“Well,” the chief said to Keighley, when they were alone again in the bows, “I guess your company’s all right, Dan. If those four men go into court against Doherty, it lets me out. I’ve got no kick coming.” He smiled a satisfied slow smile. “Their association isn’t as strong as it was, eh?” Keighley passed a worried hand over his forehead. “Chief,” he said, “I’ve had a good deal o’ trouble in the las’ two months, an’ I’ve been doin’ a lot o’ thinkin’. An I want to tell yuh this: Here’s this fire department as clean as anyone’d want it, an’ here’s ev’ry other department in this town, between you an’ me, gettin’ rotten with graft. Why don’t politics get a hold on us.” He leaned forward poking out his forefinger. “’Cause politics can’t put out a fire, an’ a fire, when it starts, has _got_ to be put out, er the whole damn town goes up. Yuh can’t fool with a fire.” “Well?” the chief said. “Well,” Keighley went on, “that’s where the ‘Jiggers’ fell down. An’ if _you’ve_ come back to the department to pound ‘Jiggers’ an’ knife the men ’at knifed you, that’s where _you’ll_ fall down. Don’t get on yer ear, now. If this ain’t true, yuh needn’t mind it. An’ if it _is_ true, yuh can’t change it by gettin’ sore on me.” “Go ahead,” the chief said. “Get it out of your system.” Keighley nodded. “These ‘Jiggers’ here tried to stick me, instead of attendin’ to their bus’ness--an’ they pretty near curled up their toes in the bottom o’ the _Sachsen_. Moran tried to stick me at that lumber yard blaze, an’ if it hadn’t been fer the way m’ own men stood by me he’d’ve been burned out of his job. I attended to my work an’ treated ‘Jigger’ an’ anti-‘Jigger’ the same. An’ with Moran an the Commissioner an’ the whole bunch tryin’ to trip me up, here I am still. There’s somethin’ in it, I tell yuh. There’s somethin’ in it.” The chief tugged at his mustache. “There’s the police,” Keighley went on. “They’re rotten--’cause they’re playin’ politics. Here’s the firemen--the same breed as the policemen--an’ yuh never hear a word against ’em. Why? ’Cause our work’s too hot fer a grafter--an’ too hot fer a politician--an’ too hot fer a ‘Jigger,’ unless he’s a fireman first an’ a ‘Jigger’ after. You put back the men that Moran shifted, an’ let it go at that. If yuh do more, yuh’ll do worse. An’ yuh’ll end up in a hole. That’s _my_ opinion.” The chief said, “Moran’s going to get out. There’ll be a promotion from the battalion-chiefs. Do you want to quit here an’ go on up?” “D’ yuh mean do I want a battalion?” “Yes.” Keighley shook his head. “Not on yer life.” “Why not?” He looked out at the pierhouse, which they were approaching. “I like what I got. I been three months gettin’ things into shape here. It’s a good crew. It’s a hell of a good boat.” “You’ll have a softer thing in the other.” Keighley smiled crookedly. “Too much desk work. I ain’t happy unless I got a fire in front o’ me. When I want somethin’ softer, I’ll take my half pay an’ quit.”