Within, James Kelly stood behind the bar polishing thin glasses, and frowning vexedly; a group of customers sat at a table drinking and watching the deft fingers of Nobby Foley guide a pencil along a narrow strip of paper. “What are youse buyin’ to-day, Daily?” inquired Foley. “I’m a sucker for buyin’ anyt’ing;” complained Daily. He wore hob-nailed shoes and clothing covered with burnt spots which showed him to be an iron-worker. He took some loose silver from his pocket and selected a quarter. “Gimme that much,” said he, “o’ whatever ye t’ink’s hot.” “I’m buyin’ the police row meself,” said the policy-writer. “That’ll do,” said Daily. “It’s just the same; like t’rowin’ good money in the street.” “Two’s a half?” inquired the other, glancing up. “Not on yer life! If I strike the game I’ll hit it big, see? Good and hard! No gittin’ the small end, tryin’ to save me play.” “It’s your say. Whistle yer own piece, me boy, if youse t’ink it’ll do ye any good.” The “writer” looked around at the array of half empty glasses and added, “drink yer beer, gents; we’ll have another.” Kelly glanced at the clock over the bar. His frown grew heavier; and opening the door leading to the dwelling portion of the house, he cried: “Is not Martin had breakfast yet.” “I can’t swallow me feed whole,” came Martin’s voice angrily. “Shut up, will youse!” Kelly closed the door with a bang. “Damn the bit av good he is till me,” growled he, recommencing upon the glasses. “Beers, Kel,” called Foley. “What’s the matter, old boy. Youse look mad.” “Little wonder,” answered Kelly, drawing the beer and carrying it to where his customers sat. “Here I have McQuirk an’ young Haley till meet at the City Hall at noine be the day; it’s but a few minutes av it now, an’ divil take the wan I have till tind bar.” “I heerd,” said one of the men, addressing the policy man, “that Levitsky’s place was pinched last night.” “That’s right. He had some words with the lieutenant, and the loot sent a wagon down there t’cut even, see? But, say, he’s out an’ wide open for biz this mornin’, because McQuirk got him out as soon as he heard about it. Youse can’t queer the push!” O’Hara came in through a side door; his face wore a fat smile, as he walked to the bar. “Good mornin’, James,” saluted he. “How are yez, Malachi?” returned the saloonkeeper, “is it yez mornin’s mornin’ ye’d be after?” “Divil a ilce! Give me a sup out av the brown bottle, an’ a troifle o’ porter on the soide.” “I suppose,” remarked old Kelly as the drink was tossed off and rung up on the cash register, “that ye’ll give me a lift at the primaries next wake.” “Sure, James, I’ll strive till be neighbourly; an’ if me vote’ll do yez any good, faith, yez shall have it.” “Ivery wan counts. I’m sure till be nominated, for the boss is wid me; but we want all the votes we kin get in yez division, for the young bla’gards are makin’ a foight agin me, I hear.”