"You pay me the money and I'll bring the strike all right," said the Labor-leader, "and I'll deliver the vote, too. In ten days there won't be a wheel turning on his road. I'll order every man out that wears a West Line cap or handles a West Line tool."
The "West Line"! This was what the street-car line was called which ran out into the poor section of the city where I lived, which Mr. Leigh controlled.
"That's all right. I'll keep my part. D——n him! I want to break him. I'll show him who runs this town. With his d——d airs."
"That's it," said Peck, leaning forward. "It's your road or his. That's the way I figure it." He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "I am with you, my friends. You can count on the Poole interest backing you."
"You'll keep the police off?" said the Labor-leader.
"Will I? Watch 'em!" McSheen poured out another glass, and offered the bottle to Peck, who declined it.
"Then it's all right. Well, you'd better make a cash payment down at the start," said the Labor-leader.
McSheen swore. "Do you think I have a bank in my office, or am a faro dealer, that I can put up a pile like that at midnight? Besides, I've always heard there're two bad paymasters—the one that don't pay at all and the one 't pays in advance. You deliver the goods."
"Oh! Come off," said the other. "If you ain't a faro dealer, you own a bank—and you've a bar-keeper. Mick's got it down-stairs, if you ain't. So put up, or you'll want money sure enough. I know what that strike's worth to you."
McSheen rose and at that moment I became aware of the impropriety of what I was doing, for I had been absolutely absorbed watching Peck, and I moved back, as I did so, knocking over a chair. At the sound the light was instantly extinguished and I left my office and hurried down the stairs, wondering when the blow was to fall.