“Well, sir, me little Chinee frind Woo must be havin' th' time iv his life in Wash'nton these warm days,” said Mr. Dooley.

“Who's he?” asked Mr. Hennessy.

“He's th' Chinee ministher,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' his business is f'r to supply fresh hand-laundhried misinformation to the sicrety iv state. Th' sicrety iv state is settin' in his office feelin' blue because he's just heerd be a specyal corryspondint iv th' London Daily Pail at Sydney, Austhreelya, who had it fr'm a slatewriter in Duluth that an ar-rmy iv four hundherd an' eight thousan' millyon an' sivinty-five bloodthirsty Chinee, ar-rmed with flatirnes an' cryin', 'Bung Loo!' which means, Hinnissy, 'Kill th' foreign divvles, dhrive out th' missionries, an' set up in Chiny a gover'mint f'r the Chinee,' is marchin' on Vladivostook in Siberyia, not far fr'm Tinsin.”

A knock comes at th' dure an' Woo enthers. 'Well,' says he, with a happy smile, ''tis all right.' 'What's all right?' says the sicrety iv state. 'Ivrything,' says Woo. 'I have just found a letter sewed in a shirt fr'm me frind Lie Much, th' viceroy iv Bumbang. It is dated th' fourth hour iv th' third day iv th' eighth or green-cheese moon,' he says. 'What day is that?' says the sicrety iv state. 'It's Choosdah, th' fourth iv July; Winsdah, th' eighth iv October, an' Thursdah, the sivinteenth iv March,' he says. 'Pathrick's day,' says th' sicrety iv state. 'Thrue f'r ye,' says Woo. 'What year?' says Jawn Hay. 'The year iv th' big wind,' says Woo. 'Good,' says John Hay, 'proceed with ye'er story.' 'Here's th' letther,' says Woo. 'I know 'tis genooyine because it is an ol' dhress patthern used be th' impress. It says: 'Oscar Woo, care iv himsilf, annywhere: Dear Woo, brother iv th' moon, uncle iv th' sun, an' roommate iv th' stars, dear sir: Yours iv th' eighth day iv th' property moon rayceived out iv th' air yesterdah afthernoon or to-morrow, an' was glad to note ye ar-re feelin' well. Ivrything over here is th' same ol' pair iv boots. Nawthin' doin'. Peking is as quiet as th' gr-rave. Her majesty, th' impress, is sufferin' slightly fr'm death be poison, but is still able to do th' cookin' f'r the Rooshan ambassadure. Th' impror was beheaded las' week an' feels so much betther f'r the op'ration that he expicts to be quarthered nex' Sundah. He's always wanted to rayjooce his weight. Some iv th' Boxers called on th' foreigners at Tinsin las' week an' met a warrum rayciption. Th' foreigners aftherward paid a visit to thim through a hole in th' wall, an' a jolly day concluded with a foot race, at which our people are becomin' expert. Some iv th' boys expicts to come up to Peking nex' week, an' th' people along th' line iv th' railroad are gettin' ready f'r thim. This is really all the news I have, excipt that cherries ar-re ripe. Me pin is poor, me ink is dhry, me love f'r you can niver die. Give me regards to Sicrety Hay whin he wakes up. I remain, illusthrus cousin iv th' risin' dawn, thruly ye'ers, Li.

P. S.—If ye need anny more information take a longer dhraw.'

“'That,' says Woo, 'is wan way iv r-readin' it. Read upside down it says that the impress has become a Swedenboorjan. I will r-read it standin' on me head whin I get home where I can pin down me overskirt; thin I'll r-read it in a lookin' glass; thin I'll saw it into sthrips an' r-run it through a wringer an' lave it stand in a tub iv bluein', an' whin its properly starched I'll find out what it says. Fin'lly I'll cut it into small pieces an' cook with rice an' lave it to rest in a cool place, an' thin 'twill r-read even betther. I hope ye're satisfied,' he says. 'I am,' says Jawn Hay. 'I'll tillygraft to Mark that ivrything is all r-right,' he says, 'an' that our relations with his majesty or her majesty or their Boxerships or th' Down-with-th'-foreign-divvlers or whoiver's runnin' th' shop over beyant are as they ought to be or worse or betther, as th' case may be,' he says. 'Good,' says Woo, 'ye're a man afther me own heart,' he says. 'I'll sind ye a little book wrote be a frind iv mine in Peking,' he says. ''Tis called “Heart to Heart Lies I Have Had,” he says. 'Ye'll like it,' he says. 'In the manetime,' he says, 'I must write a secret message to go out be to-night's hot-air express to me corryspondint in Meriden, Connecticut, urgin' him to sind more im-peeryal edicks iv a fav'r-able nature,' he says. 'I've on'y had twinty so far, an' I'm gettin' scrivener's palsy,' he says. 'But befure I go,' he says, 'I bet ye eight millyon yens, or three dollars an' eighty-four cints iv ye'er money, that ye can't pick out th' shell this here pea is undher,' he says. An' they set down to a game iv what is known at Peking as diplomacy, Hinnissy, but on Randolph sthreet viadock is called the double dirty.”

“I don't believe wan wurrud iv what's in th' pa-apers about Chiny,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “if ye believe annything ye'll believe ivrything. 'Tis a grand contist that's goin' on between Westhren an' Easthren civilliezation. 'Tis a joke iv me own, Hinnissy, an' ye'd undherstand it if ye knew spellin. Th' Westhren civilization, Hinnissy—that's us—is a pretty good liar, but he's a kind iv rough-an'-tumble at it. He goes in head down, an' ivry lie he tells looks like all th' others. Ye niver see an Englishman that had anny judgment in lyin'. Th' corryspondint iv th' Daily Pail is out iv his class. He's carryin' lies to Lieville. How in th' wurruld can we compete with a counthry where ivry lab'rer's cottage projooces lies so delicate that th' workmen iv th' West can't undherstand thim? We make our lies be machinery; they tur-rn out theirs be hand. They imitate th' best iv our canned lies to deceive people that likes that kind, but f'r artists they have lies that appeals to a more refined taste. Sure I'd like to live among thim an' find out th' kind iv bouncers they tell each other. They must be gr-rand. I on'y know their export lies now—th' surplus lies they can't use at home. An' th' kind they sind out ar-re betther thin our best. Our lies is no more thin a conthradiction iv th' thruth; their lies appeals to th' since iv honesty iv anny civilized man.”

“They can't hurt us with their lies,” said Mr. Hennessy of our Western civilization. “We have th' guns an' we'll bate thim yet.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Dooley, “an' 'twill be like a man who's had his house desthroyed be a cyclone gettin' up an' kickin' at th' air.”