“You’re a liar!” In an instant they had clinched and were making maddened efforts to strike. A policeman rushed in, tore them apart and hustled one out upon the sidewalk. Murphy desperately forced his way through the crowd; he saw a vote being lost to his faction, and the sight aroused all his combativeness. “Let him go,” commanded he. “He didn’t do nothin’, Callahan!” Officer Callahan turned with upraised club. “I’ll break your face!” growled he, “I’m dead onto you, anyhow.” There was no telling to what extreme the young man would have gone, had not McGonagle and some others pulled him away. “Youse must be daffy!” exclaimed Goose, “D’ye want to play right into their hands? Every copper around the booth’s a Kelly man and they’ll rope in us people if we look cross-eyed; and then we’ll get the wrong end of it, sure.” “The wagon’s been out t’ree times in Tom Hogan’s precinct,” said another, “they’re challengin’ all our people and t’rowin’ ’em down--an’ givin’ ’em a ride if they kick.” “I know’d Hogan’d get the goose if he’d go against Daily alone. Somebody go down and help him out”; continued Murphy. “Hully Gee, we gotta’ hold ’em safe down there, it’s our strongest graft, and we can’t afford to be gold-bricked, gents.” “It’s too late,” spoke McGonagle, looking at his open-faced watch; “the polls’ll be closed in a quarter of an hour.” Jerry McGlory dashed up in his father’s falling-top buggy. “Anything doing?” asked he. “It’s all done,” answered Larry. “How’s the vote?” “Heavy as lead.” “They’re doin’ us dirt,” said McGlory, bitterly. “They’re pullin’ our vote, an’ holdin’ ’em for a hearin’ in the mornin’. They took twelve out o’ Mason’s precinct since seven o’clock!” “Move over,” said Larry. He and McGonagle jumped into the carriage beside Jerry, as he continued: “Now throw it into that old skate o’ yourn for all yer worth.” “Which way?” asked McGlory. “Up to Moran’s,” answered his friend. “He’s goin’ to do somethin’ damned quick, or the next guy he holds for a hearin’ ’ll have done somethin’ to be held for!” Chapter XVIII “_The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve._” SHAKESPEARE. BUT Moran was not to be found. After the horse had been put up, Jerry started for the club. Larry and McGonagle began a round of the divisions; but finding the polling places closed, followed Jerry’s footsteps. The hour was midnight; the moon was pushing its red rim above the housetops; and the great heart of the city throbbed but slowly. The streets were silent, deserted, save for a single pedestrian who now and then loomed up, ghost-like, from the shadows and as suddenly vanished from view. “So youse t’ink we’ve got the bulge, eh?” asked Goose, as they hurried along. “Sure! We copped votes in places where I t’ought we’d get the dinky-dink. If the other end o’ the ward’s as much to the good, we’re all right.”