“Yes,” said Dennis. “It’s Kennedy looks out for himself, an’ we’ll let him do it next time all by himself.” It could not be traced to its origin, but in less than a week the consensus of opinion in the ward was that: “Kennedy voted for himself, but Stirling for us.” The ward, too, was rather proud of the celebrity it had achieved. The papers had not merely paragraphed Peter, and the peculiar position of the “district” in the convention, but they had begun now asking questions as to how the ward would behave. “Would it support Catlin?” “Was it true that the ward machine had split, and intended to nominate rival tickets?” “Had one faction made a deal with the Republicans?” “Begobs,” said Dennis, “it’s the leaders an’ the papers are just afther discoverin’ there is a sixth ward, an’ it’s Misther Stirling’s made them do it.” The chief party leaders had stayed over at Saratoga, but Peter had a call from Costell before the week was out. “The papers gave it to you rather rough,” Costell said kindly, “but they didn’t understand it. We thought you behaved very square.” “They tell me I did Porter harm.” “No. It was Maguire did the harm. You simply told about it. Of course you get the blame.” “My constituents stand by me.” “How do they like Catlin?” “I think they are entirely satisfied. I’m afraid they never cared much who got it.” “I’m told Kennedy is growling, and running amuck?” “He’s down on Catlin and me.” “Well, if you think best, we’ll placate him? But Gallagher seemed to think he couldn’t do much?” “I don’t think he has much of a following. Even Moriarty, who was his strong card, has gone back on him.” “Will you make a couple of speeches for us in this ward?” “If you’ll let me say what I want?” “You can support us?” “Yes.” “Then we’ll leave it to you. Only beware of making too many statements. You’ll get dates and places from the committee as soon as they are settled. We pay twenty-five dollars a night. If you hit the right key, we may want you in some of the other wards, too.” “I shall be glad to talk. It’s what I’ve been doing to small crowds in the saloons.” “So I’m told. You’ll never get a better place. Men listen there, as they never will at a mass-meeting.” Costell rose. “If you are free next Sunday, come up into Westchester and take a two o’clock dinner with me. We won’t talk politics, but you shall see a nice little woman, who’s good enough to make my life happier, and after we’ve looked over my stables, I’ll bring you back to the city behind a gray mare that will pass about anything there is on the road.”