"The blackleg would sell the tomb off his father's grave," he mused, brushing the ashes from his clothes. Let Bennington rip up his shops; all the better for Donnelly's chances of reelection. The laboring party would be sure to desert Warrington's standard, since he was a personal and intimate friend of Bennington the oppressor. He laughed again sinisterly. Presently he would have them all by the throats. He would watch them squirm, too. This young fool Warrington; he was the first real obstacle he (McQuade) had encountered in his checkered career. Threats could not move him. He had believed at the start that he could scare him away from the convention; but the fool wouldn't be scared. And his damned dog! "He'll never reach the City Hall, not while I live, damn his impudence! That woman, though, is no fool. She's kept her mouth shut. They don't always do that. Well, I can write more than receipts on the machine. I'll ruin them both if I can. Ordered me out of the house, and I honestly liked the woman! But I'll square accounts presently." Meanwhile Donnelly set the wires humming. He finally got Bennington at the shops. "This is Mr. Bennington. Who is it and what is wanted?" "This is the mayor talking." "Oh! Well, what is it, Mr. Donnelly?" "I must see you at once in my office. This is an urgent request. I can't explain the matter over the wire. But you'll do yourself and me a great favor if you'll come into town at once." "Very important?" "Extremely so." "I shall be there at five o'clock." "Thanks. I shall await you." Donnelly hung up the receiver, very well satisfied. Bennington understood. Politics was going to take a hand in the game. After all, it was best to take the bull by the horns at once and have it over with. He knew how well he had fortified himself against any political machinery. So, promptly at a quarter to five, he departed, leaving explicit orders with his subordinates. The strikers moved aside for him, muttering and grumbling, but they made no effort to impede his progress. There were groans and catcalls, but that was all. He looked neither to the right nor to the left, but presented his back to them fearlessly. Chittenden, upon Bennington's advice, had gone to New York. The strikers would have used him roughly, could they have laid hands on him. Arriving in town, Bennington went at once to the City Hall and straight to the mayor's private office. "Well, Mr. Donnelly?" he began, his hat on his handsome head and his cane behind his back, neither offensive nor defensive. Donnelly closed the door leading to the clerk's office and came back to his desk. He waved his hand toward a chair. If he could bend this young hot-head, it would be a victory worth while, politically. "In the first place, Mr. Bennington, aren't you going a little too hard on the men?" "That was their lookout; they had every chance to think the matter over, to examine all sides of the question."