McQuirk brushed a fly or two from a raw saddle gall on the horse’s back, and reflected.
“I understand,” he said finally, “that you’re out for the nomination.”
“The young fellys want someone till stan’ for it, an’ sure I’m willin’ till try an’ bate Kelly. I don’t forget what he done last illection, an’ at the time, McQuirk, yez said yezself that he played ye a bla’gard trick, an’ that yez’ed git even.”
“Oh, hell!” McQuirk waved his hand, deprecatingly. “It don’t do to hold grudges, Alex; Kelly’s a good fellow.”
“He’s not good enough for me.”
“You’re makin’ a mistake,” said the boss.
The horse stretched his stiff old limbs in the sunlight at the stable door; McQuirk whistled softly; a couple of dirty children from across the narrow court stared at him, curiously.
“Say,” said the boss at length, “when’s your contract out, Alex?”
“It have a few mont’s yet till go.”
“Think you’ll get it again?”