“Gents,” cried he, “we have slammed it into ’em, ain’t that right? We’ve got the t’ing cinched! We don’t want that lobster Kelly, and we’ll sit on the mugs what trys to ring him in. We got a man of our own.” He flourished the glass, seeming to defy contradiction. “We got a man of our own,” repeated he; “and he’s a winner in a walk! Gents, I’ll ask you for t’ree rips for old man McGlory!”
The yell that followed split the silence like a knife; the man with the glass vanished from the blind; the piano resumed its measured beat; the triumphant chorus once more began.
“Youse just asked me what us people was agoin’ to do,” said Larry. “Well the gang just saved me the trouble o’ tellin’ yez.”
“So McGlory will go afore the convention, Murphy?” asked Kelly.
“It looks like it,” admitted Larry.
Chapter XIX
“We were batting the town, from the sun went down,
Till the morning grew grey in the sky;
And we heard the cocks crow, as we homeward did go,
With our skins full of mellow old rye.”