The policeman half started up, and in his indignation almost crushed one of the little hands that he had been chafing. "Sir, this is inhuman--it is shameful." "Do you know where you are?--whom you are speaking to?" said the great man, growing pale about the mouth, but subduing his passion with wonderful firmness. "Yes, I know well enough. This is your house, and you are the Mayor of New York!" "And you--may I have the honor of knowing who it is that favors my poor dwelling, and with company like that!" said the Mayor, pointing to the child, while his upper lip contracted and the corners of his mouth drooped into a cold sneer. "Yes, sir, you can know: I am a policeman of this ward, appointed by your predecessor--a just and good man; my name is John Chester. Taking pity on this forlorn little creature, I followed her from a house whence she had crept out into the cold, hoping to be of some use; she came up here, and rang at your door. I heard what passed between you. As a citizen, I should have been ashamed, had I unfortunately been among those who placed you in power; I must say it--your conduct to this poor starved thing, shocked me beyond utterance. I thank God that no vote of mine aided to lift you where you are." "And so you are a policeman of this ward. Very well," said the Mayor; and the sneer upon his face died away while he began to pace the room, the soft fall of his slippers upon the carpet giving a cat-like stillness to his movements. He felt that a man who could thus fearlessly speak out his just indignation, was not the kind of person to persecute openly. Besides, it was not in this man's nature to do anything openly. Like a mole, he burrowed out his plans under ground, and when forced to brave the daylight, always cunningly allowed some pliant tool to remove the earth that was unavoidably cast up in his passage. His genius lay in that low cunning and prudent management, with which small men of little intellect and no heart sometimes deceive the world. He had long outlived all feelings sufficiently strong to render him impetuous, and was utterly devoid of that generous self-respect which prompts a man to repel an attack fearlessly and at once. In short, he was one of those who _lie still and wait_, like the crafty pointer dogs that creep along the grass, hunting out game for others to shoot down for them, and devouring the spoil with a keener relish than the noble hound that makes the forest ring as he plunges upon his prey. True to his character and his system, the Mayor paused in his walk, and, bending over the child, said coldly, but still with some appearance of feeling-- "She seems to be getting better--probably it will be nothing serious!"