“I think it is the wisest plan,” said Vancouver, rising to go, “and we will speak about the contract next week, when all this election business is over.”
“Ah, and indeed, I hope it will be soon, sir,” said Ballymolloy. “But you’ll not think of going out again in the snow without taking a drop of something, will you, Mr. Vancouver?” He went to the sideboard and poured out two stiff doses of the amber liquid.
“Since you are so kind,” said Vancouver, graciously taking the proffered glass. He knew better than to refuse to drink over a bargain.
“Well, here goes,” he said.
“And luck to yourself, Mr. Vancouver,” said Ballymolloy.
“I think you can persuade him, somehow,” said Vancouver, as his host opened the street-door for him to go out.
“And, indeed, I think so too,” said Ballymolloy. Then he went back to his study and poured out a second glass of whiskey. “And if I cannot persuade him,” he continued in soliloquy, “why, then, it will just be old Jobbins who will be senator, and that’s the plain truth.”
Vancouver went away with a light heart, and the frank smile on his delicate features was most pleasant to see. He knew John Harrington well, and he was certain that Mr. Ballymolloy’s proposal would rouse the honest wrath of the man he detested.
Half an hour later Mr. Ballymolloy entered Harrington’s room in Charles Street. John was seated at the table, fully dressed, and writing letters. He offered his visitor a seat.
“So the election is coming on right away, Mr. Harrington,” began Patrick, making himself comfortable, and lighting one of John’s cigars.