66 they partook freely of hospitality, both solid and liquid, furnished them; somehow, she declared aloud, he was in every job" ever passed by the City Council. But the Eighth Ward, after every explosion of virtue on the part of his fellow citizens outside, grinned, and reëlected Alderman McGinnis. It was in the latest unsuccessful assault that young Harry Lossing had locked horns with the popular alderman and been defeated. Harry, at this time, had just been taken into business with his father; he was just beginning to feel the exhilarating pressure of large affairs on shoulders so young and strong that they welcomed rather than flinched from burdens, and he was in the first blaze of a young man's enthusiasm for municipal reform. He had spent days, running sat three of the wild boys, smoking." about the town, marshaling the lan- "The Whinneys had a teaspoon of a garden, and a small porch on which guid and reluctant forces of the "decent citizens" against a certain paving contract of the Alderman's, and when the Alderman was too strong for him in the Council, had defied him in his own ward. Therefore, McGinnis had been elected by rather more than the usual majority, and that was how it came to pass that poor Billy Hunter, all night, was haunted by snatches of his own speeches against the arbiter of the Eighth Ward and tortured his brain trying (in the clumsy fashion of a man used to express himself by action only) to explain those fatal jokes and criticisms. Before Harry had finished his breakfast next morning, the workingman was at the house, and the young reformer did not keep him waiting. It was barely half-past eight that Sunday morning, when Harry was seen by the neighbors driving his father's light surrey and the fast gray horses (with Billy Hunter on the back seat) at a rattling pace down the hill. They went first to Tommy Fitzmaurice's. Tommy (at the period of which I am writing) was a ward politician, and, in spite of Harry's fiery eloquence and his own affection for Harry, quite content with his moral lot. Now, although he joined the two at once, he gave Harry the corner of a wet blanket in his greeting. "I'll tell you," said he, with rather a shamefaced expression, "I don't know which way Mac is going. I hope he looks at the strike the way I do, and that's the way you do; but I'm under too big obligations to Mac to fight him in this and risk his job, and that's the truth." "But have you considered what mischief a hopeless strike like this will work?" began Harry, eagerly. "I haven't slept two winks this night, considering nothing else," growled Tommy; "but I ain't fixed to fight Mac, and I don't want to, either." "And what will Mac do?" said Harry, biting off a useless argument at his cigar end, biting it hard. "That I can't say," Tommy answered. "I was there right after the meeting last night. He wasn't home. I left word that I'd be over this morning, but when I went over before breakfast he was gone. Left word he would see me this afternoon. I sat down and wrote him all about the thing, and told him I was on the chase after him, and if I didn't catch him, would he come over to pa's for a talk? I guess he will, but we'll try running him down first, because the committee may do more mischief than even Mac can undo if we wait. They said he had gone to Meyers'. The son was after him with a story of his mother being dead and I guess," added Tommy, meditatively, "that the Alderman is about the only person in the world who ever gives them a civil word, and he does it from habit, without knowing." It was a relief to be diverted by the Meyers' house, the scolding-stock of the ward, a lean and livid two-story tenement, where, plainly, tenants did their own repairs and patched the rickety outside staircase and mended the crooked windows from the Meyers' junk heap. "Hello, Meyers!" hailed Tommy. The father came out, hearing them, followed, in a moment, by the son. The old man had a patriarchal white beard, a shining, bald head, and a forehead scored by innumerable wrinkles. He fastened a dim eye on the visitors, the only sign of life that he gave. "He can't spik on Englis," explained the young man, who was short and bent and hollow-cheeked, and coughed as he talked. "You have a bad cold," said Harry, with his ready interest. "Oh, it notin', notin', only like it make me set down so often-when I git the bag full." He added: "Mister Alderman McGinnis give me medicine. A full bottle. Taked it out of his pocket.' "Isn't he here?" 66 No, he gone to next street, Whinneys der name. Say, he's a good man!" He spoke rapidly to his father in