Life — September 14, 1899 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LIFE'S ALBUM OF FRIENDSHIPS, DR. PARKAURST AND RICHARD CROKER. The Artchiteks. A ONE-ACT SOCIETY PLAY. Scexe—Near the City Hall in New York. ‘Trte—Recent. ORGAN: Well, Finnogan, will we do thim or will we not? Fixxxoan: Oi tthink so, D.: Phwat? F.: Do thim, ay coorse, Sure isn’t ut parrt of the governmint we arr? D.: Yis, F.: Have yez seen the plans thot'salriddy desolgned, Mr. Dorgan? D. jure Ol have not. F.: Phwat have yez seon, thin, Mr. Dorgun? Di have soon tho Mayor, Mr. Finnegan, hin, ‘tis all right, Oi don't know? tis so, And 'twill make no diffrince phwat ho says—'tis us will git the con- thrack. Phwat who says? Suro the artchitek. Ho is no artebitek. Ho Is so, Phwat? Not. How much will wo make off av tho Mr. Dorgan? D.: Sure how wud Oi know? Have Oi asked the Mayor? Do yez think Ol wud be pryin’ into what {s none ay me business? 'Twud seom almost unnicessary fur me to call yer attintion to tho fact, Mr. Finnigan, that undher the prisint administration the money will be fairly and equally divoided. F.: It will so, Did yez tthink U1 thought annything else, Mr. Dorgan? D.: Bodad, Oi did not! F.: Thin, ’tis us will do the wurruk, Ot don’t know. D.: It is 80, bedud! Mo daughther is at this very momint ingaged in finishing the plans Oi intind to make, F,: 'Tis a foine gurl, Delia, Sho will do us credit, ‘Twill bo a good tthing fur hur and very advantageous fur the furrm, Suro ‘twas only yisterday Oi told Mra, Dorgan that Delia wuz a born arthist, She's especially sthrong at iron wurruk. D.: Is thot all ye sald, Mr, Finnegan? It is 60. Well, never moind, Mr. Finnegan, Oi know yez arr an honest man and a gin- tleman, 'Tis not mo wud stand between you. Phwat toime ta ut, Finnegan? F.: Oi think ut will bo late, Mr. Dorgan, ‘Tis twinty minutes ay tin. D.: Well, well; is ut thot farr along! Sure Oi will havo to bo off. Hogan an’ mo have an app'intment wid the Mayor. If wan av thim bill-collecthors dhrops in durin’ me absince, yez know phwat to do, Mr. Finnegan, F.: Tis not be the olevathor he will go down, Mr. Dorgan, Hold on a minnut, Wan wurrd, D.: Well, phwat? F.: Phwatever else ye do, keep an of on Flannagan. Oi seen him talkin’ wid tho Mayor. Flannagan’s sisther is anartchitek. D.: Phwat arr yez tthinkin’ av, Finne- gan? Flannagan’s givo up the liquor thrade an’ politics. F.: Furrst tthing wo know he'll be in tho Mithodist Church, Well, twill not matther. Flannagan was never good fur more than two or three votes. Oi was just thinkin’ another furrm might got the job, Bat ‘tis Delia will be in at tho finish; yo can bet on thot! D.: Yo can so, (Winks significantly as he departs.) Au’ let mo tell yo wan thing, Finnegan, Whon the furrm of Dorgan an’ Finnegan goes into artchitekturo it ain’t in ut fur its health, (Exit Dorgan, Finnegan puts his feet on the table and stares vacantly at the City Hall.) Richard Holbrook, No Respecter of Prestige. LARISSA FLIMFLAM: Of course you adore sea bathing, Mr. Van Bobber? Mr, Scapptnoton Van Boner: Sea bathing? No, indeed. Ihateit. Why, that old ocean tumbles and knocks me around as if I were a mere nobody.