“The Reverend Bronson,” said I, “has asked for Inspector McCue. What sort of a man is McCue?” Gothecore wrinkled his face into an expression of profound disgust. “Who's McCue?” he repeated. “He's one of them mugwump pets. He makes a bluff about bein' honest, too, does McCue. I think he'd join a church, if he took a notion it would stiffen his pull.” “But is he a man of strength? Can he make trouble?” “Trouble?” This with contempt. “When it comes to makin' trouble, he's a false alarm.” “Well,” said I, in conclusion, “McCue and the dominie are going into your precinct.” “I'll tell you one thing,” returned Gothecore, his face clouding up, “I think it's that same Reverend Bronson who gives Melting Moses th' office to dog me. I'll put Mr. Whitechoker onto my opinion of th' racket, one of these days.” “You'd better keep your muzzle on,” I retorted. “Your mouth will get you into trouble yet.” Gothecore went away grumbling, and much disposed to call himself ill-used. During the next few days I was to receive frequent visits from the Reverend Bronson. His mission was to enlist me in his crusade against the gamblers. I put him aside on that point. “You should remember,” said I, as pleasantly as I well could, “that I am a politician, not a policeman. I shall think of my party, and engage in no unusual moral exploits of the sort you suggest. The town doesn't want it done.” “The question,” responded the Reverend Bronson warmly, “is one of law and morality, and not of the town's desires. You say you are a politician, and not a policeman. If it comes to that, I am a preacher, and not a policeman. Still, I no less esteem it my duty to interfere for right. I see no difference between your position and my own.” “But I do. To raid gamblers, and to denounce them, make for your success in your profession. With me, it would be all the other way. It is quite easy for you to adopt the path you do. Now I am not so fortunately placed.” “You are the head of Tammany Hall,” said the Reverend Bronson solemnly. “It is a position which loads you with responsibility, since your power for good or bad in the town is absolute. You have but to point your finger at those gambling dens, and they would wither from the earth.” “Now you do me too much compliment,” said I. “The Chief of Tammany is a much weaker man than you think. Moreover, I shall not regard myself as responsible for the morals of the town.” “Take young Van Flange,” went on the Reverend Bronson, disregarding my remark. “They've ruined the boy; and you might have saved him.” “And there you are mistaken,” I replied. “But if it were so, why should I be held for his ruin? 'I am not my brother's keeper.'”