“I’m sorry,” said the contractor, “but I can’t allow me name till be used.” He was trembling under the stress of the moment and looked appealingly from one to the other. “Don’t blame me too much,” implored he. “I have too much at stake, b’ys. Sure iv I make the fight, it’s a ruint man I’d be.” There was a pause; Jerry was viciously biting at his nails; Larry was fighting visibly to keep down his anger; from the main hall came the subdued roar of many voices. “Afore God!” exclaimed the contractor, “I niver t’ought till do the like av this! But they have me on the hip, divil take thim, and I can do no better.” “Let ’em do youse outa the contract,” rapped out his son. “Let the whole shootin’ match go t’ell! Youse can do better’n scratch streets.” “Shut yer mouth,” roared McGlory. “Don’t be stanin’ there talkin’ till me like that. Lose the contract is it, with Matthew Fitzmaurice holdin’ a paper agin me beyant in his rale estate office? Divil a long it’s stay in his safe iv he knowed I’d no contract. Gawd help yez for a fool! Is it till the La Salle College yez cud have gone, iv it hadn’t been for the contract? An’ how many av thim young fellys wid the flowers in their coats ’ed call till see yez sister av a Sunday night, widout it? Tell me that, ye igit!” “Ease up,” soothed Kerrigan; “I wouldn’t make any trouble between you for the world.” “Then this goes?” said Larry. “I have sorra another word till say,” answered McGlory. Larry turned to Kerrigan. “D’youse see anyt’ing?” asked he. “Is it our finish?” “Not in a thousand years!” retorted the young attorney. “Find another man for the running; I’ll go in there an’ do some spell-binding while you canvass the crowd. If Gartenheim’ll swing in line for O’Connor, give me the word and I’ll name him.” They left the McGlorys engaged in a wordy duel, and rushed back into the main hall. McQuirk, the Kellys and some others of their adherents were gathered in the doorway leading into the entry; they greeted the young men with a laugh. “All to the bad, eh?” sneered Martin. “Yer star nag’s on’y a sellin’ plater.” “What’d I tell ye, boys,” said McQuirk with the easy assurance of a man who has won his fight. “There’s only one man. We’ve got the nomination safe, ye can see that. Now don’t be sore-heads; be nice, clean boys, an’ ye won’t miss anything.” Kerrigan hurried into the convention hall without replying; but Larry turned on the boss like a sullen bear. “Don’t josh us, McQuirk,” warned he, “because we won’t stand for it. Youse people ain’t scooped the pot yet, so don’t give yerself the glad hand.” “Come, come,” smiled McQuirk, winking at his co-labourers, “don’t take it so hard. Alex McGlory knows where he stands, and he shows good sense when he gets out from under.”