“Larkin’s easy found,” said Martin. “He’s got a match on at the Crib Club in Boston for nixt Monday night, and he’s trainin’ at a road-house just outside of the city. I kin git the address from somebody and we’ll write him, eh?”
“We will, Martin! Go out an’ git a two cint stamp at Mullen’s drug store an’ a sheet av paper, an’ an invelope, as soon as yez are done atin’. It’s our juty till tell Larkin av this, an’ we must do it.”
Chapter XVII
“Dull rogues affect the politician’s part,
And learn to nod, and smile, and shrug with art.”
Congreve.
IT was the evening of the primaries and the opposing factions were lined up for the battle that would decide who was to be the party’s standard-bearer within the limits of the ward. The workers had made a door-to-door canvass, pleading eloquently with some, making a vague statement of principles to others, hinting at “prospective jobs” to more. A great deal depended upon the person, and the heelers were supposed to have the voters in their precincts gauged to a nicety.
Tim Burns was eating his supper of potatoes and eggs at the kitchen table, together with his wife and two children, when a knock came upon the door.
“Come in,” called Tim.
It was Gratten Haley, candidate for school director and—McQuirk!