“Shure,” said Dennis, “what’s the party but the men that run it?”
“You’ve seen something of Mr. Bohlmann lately, Dennis?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he was the man who put Goldman in charge of that cow stable. Yet he’s an honest man.”
Dennis scratched his head. “It’s a convincin’ way yez have wid yez,” he said; “but it’s scoundrels the Republicans are, all the same. Look at them in the district; there’s not one a decent man would invite to drink wid him.”
“I think, Dennis,” said Peter, “that when all the decent men get into one party, there’ll be only one worth talking about.”
“Av course,” replied Dennis. “That’s the reason there’s only the Democratic party in New York City.”
“Tell me about this primary,” said Peter, concluding that abstract political philosophy was not the way to liberalize Dennis.
“It’s most important, it is,” he was told, “it’s on top Patsy Blunkers an’ his gang av dirty spalpeens (Dennis seemed to forget that he had just expressed the opinion that all the “decent” men were Democrats) have been this two years, but we’ve got orders for a new enrollment at last, an’ if we don’t knock them this time, my name isn’t Dinnis Moriarty.”
“What is the question before the meeting?”