his own tongue, and, as if in answer, the old man nodded several times and lifted his trembling hands. "He prays for him, he is so good," explained the son with a reverent air; "he seen about my mother's coffin-everything. He lend me all de money, and he git a friend take my junk for so I can pay; he's goodyou bet!" "If he is so good he can't want the strike to go on," thought Billy, as they drove on to the Whinneys'. Harry, in front, said not a word; what he thought of Alderman McGinnis's goodness he kept to himself. Neither did Fitzmaurice speak until they were reining up before Whinneys' white picket fence. "Here's the Whinneys'," said he, "largest family in the ward, four votes in it. Mrs. Whinneys is a widow and an awful hard worker, but the boys are wild." The Whinneys had a teaspoon of a garden, and a small porch on which sat three of the wild boys, smoking, in their Sunday clothes. They said that the Alderman had gone to the widow Hoffman's. "You all well?" asked Tommy. "Well, yes; but Jimmy's in trouble." This from the eldest, the others mutely assenting. "What's the matter with Jimmy?" "Fight. Tony Becker. And he hit him harder'n he meant." "Either of them drunk?" "Both," said the brother, sententiously "Of course. Say, how about bail?" Oh, Mr. McGinnis seen about that. That'll be all right." "Got into the papers?" "No, sir. Mr. McGinnis he seen a reporter. Maybe he can keep it out." "There's a man to tie to!" exclaimed Tommy, warmly. 66 That's right!" cried all the Whinneys boys in concert. Then Harry drove on to the widow Hoffman's. The widow was slowly dying of an incurable disease. She had been a woman of mark in the ward, rearing five orphan children with never a cent from her husband, nor so much as a lump of coal from the poor overseer; and yet of no one in the ward were there recorded more acts of kindness, small and great. The widow's Sunday cap showed at the window. She was a large-featured, gray-haired woman, who smiled with her eyes oftener than with her lips, a woman that strangers called plain, but it wouldn't be well for one to use that word in speaking of her in the Eighth Ward. No less than three nosegays and a loose bunch of hot-house roses brightened the table before her. beckoned with her hand, and Tommy led the way into the house, the door of which was opened by her daughter. The Alderman had gone on, the girl explained; he only stopped to bring her mother some roses; but wouldn't the gentlemen step in her mother was wanting to speak with Mr. Lossing. She "I was wanting to ask you, knowing you knew Mr. Hollister; will they strike at the Hollister?" the widow asked, an eager tremor in her tones. "I hope not, I don't know," answered Harry, whom Tommy in his young days had often brought to see the widow; "we are looking for McGinnis, in hopes he can do something to stop it." “That he can, and that he will," declared the widow, earnestly; "he is a good man, Michael McGinnis. And the influence he has is wonderful. Though why shouldn't he have, when he's always helping somebody? But I heard, yesterday, the men was terribly stirred up; and I've been that distressed, I can't quiet my mind at all." "But," said Harry, rather stupidly, "I thought your sons weren't in the Hollister?" man. They heard of more than one saying and doing of his. Here it was a joke, and there a shrewd bargain, and most often a trivial, good-natured kindness. But they did not find him. And presently Fitzmaurice, who had grown thoughtful, spoke testily: "I hope to the Lord, Mac ain't lying low, waiting for the cat to jump before he commits himself. But it looks like it. If he is, it's all up with heading off the strike." Her mother was wanting to speak with Mr. Lossing." 6 66 Maybe he's in Moseley's," suggested Billy, "he goes there sometimes, or maybe home." "He isn't home; did you see that boy talking to me at the last place we stopped? I sent him to Mac's, and he'd just got back. Mac hadn't been home, and he'd sent word he wouldn't be home to dinner. I don't like the way things look. But we can try Moseley's. harm in trying, as the burglar said of the latch-key." No Moseley kept the corner grocery. He was sunning himself on his store steps, smoking one of his own "elegant cigars, ," which he retailed at a nickel apiece. "Mac?" he said. "Why, certainly. I see him not two hours ago; he was driving by with Captain Timberly." "Much obliged," said Tom morning. The boys 'll be on the street my. Harry's jaw dropped. "I hope he agreed with you, Mrs. Hoffman." Billy spoke out of his anxiety, meeting her eye at that second. "He says, 'Don't you