Chapter XV
“The weird sisters hand in hand.”
Macbeth, Act I; Scene III.
“IT’S an ill wind that blows nobody good,” muttered Malachi O’Hara, as he stood looking through his store window, his eyes resting upon Goose McGonagle who had just drawn his wagon up at the curb. “She’s the lucky girl, so she is.”
Goose swung himself from the step of the wagon, a milk-pail in his hand. Filling the pitcher, resting for the purpose upon the counter, Goose addressed O’Hara.
“I’m sorry,” said he, “that election comes off so soon after Mary Carroll’s funeral. Larry ain’t feelin’ fit for a bruisin’ fight, yet.”
“I’ve heard,” said O’Hara, “that yez are both goin’ on the ticket at the primaries.”
“It’s a gift! We’ll go t’rough to beat the band, for both divisions is behind us, solid.”
“Ye’ll get it if yez are for James Kelly. It’s a walk over he’ll have, I’m told.”
“Rats! We go to the convention and we don’t carry no banner for Kelly, either, see? And if he t’inks he’s got this t’ing cinched he’s sold. The boss is with him this time, but then, McQuirk ain’t the on’y fish in the swim. Gartenheim kin have the nomination if he wants it, in spite o’ him; and then there’s O’Connor; he wouldn’t shake Kelly’s fin if it was made out o’ gold.”