When they finally came down into the parlour, Mason was ready to take his leave; he had his hat and stick in his hand and was exchanging some last words with Owen. “Every man,” he was saying, “who has the good of the city at heart, and who has the slightest sense of justice, will do everything in his power to prevent this proposed steal. I have made up my mind that the only way to prevent its consummation is to canvass persons who have influence in their own neighbourhood, acquaint them with the facts and endeavour to organize an opposition at the primaries.” “There yez have it,” said Owen, approvingly. “The primaries is the place till make the fight; lave thim wanst git control av the convintions in the different wards, an’ they’ll put their own bla’gards on the regular ticket an’ thin the divil himself couldn’t bate thim.” “And this young man whom you advised me to see; where can he be found?” “Oh, Larry Murphy? Yis, yez could do worse thin have Larry wid yez. Sure, he’s so solid in his own division that McQuirk himself has till take second place, there. “Mary,” and Owen turned to the girl, “Is Larry at home?” “Yes,” answered Mary. “If you want to find Mr. Murphy,” laughed Maggie, “we will provide a way for you. Mr. Mason, this is Miss Carroll.” The introduction being acknowledged, Maggie continued: “You can be of mutual service to each other, Mr. Mason--you as escort, and Miss Carroll as guide.” But, after their visitor had gone, and Maggie had sought her own room, the laugh vanished and she threw herself upon the bed and burst into a storm of tears. Her thoughts went back to the time of her childhood, to the little home in McGarragles’ Alley. She once more saw the dark-eyed boy who had been her very slave, who was always ready to fight for her, and who was happiest when by her side. But as they grew up the years had separated them; she lived in her present home, went to the Normal School and found new friends very different from the old, though her heart was still true to them. And Larry only saw the change from the outside. When she came tripping along on Sunday morning, prayer book in hand, on her way to church, he, standing on the corner in front of Regan’s cigar store, rigged out in a cream-coloured overcoat with pearl buttons, saluted her with a nod of assumed indifference and she would return it in kind and continue on her way, wondering: “What in the world Larry Murphy saw in standing on Regan’s corner all day of a Sunday.” An incident had occurred later that should have ended this misunderstanding; and it would have done so had not the sense of distance between them been magnified, in Larry’s mind, by the very nature of the happening. Shannon, the teamster by whom he was employed, had one day called Larry into the little office down by the river.