“You boys put up a good fight,” said McQuirk. “I like the way you run things. Me an’ Moran was talkin’ about an hour ago; he’s feelin’ obliged to the club for turnin’ in for Rhinehardt for common council, and told me to tell you so.” “Don’t mention it,” murmured Larry. “There’s bigger lobsters than Rhinehardt kickin’ around loose,” put in McGonagle. “He kin get a lamp-post put on the corner if youse want one bad; an’ he kin have one took away if youse kick. That’s more’n some o’ the other guys kin do for the ward.” McQuirk nodded and smiled approvingly. “Haley’s got a safe majority in the convention,” said he; “the present member’ll go back on the ticket for Congress; Abrams has won in a canter; and the only man that’s been back-heeled is Kelly, here. You boys fought him so hard that he could only split even.” “Much obliged for puttin’ us on,” said Larry. “So we made it a draw, eh?” “That’s just what you done,” laughed the boss; “an even draw! I like to see young roosters make a game fight; it shows that they’re made of good stuff. But, look here; now that you’ve showed your spurs, what are ye goin’ to do? Kelly’s the choice of the regular crowd.” Facing them was Kerrigan’s saloon, ablaze with incandescent lamps. A number of men came noisily forth and went wrangling up the street; the white-jacketed barkeeper came out and looked after them; then he went in, banged the door and turned off the lights. “Damn it!” exclaimed Kelly; “he’s shut up. I wur just goin’ till ax yez in till have a sup av somethin’.” “Much obliged,” returned Larry. “We ain’t hittin’ the booze to-night. We’re in trainin’, see?” “The regulars all want Kelly,” persisted McQuirk, “and we want to hear from you people. Who are ye goin’ to throw the vote for?” Larry looked at him sourly. “The reg’lar crowd, eh?” sneered he. “That’s a good t’ing, ain’t it?” to McGonagle, “that’s a real good t’ing.” He turned once more to McQuirk and demanded: “Say who is the regulars, eh? Ain’t it the majority o’ the party? And if none o’ us ain’t got the big end o’ it, who d’youse call the reg’lar push, eh? Ain’t us guys, what’s workin’ agin Kelly, inside the lines? Don’t we say our say? And don’t we win if we hold the people?” “Keep yer shirt on,” soothed McQuirk. “That’s all right, see?” Larry was speaking in a loud, sharp tone, working his arms like flails. They had paused upon the sidewalk, before the door of the club. The piano was being thumped joyously and a thundering chorus came through the partly opened windows: “_I’m candidate, For magistrate, An’ believe me what I say, So, pull off your coat, An’ cast yer vote, For me on ’lection day._” The singing ceased suddenly and a voice shouted: “What’s the matter wit’ Kelly?”