“Yes, Misther Stirling. The regulars are all there.”
Peter passed through the room, and went into another without knocking. In it were some twenty men, sitting for the most part in attitudes denoting ease. Two, at a small table in the corner, were playing dominoes. Three others, in another corner, were amusing themselves with “High, Low, Jack.” Two were reading papers. The rest were collected round the centre table, most of them smoking. Some beer mugs and tumblers were standing about, but not more than a third of the twenty were drinking anything. The moment Peter entered, one of the men jumped to his feet.
“B’ys,” he cried, “here’s Misther Stirling. Begobs, sir, it’s fine to see yez. It’s very scarce yez been lately.” He had shaken hands, and then put a chair in place for Peter.
The cards, papers, and dominoes had been abandoned the moment Dennis announced Peter’s advent, and when Peter had finished shaking the hands held out to him, and had seated himself, the men were all gathered round the big table.
Peter laid his hat on the table, threw back his Newcastle and lit a cigar. “I’ve been very short of time, Dennis. But I had my choice this evening before going uptown, of smoking a cigar in my own quarters, or here. So I came over to talk with you all about Denton.”
“An’ what’s he been doin’?” inquired Dennis.
“I saw him to-day about the Hummel franchise that comes up in the Board next Tuesday. He won’t vote for it, he says. I told him I thought it was in the interest of the city to multiply means of transit, and asked him why he refused. He replied that he thought the Hummel gang had been offering money, and that he would vote against bribers.”
“He didn’t have the face to say that?” shouted one of the listeners.
“Yes.”
“Oi never!” said Dennis. “An’ he workin’ night an’ day to get the Board to vote the rival road.”