That evening, Peter was ushered into a large hot room, pretty well packed with men, and the interstices already filled in with dense tobacco smoke. He looked about him curiously, and was surprised to find how many of the faces he knew. Blackett, Dooley, and Milligan were there, and shook hands with him warmly. Judge Gallagher and Blunkers were in evidence. In plain clothes were two policemen, and three of the “fire-laddies,” who formed part of the “crew” of the nearest engine, with all of whom he had often chatted. Mr. Dummer, his rival lawyer in the case, and one of the jurymen in it, likewise were visible. Also many faces which were familiar to Peter by a former occasional friendly word or nod exchanged in passing. Intense excitement evidently reigned, and every one was whispering in a sort of breathless way, which showed how deeply interested they were. At Dennis’s suggestion, made in walking to the room, Peter presented himself without guidance, at the desk. Some one behind him asked if he lived in the ward, and for how long, but this was the only apparent opposition made to the prompt entering of his name. Then Peter strolled round and talked to those whom he knew, and tried to find out, without much success, just what was the division. Every one knew that a fight was on, but in just what it consisted they seemed neither to know nor care. He noticed that hot words were constantly exchanged at the enrolling desk, over would-be members, but not understanding the exact nature of the qualifications needed, he could not follow the disputes. Finally these ceased, for want of applicants. “Misther Stirling,” said Dennis, coming up to him hurriedly. “Will yez be afther bein’ chairman for us?” “No. I don’t know anything about the proceedings.” “It don’t take any,” said Dennis. “It’s only fair play we’re afther.” He was gone again before Peter could say anything. The next instant, the enrolling officer rose and spoke. “Are there any more to be enrolled?” he called. No one came forward, so after a moment he said: “Will the meeting choose a presiding officer?” “Mr. Chairman,” rang two voices so quickly that they in truth cut the presiding officer off in his suggestion. “Mr. Muldoon,” said that officer. “Oi spoke first,” shouted Dennis, and Peter felt that he had, and that he was not having fair play. Instantly a wave of protest, denials, charges, and counter-charges swept through the room, Peter thought there was going to be a fight, but the position was too critical to waste a moment on what Dennis styled “a diversion.” It was business, not pleasure, just then. “Mr. Muldoon,” said the officer again, not heeding the tempest in the least. “Mr. Chairman,” shouted Muldoon, “I am proud to nominate Justice Gallagher, the pride of the bar, for chairman of this distinguished meeting, and I move to make his election unanimous.” “Misther Chairman,” shouted Dennis. “Mr. Moriarty,” said the officer.