“Good morning, everybody!” rushed on Mr. Burrow, with a genial wave of his hand and a smile of benediction for the waiting minions. This second Alexander the Great knew that you can abuse a man’s patience if you are a person of importance and smile blandly enough. Some of the Cæsars could even massacre and remain popular—but they had to smile very winningly. “Terribly busy! Must make all interviews brief this morning,” went on the new dictator. “Must get over to the City Hall!” Then in view of congealing acidity on the visages of three newspaper men, he added, since no man is great enough to offend a reporter: “I’ll have a big story for you boys to-morrow. You know I’m your friend.” He swept Mr. Copewell into the private office and the door slammed on his smile. “I haf been sedding here for an hour alretty,” confided Alderman Grotz to his next neighbor. The Alderman’s heavy lids blinked with a stolid, bovine disapproval. “Der more I vait, der more I do not see him. Id iss nod right!” Alderman Grotz was reported to carry the lager and bratwurst vote about in the pocket of his ample, plaid waistcoat. Such discrimination against him was venturesome politics. “That guy that went in there ain’t like us,” explained Tommy Deveran, whose florid oratory had been the machine’s prized asset until the drift of political straws had guided him toward reform. “He wears silk half-hose where you an’ me wears cotton socks. This here is a classy, high-brow administration. Myself not bein’ no cotillion-leader, I’m goin’ to beat it!” The Hon. Thomas rose and beat it in all the majesty of affronted dignity. * * * * * Inside, Mr. Copewell threw his hat and stick on the desk and himself into a chair. He commenced to speak and suddenly stopped. A fine flow of high-pressure language was arrested by the sight of Chief-of-Police Swager, sitting just across the room. The Chief rose and took up his gold-trimmed cap. The new administration had added to the pulchritude of its police officials by more jaunty uniforms. The Colonel felt conscious of a distinguished and military bearing. “I’m going to shift Captain McGarvey from the Tenderloin—if you don’t object,” he announced. Mr. Burrow did not object. He did not know who Captain McGarvey was, but that fact he did not mention. “What for, Chief, what for?” he inquired brightly. His air was that of a field-marshal for whom no little thing is too small to merit consideration. “Well,” thoughtfully pursued Colonel Swager, “I doubt if he’s on the level, though I haven’t got him dead to rights yet—can’t prefer charges. McGarvey’s a machine hold-over and he’s likely to be a little blind in one eye where some of the thieves and yeggs that used to buy protection are concerned. ‘Rat’ Connors was seen last night, down at Corkhill’s place. You know ‘Rat’ Connors?”