“Ah, rats!” returned McGonagle, savagely. “Youse’ll chirp for Kerrigan, or the next stunt youse’ll do’ll be at the morgue, stretchin’ slabs!”
“Play light, Goose,” advised Larry, “I t’ink they’ll be in line.”
News of the state of affairs reached the elder Kelly as he stood talking to McQuirk at the far side of the room; and they hurried toward the storm centre to prevent the coercion of their vote. Because of some trifling hitch the polling of the delegates had stopped for the time being, and Haley and the secretary were wrangling with a cluster of men about the platform.
A man rushed up the aisle and stopped McQuirk, at the same time handing him a card.
“He wants to see youse right away,” said the stranger.
“Go ahead over and talk to them, Kelly,” said McQuirk. “I’ve got to go out for a second.”
“What’s this,” asked Kelly, upon reaching the spot where Larry and his friends were gathered behind the chairs of the two protested delegates. “What call have yez till be threatenin’ these two min?”
“Who’s threatenin’ ’em?” asked McGonagle, innocently.
“You are, ye bla’gard!” exclaimed the saloonkeeper, hotly. “You an’ the likes av yez. Divil take me, bud youse’ll sup sorra for it, ye thaves av the world.”
“Ah, go scratch yer head,” elegantly advised Larry. “Don’t cut loose with any o’ yer fireworks, Kelly; youse’re carryin’ weight for age and don’t work fast enough to mix it with this bunch.”