“Gents, t’ree cheers for Gartenheim and O’Connor!”
A whirlwind of shrieks swept over the crowd, sustained until the veins of their necks swelled to bursting and their faces turned purple; sticks, hats and flags were tossed wildly in the air.
The two gentlemen whose public burial of the hatchet occasioned this outburst, bowed and smiled genially and once more shook hands, which had the effect of renewing the tumult. James Kelly and his supporters gazed glumly on; the delirious display was not pleasant to them.
“Bloody wars,” breathed Owen in Haley’s ear, “d’yez see that, Gratten? They’ve made up.”
“It looks bad for Kelly,” admitted Mr. Haley; “and he don’t like it for a cent.”
“Here’s them two old guys doin’ the love feast stunt,” sneered young Kelly, “right out in the open. It’s bin fixed to cop votes with; a blind man kin see that. It makes me sick!”
“We’ll do that all right,” said Goose McGonagle; “youse’ll all be a sick lot o’ ducks after we slam youse a few.”
The procession had broken ranks; the members of the band had blown themselves breathless and beaten their arms helpless, and now dispersed into saloons adjacent to the hall to seek refreshment. The delegates, by degrees, began to drift upstairs to the room where the convention was to be held. Here a band, perched in a little gallery at the back, discoursed music; a flag hung from every point where it was possible to drive a nail; the platform stood at the far end holding an array of chairs and tables.
Dick Nolan and Roddy Ferguson, who formed the connecting links between the formerly hostile factions of Gartenheim and O’Connor, were working desperately with delegates; they felt that it depended upon them to secure a solid vote from these two bodies, and they spared themselves no effort. Neither the undertaker nor the contractor had been active in the canvass, so their personal followings were not heavy in the convention; but it served to give the anti-Kelly faction a slight advantage that they were compelled to exert themselves to the utmost to sustain. Each man in the hall with a ballot to cast was under pressure to vote against them, and the pressure would be increased a hundred-fold when McQuirk got upon the ground.
Gartenheim had Larry Murphy in a corner giving him some fatherly advice; O’Connor stood listening, with approving nods; Kerrigan, red-faced and perspiring, came bustling up.