The victor and his vassals, perhaps a dozen of them by this time, remained in possession of the field. "Good thing I had those coppers planted before I started anything," commented the big fellow. "Those strong-arm guys like to got me going at the end." "They certainly handled themselves very useful," Jack acknowledged. "They gotta be with us after this, or get out of town." The big fellow turned suddenly on Jim. "And you, you yellow pup," he roared, seizing him by the collar, "what were you doing while they was pounding me up? D'you think you were at a ball game, hey?" He shook him back and forth until his jaws cracked. "I--I was trying--I got one of 'em by the leg, and he----" "Yes, like you'd pick flowers in the spring--sweet and pretty--that's the way you grabbed his leg." He lifted Jim from the ground and flung him on the floor. "Yellow pup!" he repeated passionately, over and over again. Jim raised himself to his elbow, but did not dare to go further. The big fellow's eyes were still blazing. "Honest, Ed, I was trying to help." Miles took a step toward him. "You're a G--d d--d liar!" he shouted. Jim tried to meet his look. It was a wretched business to be called that name before a dozen others--it had happened to him before, but he always hated it. Still the big fellow seemed especially vicious and dangerous just now; Jim knew how senseless it was to cross him when he was having one of his spells, and besides, they never lasted long, anyway. Jim dropped his eyes again, acknowledging the justice of the discipline. Miles threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar and broke the tension with a jolly laugh. "Well, I guess we've put Coffey Neal out o' this primary," said he. "Plunge in, lads." Jack served each man, but nothing for Jim. The code provided for a final display of magnanimity by the fountainhead. "Come ahead, Jim," he growled, kindly. Serenity unfolded again her frightened wings and the smoke of peace increased and multiplied over a leader fitted to lead and followers fitted to follow. The ensuing celebration spread itself over many hours and into many taverns. There was some agreeable close harmony, to which Jim joined a pleasant baritone, and much revilement of all double-crossers, from Judas and Benedict Arnold down to Coffey Neal, and a certain Irish party whose name now escapes me, but who grievously misbehaved himself during a Fenian incident. Very frequently they reached the shank of the evening--as often, indeed, as anybody wanted to go home. And in the big fellow's mouth the shank was ever a cogent argument. Eventually the ultimate question as to their further destination was put, and here the big fellow stood aside, permitting perfect latitude of decision. He was a politician and he knew that he could not possibly afford to have it said by the wives of the ward that he influenced their husbands toward sin. He could afford to have almost everything else said about him, but not that.