“There,” said young Morton, inspecting them with the close air of a critic, “they look like the real thing, don't they? Don't you think they'll pass muster?” “An' why not?” said Big Kennedy. “I take it they're game to swear to their age, an' have got sense enough to give a house number that's in th' district?” “It's not that,” returned young Morton languidly. “But these fellows aren't men, old chap, they're women, don't y' know! It's the clothes does it. I'm going to dress up the wenches in overalls and jumpers; it's my own little idea.” “Say!” said Big Kennedy solemnly, as we were on our return; “that young Morton beats four kings an' an ace. He's a bird! I never felt so much like takin' off my hat to a man in my life. An' to think he's a Republican!” Here Big Kennedy groaned over genius misplaced. “There's no use talkin'; he ought to be in Tammany Hall.” The district which was to determine the destinies of the reputable old gentleman included two city wards besides the one over which Big Kennedy held sway. The campaign was not two weeks old before it stood patent to a dullest eye that Big Kennedy, while crowded hard, would hold his place as leader in spite of the Tammany Chief and the best efforts he could put forth. When this was made apparent, while the strife went forward as fiercely as before, the Chief sent overtures to Big Kennedy. If that rebellionist would return to the fold of the machine, bygones would be bygones, and a feast of love and profit would be spread before him. Big Kennedy, when the olive branch was proffered, sent word that he would meet the Chief next day. He would be at a secret place he named. “An' tell him to come alone,” said Big Kennedy to the messenger. “That's th' way I'll come; an' if he goes to ringin' in two or three for this powwow, you can say to him in advance it's all off.” Following the going of the messenger, Big Kennedy fell into a brown study. “Do you think you'll deal in again with the Chief and the machine?” I asked. “It depends on what's offered. A song an' dance won't get me.” “But how about the Mortons? Would you abandon them?” Big Kennedy looked me over with an eye of pity. Then he placed his hand on my head, as on that far-off day in court. “You're learnin' politics,” said Big Kennedy slowly, “an' you're showin' speed. But let me tell you: You must chuck sentiment. Quit th' Mortons? I'll quit 'em in a holy minute if th' bid comes strong enough.” “Would you quit your friends?”