“Sure thim two won’t go afore the convintion! It’s inside information I have, from Moran.”
“Moran misses it more times than any guy I know, but he’s put ye next to the right graft this time. Gartenheim an’ O’Connor both blowed in a bunch o’ money last ’lection, an’ they’ve sort o’ got it into their heads that they can’t stand for any more. If Gartenheim’s named he could not win out unless O’Connor turned in for him, see? An’ youse kin stake yer coin on it, that O’Connor ain’t a-doin’ that—he don’t forget so easy.”
“Faith an’ that’s jist what the Judge told me, an’ he says, says he, ‘They’ll pick Kelly in the end, never fear,’ says he.”
“Ah, we ain’t losin’ any sleep worryin’ about old Kelly scoopin’ the pot. The gang’s got their coats off an’ say we’ve got a graft to throw into the fight that’ll make him look like t’irty-seven cents. Look out for the papers the day after.”
After McGonagle had gone, O’Hara walked back into the kitchen where his sisters were crouched behind the range.
“Where’s Rosie?” asked he, glancing about the room.
“She’s above stairs,” answered Ellen, “an’ cryin’ the two eyes out av her head!”
“And for why?”
“Troth, Malachi, it’s well enough ye shud know, avic. I niver, since Gawd made me, see any wan stand so in their own loight as she.”
He wrinkled his brows, his round little eyes snapping angrily. Going to the stairs he called: “Rosie! D’yez hear me? Come down here, this minyute!”