Not many members of the Aurora Borealis Club who had entered the political arena against Kelly had gone to work that day. Some were canvassing their divisions for votes or information, and others lounged about the club rooms, ready for anything that might turn up. Larry Murphy, wearing a deep black band about his hat, dropped in during the morning. “We’re goin’ to do him,” said Larry, after a long talk with his friends. “If anybody ever needed a lickin’, it’s Mart Kelly. He wants it bad!” “I heard Mary prayed for in church on Sunday,” said Jerry, with a glance at the mourning band. “Sure,” said Larry. “But she don’t need it, though,” he added reverently. “If we all stood as good as her,” remarked McGonagle, “we’d be all right. Me mother was makin’ a novena for her when she died. She t’ought she’d get better.” “Tell her I’m much obliged,” said Larry. “Your mother always liked Mary.” After a pause he said: “I’m goin’ out to see what’s doin’. Don’t loaf, gents, keep the t’ing goin’.” After he had gone McGlory asked. “Did any o’ youse fella’s hear the new one?” “Bat it out,” requested McGonagle. “One o’ Rosie O’Hara’s aunts was to see me mother last night, and it was the first time she was ever in our house, for her and me mother can’t hit it. I was out at the time--over to see Veronica, ye know--but I heard all about it at breakfast-time next mornin’.” “Well, chop it off!” urged McGonagle, impatiently. “Don’t wait until I’m grey-headed. Bat it out.” “Larry and Rose is goin’ to run double.” “G’way!” Goose stared at his friend, amazedly. “It must be a roast. Murphy was a friend o’ Larkin’s; he wouldn’t play him dirt like that!” “What’s Larkin got to do with it?” “Why him an’ Rose was engaged--on the quiet, ye know.” “Whew!” Jerry whistled through his teeth and frowned across the table at the other. “I’ll bet the best skate we’ve got in the stable that Murphy don’t know a thing about it.” “But Rose does! She’s give Jimmie the ice-house laugh, that’s what she’s done; he’s only a sparrer, an’ Murphy’s got the money, see? I never put me lamps on a woman yet that wasn’t daffy after a guy what’s got a wad o’ rags.” Danny Casey who sat by a window, emerged from behind his newspaper, took his feet from the sill, and observed: “There seems to be lots o’ new t’ings chasin’ around. When I heard that Dick Nolan and Roddy Ferguson had made up, ye cud a-knocked me down with a straw; but when I seen them workin’ together against Kelly, why, say, I almost fainted.” “That _was_ a funny t’ing,” agreed McGonagle. “I tried to pump Roddy, but he was dead dry. But, say, it’ll be a good snap for us all, eh? Nolan’s ace high with Gartenheim, and if he kin coax him to step out, and give O’Connor a push, Kelly’ll be a dead cock in the pit.” Casey shook his head doubtfully. He felt that Goose’s hopes were a trifle too roseate.