“Shure, the b’ys are as pleased and kindly this mornin’ as can be. It’s a fight like that makes them yieldin’ an’ friendly. Nothin’ but a little head-punchin’ could make them in a sweeter mood, an’ we’d a given them that if little Caggs had had any sense in him.”
“You mean Gallagher and Blunkers and the rest of them?”
“Av course. That little time last night didn’t mean much. No one feels bad over that. Shure, it’s Gallagher was in my place later last night, an’ we had a most friendly time, he treatin’ the whole crowd twice. We’ve got to fight in the primary to keep the b’ys interested, but it’s seldom that they’re not just as friendly the next day.”
Peter looked at his wall. He had not liked Gallagher at either time he had met him. “Still,” he thought to himself, “I have no right to prevent him and Dennis being friends, from the little I’ve seen.”
“Now, sir, about the convention?” said Dennis.
“I suppose Porter is the best man talked of for the nomination,” remarked Peter.
“Begobs, sir, that he’s not,” said Dennis. “It’s Justice Gallagher was tellin’ me himself that he was a poor kind av creature, wid a strong objection to saloons.”
Peter’s eye lost its last suggestion of doubt. “Oh, Justice Gallagher told you that?” he asked. “When?”
“Last night.”
“After the primary?”