“I’ve got this to say: As I was ’lected by the parties against Mr. Kelly, I t’ink it’s best for me to save me reputation by votin’ for Kerrigan.” “Youse saved a damn sight more’n your reputation,” observed Murphy, as they turned away to give their attention to Levitsky. In the meantime McQuirk had hurried out into the entry to see the person who had sent in the card. It was he with whom he had had the conversation in the Precinct Club a few hours before. “Well,” said the gentleman, “what do ye know? Did McGlory do the right thing?” “Yes, and almost put them in the ditch. But they’ve got their second wind, now, and I don’t like the looks of things.” “No?” The politician looked questioningly at McQuirk, and then added: “They’ve fixed upon a new man? Who is it?” “Young John Kerrigan.” “Humph! He’s well liked, too, isn’t he?” “He’s about the last man I’d want them to push forward.” The other reflected a moment, then said: “You can win, though, can’t you?” A henchman of McQuirk’s rushed into the entry and looked anxiously up and down. “Of course,” said McQuirk. “Tom!” exclaimed the supporter, hurrying up. “Daily’s just voted for Kerrigan, and Levitsky’s goin’ to do the same!” “I’ll take it back,” said McQuirk, coolly. “They’ve got me hung up.” “For heaven’s sake, don’t let that happen!” “It’s bound to unless--” “Unless what?” “We drop Kelly and turn in for Kerrigan.” “How does he stand on the franchise business?” “He’s against it.” “Then fight it out with them! If they split the party we can elect Kelly on the opposing ticket as was done last time.” “Not if I know it!” said McQuirk, frowning at the lobbyist. “What! I say, Mac, you’re not gitting weak-kneed at the last moment, are you?” “I’m ready to stand in and help your company out as long as I can do it regularly. This is _my_ ward and the only way to keep it my ward is to be a regular. I’m against split tickets, you know that. If young Kerrigan can swing the convention, I’m for Kerrigan.” “But think of what this means? This vote must be had or we will fall flat.” “And I must carry my ward,” said McQuirk. “If I lose twice in succession you’ll be makin’ deals with another man next election; I’ll have lost my grip.” Upon McQuirk’s return to the convention hall his adherents gathered about him; he paid no attention to them, but at once buttonholed the elder Kelly and drew him aside. The first ballot had resulted in a tie and the second had not yet begun; Kerrigan, reconciled to the situation, was receiving the noisy congratulations of his friends; the band in the gallery brayed and throbbed through a popular air. Suddenly a volley of incoherent adjectives came from James Kelly; his face was purple with wrath and he gesticulated with the fury of one demented. No one caught the words, but all saw that McQuirk was the object of his vituperations. “There’s a plank loose,” prophesied McGonagle. “It must be a come-back, he’s makin’ it so strong.”