The tall frame of the saloon-keeper towered stiffly beside the bent figure of the man who had had the fall, and who now looked up in the face of the other in the hope of seeing good news written there. "Well, Pat," he began, getting his breath again, "I've had a fall--but it's nothin'--I'll be over it--in an hour or two. I'm strong enough yet--for any place ye can get me--" He had fixed his gaze hungrily on the eyes of the other, and he was waiting eagerly for a word of hope. The saloon-keeper lowered his glance and then cleared his throat. He had unbuttoned his overcoat and the large diamond in his shirt-front was now exposed. Before he made answer to this appeal the elder man spoke again, overmastered by anxiety. "Did ye see him?" he asked. "Yes," was the response, "I saw him." "An' will he do it for ye?" was the next passing question. "He'd do it for me if he could, but he can't," returned M'Cann. "He can't?" asked Malone. "An' why not?" "Because the appointment isn't his, he says," the saloon-keeper explained. "He'd be glad to give the place to a friend of mine if he could, he told me--but there's the civil-service. He's got to follow that, he says, more by token that they raised such a row the last time he tried to beat the law." "But I'm a veteran," pleaded the other, "I served my three years. The civil-service has got to count that, hasn't it?" "Ye might be on the list this very minute, and it wouldn't do any good," the saloon-keeper responded; "there's veterans to burn on the list now!" "My post will recommend me, if I ask 'em--won't that help?" "Nothing will help, he says," M'Cann explained. "It isn't a pull that'll do ye any good, or I could get ye the job myself, couldn't I?" "There ain't no influence that'll help me, then?" was the elder man's next question. "As I'm tellin' ye, I done what I could, and I don't believe any man in the district couldn't do more," the saloon-keeper answered. "He says he'd rather give ye the job than not, but he can't. He's got to take the civil-service man." "Then there ain't nothin' else you can do?" asked Malone, hopelessly. "I'd do anythin' I could," M'Cann replied. "But I don't see nothin' more to be done. That dog won't fight, that's all. The jig's up, there ain't no two ways about it. Of course, if I hear of anythin' else I'll tell ye--and I'll get it for ye, if I can. But it's been a pretty cold winter for the boys, so far; you know that well enough." The other said nothing; his head had fallen, and his eyes were staring vacantly at a box of sand across the saloon. The saloon-keeper drew a breath of relief that the interview was over. "Well," he said, turning away, "I must be goin' now. I've got to see the new man who's got that contract for fillin' in up on the Harlem." "Don't think I ain't beholden to you, Pat," Malone declared, raising his head again. "Ye know I am that, and I know ye've done yer best for me."