To Micky O'Byrn, sitting with knitted brows as the other nominations, involving a complete demolition of the Shaughnessy ticket, were hurried through, there was food for much serious thought and conjecturing. He noted the new candidate as he was brought before the convention and introduced, amid great enthusiasm, by Hon. Thomas Grady. He was older than Micky had imagined and he seemed wearied, almost ill. Still, reflected O'Byrn,--as he listened to the candidate's short speech of appreciation and of assurances for the future, in the event of election,--it seemed strange that the Judge should not display more enthusiasm over an honor which had come to him so signally. Then he fell again to pondering, striving to put two and two together. That the outcome seriously threatened the Fusionist movement was undeniable. In fact, that ticket was as good as defeated already, for it was robbed of an issue. Judge Boynton was a strong candidate, every whit as strong as Theodore Packard and in similar ways. Incredible as it might seem, Shaughnessy had been humiliated, practically kicked out by his party. But how had it happened? Micky frowned. "There's a nigger somewhere," he reflected, "if the coon could only be found." At the close of the convention Micky was walking thoughtfully down the street toward the office. It was then dusk and the lamps were being lighted. Someone joined Micky and quietly fell into pace with him. O'Byrn glanced up. It was Slade. "Funny thing that, over at the convention," remarked Micky. "I should have thought Shaughnessy was solid." "Yes," answered Slade, placidly. "I should have naturally thought he was." "Were you there?" "You bet." "Then tell me whether Shaughnessy gave Tom Grady the wink to spiel this afternoon," pursued Micky, "or is it my eyes?" Slade looked at him keenly, then laughed quietly. "I'm sayin' nothing--yet," said he, "but your eyes seem O. K. to me." CHAPTER X THE LITTLE RED DEVIL Harkins looked up from his loaded desk, glancing at the clock. It was after ten. The city editor frowned heavily and called to Fatty, who was just passing him on his way out. "Stearns," he inquired, "have you seen O'Byrn? He has not reported, nor did he ask off for this evening." "Perhaps he's sick, sir," nervously volunteered Fatty, who knew better but did not intend to give his co-worker away. "Seems to me he looked kind o' peaked yesterday." "He could easily have sent word," doubtfully rejoined Harkins. "However, you might inquire and let me know. Or, if you see him, send him in here," and he turned to his desk. Fatty went out. "Send him in here!" he chuckled grimly. "If he's stayed with that bunch he was with at six o'clock, Harkins would pass him on to the gold cure."