnerth' say, thin fade me carkus to th' waves iv the crathur, sezoi. Whither th' did er didn't oi cannot now say. But lit us be movin', or th' polace 'll be on me thracks. Me woife hez tillygraphed my dayscription as bayin' a lunathic." |