“Let him go,” commanded he. “He didn’t do nothin’, Callahan!”
Officer Callahan turned with upraised club. “I’ll break your face!” growled he, “I’m dead onto you, anyhow.”
There was no telling to what extreme the young man would have gone, had not McGonagle and some others pulled him away.
“Youse must be daffy!” exclaimed Goose, “D’ye want to play right into their hands? Every copper around the booth’s a Kelly man and they’ll rope in us people if we look cross-eyed; and then we’ll get the wrong end of it, sure.”
“The wagon’s been out t’ree times in Tom Hogan’s precinct,” said another, “they’re challengin’ all our people and t’rowin’ ’em down—an’ givin’ ’em a ride if they kick.”
“I know’d Hogan’d get the goose if he’d go against Daily alone. Somebody go down and help him out”; continued Murphy. “Hully Gee, we gotta’ hold ’em safe down there, it’s our strongest graft, and we can’t afford to be gold-bricked, gents.”
“It’s too late,” spoke McGonagle, looking at his open-faced watch; “the polls’ll be closed in a quarter of an hour.”
Jerry McGlory dashed up in his father’s falling-top buggy.
“Anything doing?” asked he.
“It’s all done,” answered Larry.