“Youse’d t’ink,” said Martin Kelly, coming to the aid of his father, “that youse people run the shack, and no other body has a look in.”
His proximity and the sound of his voice had an immediate effect upon Dick Nolan; his sister’s shame and young Kelly’s brutality on the night of the ball had burned themselves into his brain.
“Let me plug him,” gasped Nolan, his face as white as death, his whole frame shaking with an overwhelming desire for revenge. He was struggling as he spoke in the arms of Roddy Ferguson; but Roddy dragged him away.
“Don’t make a mess of it,” implored Roddy. “If youse jump him now ye’ll put the whole snap on the bum, maybe.”
“What’s eatin’ Nolan?” asked McGonagle, wonderingly.
“He’s leary on Kelly, youse can bank on that,” answered Casey. “From the cracks he made to me a while ago, he’s goin’ to put him out o’ business. I don’t know what he’s sore for.”
The commotion attracted Haley’s attention and he commenced to sound his gavel and cry for order. The roll-call recommenced and just as Kelly turned to acquaint the chairman with the attempt being made upon Daily, that gentleman’s name was reached.
“Now then!” grated Larry. The circle narrowed about Daily as he arose to his feet. Martin Kelly attempted to rally his friends; but the determined looks of the cordon of young men and Daily’s unpopularity caused it to result in nothing more than a scattering fire of protest.
Daily swallowed several times, and his voice was somewhat husky, as he said:
“I’ve got this to say: As I was ’lected by the parties against Mr. Kelly, I t’ink it’s best for me to save me reputation by votin’ for Kerrigan.”