“I think,” mused the other, “that Conlin’s too short for the police force. The examining board’s mighty strict just now, Mac.” The ward boss grinned. “He won’t like it much,” said he. “It’s funny,” he went on, humorously, “how much better tall men are at gittin’ out the vote than short ones.” The other laughed. “You’re right, Mac,” said he; “but let me say this, again, before I go: Whatever you do, don’t have a fight in your ward. Go into your convention and find the man that’s goin’ to win--and stand good with him _if we can handle him_. The administration wants lots of friends next session.” McQuirk found McGlory, dressed in his best, at the stables in Murphy’s Court, superintending the doctoring of a worn-looking horse. The contractor’s greeting was stiff and formal. “Anyone got your proxy, Alex?” asked the boss, after they had exchanged some general remarks. “I’ll go till the convintion mesilf,” answered McGlory. “There do be too damn much of this proxy business.” McQuirk brushed a fly or two from a raw saddle gall on the horse’s back, and reflected. “I understand,” he said finally, “that you’re out for the nomination.” “The young fellys want someone till stan’ for it, an’ sure I’m willin’ till try an’ bate Kelly. I don’t forget what he done last illection, an’ at the time, McQuirk, yez said yezself that he played ye a bla’gard trick, an’ that yez’ed git even.” “Oh, hell!” McQuirk waved his hand, deprecatingly. “It don’t do to hold grudges, Alex; Kelly’s a good fellow.” “He’s not good enough for me.” “You’re makin’ a mistake,” said the boss. The horse stretched his stiff old limbs in the sunlight at the stable door; McQuirk whistled softly; a couple of dirty children from across the narrow court stared at him, curiously. “Say,” said the boss at length, “when’s your contract out, Alex?” “It have a few mont’s yet till go.” “Think you’ll get it again?” McGlory stiffened up and bent his brows at him. “I have hopes av it,” said he, soberly. “Well, don’t be foolish. Things happen, sometimes, you know.” “Look here, Tom McQuirk, is it threatenin’ me yez are?” “I never threaten anybody, I _do_ things, you know that.” “Ye threatened Kelly, an’ ye done nawthin’.” “That’s all right. You’re not inside, Alex; ye don’t know everything. Now think the thing over, as ye go down to the hall; and take my advice--keep your eye on your bread and butter! That’s all.”