Down a narrow street, under the light of the lamps, a dozen or more of men were swinging long-handled brooms; a pair of bony, dispirited horses followed in their track, their driver shovelling the heaps of rubbish into the cart. The scavengers droned a strange-sounding song as they worked; the watching overseer talked constantly, in a sharp, high tone; the horses hung their heads dejectedly and rattled at the chains of their harness. “That’s some of McGlory’s night gang,” remarked Larry. “They start ’em out early since the loot reported dirty streets in the old man’s district.” They turned into a quiet street leading toward the river. A cellar door opened, and a broad barb of light shot across the sidewalk; from the midst of this rose a pallid, spectral form, and stood looking calmly into the night. But it was only a baker, clad in his spotless working dress, popping out of his overheated basement for a breath of air. A great stack, towering skyward, and vomiting a blazing shower of sparks into the night, showed that they were nearing the mill. The huge, low, shed-like buildings lifted their corrugated walls, like the beginnings of greater structures; a knot of men were gathered about the wide doorway; they had limp, damp towels twisted about their necks and all smoked short pipes. Rows of puddlers, naked to the waist, their bodies glistening with perspiration, stood before the furnaces “balling” the molten metal; from time to time one would drench himself with water, and once more face the Cyclopean eye glaring so angrily upon him. Daily was among the crowd at the door, and he smiled and winked at his fellows, as the two young men approached. “We’ll on’y keep youse a second,” said Larry. He gathered from Daily’s expression that he knew the nature of their errand. “Come on in here.” The three entered the building. The vast mill was in almost complete darkness, save for the far end where, sweltering, the puddlers toiled; here and there an incandescent light threw a thin gleam over the ponderous machines which crouched close to the floor like squat black monsters. Huge cogs, a-glitter with grease ground together with metallic growls. “Cut it out,” said Daily; “this heat’ll be on in a minute or so.” “We’ve heard that yous’re got the papers in your division to vote in the convention t’morrow,” said Larry. “That’s what,” grinned Daily. “I’m the delegate, all right.” “Who are youse for?” asked Larry. “Why Kelly, of course! I’m a regular, see? I don’t get dead sore because t’ings ain’t batted my way; ain’t that right? I didn’t start to work to-night till I got out the vote,” continued Daily, with a laugh, “an’ the way your people shoved their little old votes in for me when Foley slung ’em a breeze that I was against Kelly, would make youse hit yer mother. Say, it was the real t’ing!” “I knowed youse done us dirt!” exclaimed Larry. “None o’ youse could a-squeezed in any other way in that division,” put in McGonagle, angrily.