“Gentlemen,” said he, “I’m goin’ to put in nomination a man that youse can all vote for.” He paused a moment and glanced around at the expectant faces; he raised both arms, with a sweep and shouted: “Mr. John Kerrigan, of the 12th Division!” For an instant there was dead silence; then the anti-Kellyites came to their feet with an ear-splitting scream of delight. Kerrigan sprang to Larry’s side protesting excitedly; men stood upon chairs and beat the backs of their neighbours; pandemonium reigned. Kerrigan was ringed in by dozens of outstretched hands; his appeals for a hearing were drowned by the clamour of his partisans. James Kelly was stricken mute; a moment before he had seen victory in his grasp; now it had eluded him and was dancing away in the distance. McQuirk looked on at the scene of disorder, astonished at Larry’s act. He had expected to hear the name of a man steeped in the factional differences of the ward--a man easily beaten--and now he was at a loss, for here was one not only without political enemies but with fast friends in every faction of the party. “It ain’t a half-bad move,” said the boss to himself, angry, but forced to admiration. “If I wasn’t sure about McGlory, I’d say the thing was fixed.” Haley hammered vigorously for order; old Kelly and his friends were gathered in a clump, shouting their observations in each other’s ears; Larry stood near the platform, frantically endeavouring to attract the chairman’s attention, and turning every moment to swear at his friends for their uproar. He saw that the moment for action was at hand; the surprise had been sprung and had given his faction heart, and he determined to strike again while they were white hot. Gradually the noise began to settle; and, though now and then a cheer volleyed across the hall, his voice could be heard: “A vote,” stormed he, “a vote.” The cry was taken up by a dozen voices. “Vote! Vote!” vociferated the insurgents. “Take the vote!” This, at a nod from McQuirk, Haley proceeded to do; the secretary began to read off the names, and the delegates answered “Kelly” or “Kerrigan” as the case might be. As the vote began, a concerted movement of a dozen young men, led by Larry and McGonagle, was made toward the point where Daily and Levitsky were sitting. “Changed yer mind, Daily?” questioned Larry. “Not on yer life,” answered Daily, but with an uneasy glance about him. He saw in their faces that they were ready for anything; and that they were awkward men to handle, he knew, partly from experience, partly by hearsay. “I t’ink youse’ll turn in for Kerrigan when they hand out yer name.” Larry leaned carelessly upon the back of Daily’s chair, and spoke very quietly. “It’s just as easy to say Kerrigan as Kelly,” put in McGonagle, “an’ I guess Levitsky’ll say it, too, when it’s up to him.” “I wut like to oblitch your--” began the policy-writer.