A lively canvass was now waging, and the inevitable discussions, criminations, and recriminations grew more and more exciting. On the eve of the caucuses the war of the factions waxed hot. Leaders and bullies of both sides were on the alert, and Paddy Sullivan held matinées and evening gatherings at "The Shades," lager beer and poor whiskey flowing as free as water, and the "b'ys" kept full at the expense of one or the other candidate. "Arrah! b'ys, whoop 'er in!" Paddy would exclaim as he tapped a fresh keg of lager. The night before the caucus of the Senator's party Paddy Sullivan was in his glory. The leading spirit among the class frequenting his gin palace, his word he declared to be "lar." While the bar was flanked by a row of men, Miller entered accompanied by Editor Rawlings, the latter overcome with liquor. After a general hand-shaking, Miller said: "Come, boys, what'll it be?" "Arrah, Mishter Miller!" said Paddy, "things is jist rid-hot; the b'ys is all sound fer our frind the Sinitor. The ould man will win as aisy as sippin' beer. I'll bet tin dollars wid any mon in the crowd that Daley won't git quarther of the votes to-morrow avenin'. He was jusht in here wid his party, and the b'ys took in his beer, and when the door closed agin him they up and give three cheers for the Sinitor. Now thin, gintlemen, here's a sintiment: When the caucus closes may Daley be a spilt pig wid his nose out of j'int." "Hip! hip! guzzle 'er down!" chorused the crowd. "Them's the sentiments!" said Rawlings, who clung to the bar for support. "I'm solid for Sen'ter 'Amblin. Whoop 'er in, boys. I'm a thoroughbred every time! Come, Paddy, set 'em up again--what'll y' 'ave, boys? This is a thoroughbred drink. 'Zactly so." The party falling in line, their guns were soon loaded with ammunition, warranted to kill at forty rods and indirectly damage everybody in the neighborhood. Rawlings continued: "Gen'lemen--'ere's hopin' that to-morrer evenin' the old man'll scoop in all the (hic) votes and every son of a gun'll be a--a Millerite. Eh, Miller! ole man, how's that fer a thurrerbred?" The sentiment was applauded, even the fat wife of the proprietor, at the back door of the bar-room, responding: "Faith, the iditor is as livel-headed as that darlin' ould mon, my Paddy." After ordering cigars for the party, Miller prepared to leave the place; pausing at the door and striking an attitude, he said: "Boys, I hope you will all attend the caucus to-morrow evening, using your prerogatives as free citizens to help sustain an honest man--the people's candidate--against the monopolies that are trying to overthrow the individual rights of every man here." Then taking the red fist of Paddy, he whispered: "Well done, old friend; you are a power, and the Senator knows it, and won't forget it either."