H. R. smiled and turned to the Mayor.
"Your Honor, the man whom I will ask to vouch for my honesty and intelligence after I have confidentially disclosed the word to him, is the Cardinal Archbishop of New York. His word will be enough, I take it."
The Mayor beamed and said, "Certainly, Mr. Rutgers." He made up his mind then and there that H. R. must conduct his campaign for re-election.
"Even young Mr. Lubin, I take it, will not doubt the word of his Eminence."
Lubin was no fool. "Mr. Rutgers," he said, earnestly, "we hate our enemies, the capitalists. But we respect the only foes who are fighting us as we are fighting capitalism with honest convictions and real ardor. Of course, we think the Catholics—"
"Hold on, Lubin," said H. R., "that policeman's name is Flannery."
Lubin explained: "I was afraid you were going to give us a banker, Mr. Rutgers."
"Never!" said H. R. so emphatically that Lubin extended his right hand. They shook warmly.
A sound of applause came to their ears. The Mayor flushed with vexation. It was premature, he thought. He was wrong. It was Grace Goodchild.
Andrew Barrett ran in excitedly.