“Oh! Veil! It vass goot for business.” He seemed pleased to talk about this, but expression was a matter of labour and excitement. “Veil! You see! Die boys sie come at Freiburger's saloon, und I know 'em all on Maple Street und der Fourt Vard. Und nights at Freiburger's I hear von der shobs und der Union und der prices. Und sie tell me vy der carriage factory strike. Und sie tell me Hennion iss a shquvare man, und Vood vill do as he say he vill do, und Shamieson in der freight yards iss a hog, und Ranald Cam iss make money, und Fater Harra iss teach lil' boys fight mit gloves in St. Catherine's parochial school und bleed der badness out of der kleine noses. Und sie say, 'I loss my shob, Freiburger!' 'My lil' boy sick, Freiburger.' Ach, so! All dings in der Vard iss tell me. Veil now, aber, look here! I am a Councilman. Der iss no man so big on Maple Street as Fater Harra und me, und Freiburger's iss head-quaverters of der Vard, und das iss goot for business.” “That's all right. I see your point. But the Council isn't supposed to be an adjunct to the different councilmen's business, is it? I suppose the Ward understood itself to be trusting its interests in your hands, don't you? and you're a sort of guardian and trustee for the city, aren't you? Seems as if that would take a good deal of time and worry, because you'd want to be sure you were doing right by the city and the Ward, and it's a complicated affair you have to look after, and a lot of people's interests at stake.” Wood stirred slightly in his chair, partly with pleasure at the humour of it, partly with uneasiness. It was all right for Hennion to examine the Freiburger soul, if he liked, but to cast on its smooth seas such wide-stirring, windy ideas seemed unkind to Freiburger. Freiburger puffed heavily in the darkness. The excitement of expressing himself subsided, and Hennion's idea opened before him, a black gulf into which he could for a while only stare dubiously. His mind reached out vaguely for something familiar to cling to. “Veil--I don' know--die boys and Fater Harra und--Mein Gott! I ask Vood!” He puffed heavily again after the struggle and triumph. “Couldn't do better. It's what your boys expect of you anyhow.” And Hennion returned to his silence. Freiburger's soul glowed peacefully once more. “It iss Vood's business, hein?” He looked from one to the other of the impassive, self-controlled men. He wanted Wood to say something that he could carry away for law and wisdom and conviction, something to which other ideas might be fitted and referred. He had the invertebrate instinct of a mollusk to cling to something not itself, something rooted and undriven, in the sea. “You've done well, Freiburger,” said Wood, rousing himself. “Tell the boys they've done well. Stay by your beer and don't worry till the keg's dry.” Freiburger rolled away, murmuring his message loyally. “Stay by mein--a--mein keg's dry.”