“_The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve._”
SHAKESPEARE.
BUT Moran was not to be found. After the horse had been put up,
Jerry started for the club. Larry and McGonagle began a round of the
divisions; but finding the polling places closed, followed Jerry’s
footsteps. The hour was midnight; the moon was pushing its red rim
above the housetops; and the great heart of the city throbbed but
slowly. The streets were silent, deserted, save for a single pedestrian
who now and then loomed up, ghost-like, from the shadows and as
suddenly vanished from view.
“So youse t’ink we’ve got the bulge, eh?” asked Goose, as they hurried
along.
“Sure! We copped votes in places where I t’ought we’d get the
dinky-dink. If the other end o’ the ward’s as much to the good, we’re
all right.”
An engine pulled out of the freight yard as they were about to pass
and stood coughing and panting upon the path, blocking their passage.
A shower of cinders dropped through the grate bars, turned a dull red
and then expired; a man ran along the top of the cars swinging his lamp
in frantic signals; the moist, grimy face of the fireman peered through
the cab window, his inflamed eyes blinking at the fluttering red spark;
then the lever was reversed with a jerk, and back they go until a
sudden crash and a shrill “Why-OO!” tells the engineer that another car
has been added to his string.
“Come on,” said Goose, “here comes the ‘loco’ again. What are youse
lookin’ at?”
Murphy was gazing over his shoulder into the shadow and did not take
advantage of the shifting engine’s retreat. Two men were swiftly
crossing the street toward them.
“Here comes a couple o’ gents what wants to sling us a breeze,” said
Larry. “It’s either the price of a bed they’re chasin’ up, or they want
to give us a piece o’ lead pipe.”
“The fat one looks like old Kelly,” observed McGonagle. “Say, _he_
can’t be on the fight, kin he?”
They waited for the men to come up; and once more the signal lamp
swayed up and down, once more the engine wheezed out upon the path,
groaning and hissing as though in protest. A man rushed down the track,
paused under the flaring head-light to look at some papers, and then
began swearing at someone in the darkness. He had lost one hand and the
stump was armed with an iron hook; this he waved frantically.
“Drop them last cars! Go down the next siding and pick up the flats!
You know better than this, Conroy!”
The engine seemed to have caught his humour for it snorted angrily; the
crew began twisting madly at the brakes, the lamps were set swinging
down the track; a shadowy form darted out of the gloom, threw open
a switch and was immediately swallowed up again. The panting of the
locomotive grew fainter; from far down the yard its head-light burned
like a dim, red spark. The man with the hook entered a watch box and
angrily slammed the door. Silence!
“We heard that yez had come this way,” remarked Kelly, as he came up.
“McQuirk an’ mesilf were passin’ Phil Burk’s place as he wur shuttin’
up an’ he towld us yez had started for the club.”
“We want to have a little talk,” said the boss, as they walked along.
“A little confabulation, you know.”
Larry nudged his friend, and received a like signal in return.
“All right,” said he, cheerfully, “sing your song, Mac. What’s on yer
mind?”
“We want till ax yez--” Kelly began, hurriedly; but McQuirk stopped him.
“Let me tend to this,” requested he, coolly. He turned to Larry and in
a fatherly fashion laid his hand upon his shoulder. They were under
an arc lamp and in the blue-white light, Larry saw that his face was
wrinkling with smiles.
“You boys put up a good fight,” said McQuirk. “I like the way you
run things. Me an’ Moran was talkin’ about an hour ago; he’s feelin’
obliged to the club for turnin’ in for Rhinehardt for common council,
and told me to tell you so.”
“Don’t mention it,” murmured Larry.
“There’s bigger lobsters than Rhinehardt kickin’ around loose,” put in
McGonagle. “He kin get a lamp-post put on the corner if youse want one
bad; an’ he kin have one took away if youse kick. That’s more’n some o’
the other guys kin do for the ward.”
McQuirk nodded and smiled approvingly.
“Haley’s got a safe majority in the convention,” said he; “the present
member’ll go back on the ticket for Congress; Abrams has won in a
canter; and the only man that’s been back-heeled is Kelly, here. You
boys fought him so hard that he could only split even.”
“Much obliged for puttin’ us on,” said Larry. “So we made it a draw,
eh?”
“That’s just what you done,” laughed the boss; “an even draw! I like
to see young roosters make a game fight; it shows that they’re made of
good stuff. But, look here; now that you’ve showed your spurs, what are
ye goin’ to do? Kelly’s the choice of the regular crowd.”
Facing them was Kerrigan’s saloon, ablaze with incandescent lamps. A
number of men came noisily forth and went wrangling up the street; the
white-jacketed barkeeper came out and looked after them; then he went
in, banged the door and turned off the lights.
“Damn it!” exclaimed Kelly; “he’s shut up. I wur just goin’ till ax yez
in till have a sup av somethin’.”
“Much obliged,” returned Larry. “We ain’t hittin’ the booze to-night.
We’re in trainin’, see?”
“The regulars all want Kelly,” persisted McQuirk, “and we want to hear
from you people. Who are ye goin’ to throw the vote for?”
Larry looked at him sourly.
“The reg’lar crowd, eh?” sneered he. “That’s a good t’ing, ain’t
it?” to McGonagle, “that’s a real good t’ing.” He turned once more
to McQuirk and demanded: “Say who is the regulars, eh? Ain’t it the
majority o’ the party? And if none o’ us ain’t got the big end o’ it,
who d’youse call the reg’lar push, eh? Ain’t us guys, what’s workin’
agin Kelly, inside the lines? Don’t we say our say? And don’t we win if
we hold the people?”
“Keep yer shirt on,” soothed McQuirk.
“That’s all right, see?” Larry was speaking in a loud, sharp tone,
working his arms like flails. They had paused upon the sidewalk,
before the door of the club. The piano was being thumped joyously and a
thundering chorus came through the partly opened windows:
“_I’m candidate,
For magistrate,
An’ believe me what I say,
So, pull off your coat,
An’ cast yer vote,
For me on ’lection day._”
The singing ceased suddenly and a voice shouted:
“What’s the matter wit’ Kelly?”
A cyclone of groans, hisses and profanity came whirling out into the
night. The execrated one looked at McQuirk; and McQuirk shrugged his
shoulders and laughed. A man got between the light and one of the club
windows; his body, silhouetted upon the blind, writhed and swayed; his
right hand flourished a beer glass above his head, apparently demanding
silence. At last his voice was heard.
“Gents,” cried he, “we have slammed it into ’em, ain’t that right?
We’ve got the t’ing cinched! We don’t want that lobster Kelly, and
we’ll sit on the mugs what trys to ring him in. We got a man of our
own.” He flourished the glass, seeming to defy contradiction. “We got a
man of our own,” repeated he; “and he’s a winner in a walk! Gents, I’ll
ask you for t’ree rips for old man McGlory!”
The yell that followed split the silence like a knife; the man with the
glass vanished from the blind; the piano resumed its measured beat; the
triumphant chorus once more began.
“Youse just asked me what us people was agoin’ to do,” said Larry.
“Well the gang just saved me the trouble o’ tellin’ yez.”
“So McGlory will go afore the convention, Murphy?” asked Kelly.
“It looks like it,” admitted Larry.