“Well, Thomas,” said Peter, “if you don’t have that in stock, make it seven Blackthorns.”
Then presently eight men packed themselves into the elevator, and a moment later were sitting in one of the private dining-rooms. For an hour and a half they chatted over the meal, very much as if it were nothing more than a social dinner. But the moment the servant had passed the cigars and light, and had withdrawn, the chat suddenly ceased, and a silence came for a moment Then a man said:
“It’s a pity it can’t please all, but the majority’s got to rule.”
“Yes,” promptly said another, “this is really a Maguire ratification meeting.”
“There’s nothing else to do,” affirmed a third.
But a fourth said: “Then what are we here for?”
No one seemed to find an answer. After a moment’s silence, the original speaker said:
“It’s the only way we can be sure of winning.”
“He gives us every pledge,” echoed the second.
“And we’ve agreed, anyways, so we are bound,” continued the first speaker.