The eyes grow brighter, the face grows dark, the mouth squares, the head vibrates, the little tongue plays about a mass of jet-black tobacco--the sneeze comes.
"That's a bird, too," says the political boss.
If Corkey is to start a labor party, why should he set out to carry a republican primary election?
"Oh, well, you're asking too many questions. Will you take a drink? Come down and see the boys. See how solid I've got 'em."
Lockwin's brow clouds as the boss tells of this new development.
"Those sailors will fight," he says.
"But Corkey reckons on the gamblers," explains the boss, "and we can fix the gamblers."
"What will you do?"
"Do? I'll do as I did in 1868, when I was running the Third. The eight-hour men had the ward."
"What did you do?"