Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 222, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 September 1916 — Finnegan’s Philosophy BALAAM [ARTICLE]

Finnegan’s Philosophy BALAAM

Well do I mind the story, said Finnegan. Balaam was a highbrow that knowed less than his Jackass. Ho took an office to curse the people. The Jackass saved them. ’Tis all In Numbers Twinty-two. Och hone! ’Tis different these times. The Jackass knew better till Balaam tamed him. "Lave me ride ye,” says Balaam, “an' I’ll make ye the biggest Ass in the wurld.” “Great,” says the Ass; “what d’ye feed?” “Pork,” says Balaam. “Me savior,” says the Ass. 8# Balaam mounts. But soon the Jack balks. “Phwat is It?” says Balaam. “Snakes,” says the Ass; “Ut looks like the Jawbone uv me mother.” “G’wan,” says Balaam, hittln’ thd Ass a clip, “ ’tis me furren’ policy,” he says. “Phwat’s ut for?” axes the Ass. “Ut deflnds the nashun,” says Balaam. “How?” says the Ass. "Faith,” says Baladm, “ut tabes a bigger Ass than you to -know that. Lave it to Brine,” says Balaam to the Ass; an’ the Jack walks on meditatin’. “nee, haw,” says the Ass, balkin’ an’ kickin’.

“What now?” says Balaam. “Dlvil a Jackass ever seen the like,” says the Ass. “Ut could be a frog,” says he, “for ut stands up In front, an’ sits down behind; an’ ’tis mos’ly mouth,’’ says the Ass. “Ut has white feathers,” says the Jack, “wid yaller streaks, that changes,” he says, “to Very Crooz Red, or Niagaray Blue, an’ now they’re Carrysall Yaller again,” says he. “Hivins, have I been drinkin’?” screams the Ass to Balaam. “Saints be praised,” says Balaam. “Me Watchful Waitin’ can still change its mind,” he says. “G’wan, where glory waits,” he says. “G’wan, in the service uv Mankind,” says Balaam to the Ass, touching him up. An’ the Ass shuffles ahead, wavin’ his ears in admiration.. . . > > "Hee-haw! Hee-haw 1” says the Jack, rearin’ up wid his eyes bulgin’. “Phwat’B grippin’ ye now?” says Balaam, impashunt like. "I donno,” says the Ass. “Ut looks like the Flyin’ Dutchman with a Socialist Crew,” he says. “ 'Tis me Ship BUI,” says Balaam. “Side step to the right,” he says; “side step to the left,” says he, weltin’ him. “Back up,” says Balaam, near wrenchla’ off the Jack’s jaw. “Now forward for the Merchant Marine an’ fifty mlllyun pork” says Balaam” Arid a shower uv blows; an’ the Ass goes onthremblln’. “Wab-heel Wah-hee! Wah-hee!” says the Jack, shyin’ so be near threw bis xlder.

“I’ll learn ye to shy at me Naval Bill,” says Balaam, lar-ropin’ the baste so he cud scarce stand. “Ye can’t pass ut widout weariu' Republican clothes,” says the Jack iu a coarse whisper. o'Ye Ass,” says Balaam. s “Don’t ye know that nnny does Is belt her nor nakedness? G'wan,” says Balaam, in toims uv thunder. So the poor baste lopes on, limpin' wid pain. I’ve not time to tell ye all the adventures they had., hut they kep’ ou over rough roads, now an’ then crossin’ a ditch on a wan term plank, which made even Balaam unalsy. Iviry time the Jack kicked, he got short rations an’ a wnllup. So when the journey was near over, the poor haste wus all in, and far too proud, to tight. Any Jack-Ass can he that when lie’s licked. Wan stormy night, the Jack blooms Into a harmony like a Dimycrat Tariff Hymn plhyed on a gaspipe wid the feet.

“Phwat alls ye now?'’ calls Balaam, clubbin’ him wid both hands. "Nlvver did I pass the like,” yells the Ahs, sweatin’ and thremblin'. “Ut says ut’s an eight hour jaw. Oh, phwat Is ut?” screams the Ass to Balaam, feebly wagglin’ his ears. "I dinno phwat ut Is meself,” says Balaam, “but I know phwat ut’s got,” Balaam says. “Phwat?” axes the poor Ass. “Five hundther thousand votes,” says Balaam, wid a pious air. “G’wan, ye big Ass, an’ doant ye argue wid an Idayllst,” says Balaam to the Ass. “We can’t pass ut in the dark,” pleads the Ass. “Lave us wait for light,” moans the Ass, weepin’. “Nix,” says Balaam, “There’s a hot time cornin’ an’ the votes’ll spile. Do ye thurst for sixteen more years in the wilderness? Giddlp,” says he, “purgin’ ye’r heart,” says Balaam, “lv iviry thought that’s selfish,” says Balaam, “or personal,” chants Balaam to the poor Ass ticklin’ the Jack’s slats wid a couplin’ pin. By tnls time, the Ass was so wore out wid his ardyous labors, that he knew no more than Balaam himself. So, wid one despairin’ cry, he dropped his ears, as he ao-’ his master stumbled forward iuto the dark.