“Ah, git out! If they was fools enough, whose fault is it? If you was dead set on carryin’ the precinct, why didn’t youse watch your end o’ the game, eh? But I got the vote, and I’m for Kelly!” From far away in the dimness of the mill, a hammer rang upon an iron plate with a tumultuous clangour. A voice vociferated: “Heat! Heat! Heat-oo!” Pipes were laid aside; heavy shoes rattled along the plated floor; the rolls began to rumble slowly as the belts were shifted from the loose pulleys; the men seized their tools and stood ready. “So long,” said Daily. “The heat’s up.” “Hold on!” Murphy held him by the arm and spoke rapidly. “Listen to me. A delegate sits in a pow-wow to talk for the people what sends him; ain’t that right? An’ if they sends him to salt a man, and he supports him, why he’s playin’ ’em all for good t’ings!” Daily turned away. “Youse give me a pain,” sneered he, over his shoulder. They watched him as he took his place at the rolls. Huge tongs running upon trolleys, were shoved into the gaping maws of the furnaces and each emerged gripping a white-hot mass of metal. A jarring concussion rang through the building; it was the first of these being passed through the rolls, and its scattering scales made even the hardened “passers” flinch. Report followed report; the darkness had vanished before the lurid glare; the heat of the place became blistering. Amid the blinding flashes and the serpentlike bars that crawled about the floor, the men worked furiously, like heat-maddened demons, engaged in some dread incantation. Then they turned and walked away. Larry’s face worked with rage; McGonagle walked gloomily along at his side, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his head bent dejectedly. “We’ve got it where we live,” said the latter. “It was all serene till we heard o’ this, and if he’s goin’ to vote for Kelly, why we can’t stop him, that’s all; we can’t do nawthin’.” “T’ell we can’t!” cried the enraged Murphy. “Say, look’et here, Goose; one hour after Tim Daily says ‘yea’ for Kelly he’ll be in St. Mary’s done up in splints! He’s played crooked with us people, ain’t that right? And we’ll git even if we have to t’ump him. Ah!” They walked along for a time, in silence. “Are ye goin’ to see the other lobster?” questioned Goose. “Let’s go over to the Dutchman’s, hit a bracer and talk t’ings over, first. I’ve got cobwebs in me head an’ I want to brush ’em away. The motzer kin wait till daylight.” The saloon was the only all-night establishment in the neighbourhood. It glittered with clusters of electric lamps and broad, gilt-framed mirrors; a marble-topped bar backed by pyramids of glasses and bottles stood upon one side. They talked in a desultory way for some time, consuming much beer and many plates of sandwiches. Dawn stretched a grey hand through the window and dimmed the clusters of lights; and when they ranged along the bar for the last drink, the streets were filling with people hurrying toward their work.