CHAPTER XLII.
DOWN-TOWN NEW YORK.
Peter had not been working long the next morning when he was told that “The Honorable Terence Denton wishes to see you,” “Very well,” he said, and that worthy was ushered in.
“Good-morning, Denton. I’m glad to see you. I was going down to the Hall to-day to say something, but you’ve saved me the trouble.”
“I know you was. So I thought I’d get ahead of you,” said Denton, with a surly tone and manner.
“Sit down,” said Peter. Peter had learned that, with a certain class of individuals, a distance and a seat have a very dampening effect on anger. It is curious, man’s instinctive desire to stand up to and be near the object for which anger is felt.
“You’ve been talking against me in the ward, and makin’ them down on me.”
“No, I didn’t talk against you. I’ve spoken with some of the people about the way you think of voting on the franchises.”
“Yes. I wasn’t round, but a friend heard Dennis and Blunkers a-going over it last night. And it’s you did it.”
“Yes. But you know me well enough to be sure, after my talk with you yesterday, that I wouldn’t stop there.”
“So you try to set the pack on me.”