“How’s the vote?”
“Heavy as lead.”
“They’re doin’ us dirt,” said McGlory, bitterly. “They’re pullin’ our vote, an’ holdin’ ’em for a hearin’ in the mornin’. They took twelve out o’ Mason’s precinct since seven o’clock!”
“Move over,” said Larry. He and McGonagle jumped into the carriage beside Jerry, as he continued: “Now throw it into that old skate o’ yourn for all yer worth.”
“Which way?” asked McGlory.
“Up to Moran’s,” answered his friend. “He’s goin’ to do somethin’ damned quick, or the next guy he holds for a hearin’ ’ll have done somethin’ to be held for!”
Chapter XVIII
“The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve.”
Shakespeare.
BUT Moran was not to be found. After the horse had been put up, Jerry started for the club. Larry and McGonagle began a round of the divisions; but finding the polling places closed, followed Jerry’s footsteps. The hour was midnight; the moon was pushing its red rim above the housetops; and the great heart of the city throbbed but slowly. The streets were silent, deserted, save for a single pedestrian who now and then loomed up, ghost-like, from the shadows and as suddenly vanished from view.