“We’ll take it from youse,” agreed Larry.
“How did youse make out?” asked Mike.
“Knocked ’em cold! We both go to the convention, all right.”
“It was a cinch,” put in Goose. “There’s about forty o’ McGlory’s drivers boardin’ in my division, and when the old man cut ’em loose, the Kelly push wilted like wet rags.”
“Then we got ’em,” declared Mike, exultantly. “I knowed youse’d win out; that gives us two more.” He nodded toward a sheet of foolscap upon the table, covered with names and figures. “Kerrigan made that,” added he. “It’s all right, I guess.”
Larry and McGonagle bent over the paper attentively; the uproar in the other room continued; but the tune was changed; the dancing had ceased and the voices of the overjoyed members were raised in the ditty:
“I’m goin’ down to Kerrigan’s,
On purpose to get tight,
An’ when I get home again,
There’s goin’ to be a fight,