fret, Mrs. Hoffman; it'll all come right in the wash!' You know his joking way. And I'm hoping more now." Billy's own hopes began to warm his heart again. He left the widow's comforted. But Harry Lossing frowned. Tommy's handsome Irish face was as impassive as a mask. They drove to many places after the Alder "Say they're going to have a strike at Hollister's," the grocer continued, while the two young men stood uncertain. "I hope not. Strike's a fearful bad thing for business, fearful. I got a lot of Hollister men on my books. They're good pay; there ain't no better pay than workin' people; but when you ain't got the money-where are you?" "That's right," said Tommy, "good morning." He looked at Harry. Harry was driving very fast. "What's your next move?" said he. "I'm going to Hollister, himself," said Harry. "McGinnis doesn't mean to risk his popularity or his job. He has no more conscience than a saloon sign. I'll drop you wherever you say, and Hunter and I will go to Hollister-I know he's at the office this morning and we'll talk to him as two honest men to a third, and we may do something." "He was sunning himself on his store steps." "If there isn't Mac, himself!" exclaimed Tommy. "And Robb and Johnny and Luke with him!" gasped Hunter. The three men looked up and nodded. Johnny Mellin bestowed a furtive wink and smile on the astonished Hunter, who barely noticed him, for Fitzmaurice had asked: "How about the strike?" And the Alderman had answered: "Oh, the strike's off, I guess. Good morning, Mr. Lossing. While you're talking to Mr. Hollister, I want a word with Mr. Fitzmaurice and Mr. Hunter; I guess he and I will agree on this business, though we don't always. Hey, Mr. Hunter?" Billy colored and choked. But he was spared necessity for reply, since the Alderman (towards whom he now felt a veneration similar to that expressed by the young Russian) had rested one foot on the hub of the wheel and was explaining the morning events to Tommy Fitzmaurice with much relish. "I heard something down town last night that made me open my eyes. The idea of their cooking up such a thing when my back was turned! Well, I didn't lose no time. I went straight to Hollister and saw how he felt; he knew I would give him straight "I may not be an honest man,' said goods and treated me nice, and I got him to Tommy, quietly; " but if you let me, I'll go promise to see the committee, Robb and all" with you. I can't help it if I didn't find Mac." -he winked the eye furthest from Billy Harry gave his friend a gleam of his blue slowly at the young man on the front seat; eyes, which missed fire, however, for Tommy and Tommy nodded gravely, to imply that was scowling at the off horse's head. They he appreciated how far gratified vanity might drove along the wide street lined on either work with a young labor leader-"then, I side by one and two story houses, many of saw Wigger"-this time Billy was included them freshly painted, all with their little in the wink, and the elbow on the cushion gardens. The windows, in general, had rail moved a hand suggestively in the moldwhite lace curtains to one side. You could er's direction-"I guess we all understand see that the families in the Eighth Ward what Luke wants, he wants to be greased! kept a parlor. There were few people on And I guess, if the truth was known, he's the streets. The plain church, with the pretty near the bottom of this trouble. gleaming red walls and white spire that bore Robb is ambitious and young, and wants to aloft the symbol of sacrifice and peace, sent make a name for himself, and goes off at forth a single peal of bells. Tommy, half half cock, but he's honest as the sun. But unconsciously, bent his head and crossed Luke Wigger went into this hoping to git himself. He looked up, and saw the grim his job back-that's Luke or to git money walls of the great foundry where Hollister if he couldn't. You got to bluff him or you meant to run his own business. The smallest got to buy him. Hollister wouldn't buy of the doors opened, through which four him, so, seeing I know a thing or two about men emerged in a huddle. One of them swung the door half open again, for a parting speech. He was a portly man, still young, with black curls that shone in the sun. He wore a dazzling spring suit of gray flannel and a scarlet tie, and one large, white hand swung a gold-headed cane. brother Wigger, I bluffed him. Never mind how! His only chance to git any kind of a job is from us, and we've got him. Then I told Robb, Johnny Mellin and I, or you can put it, Johnny told Robb and I, the real state of things; and I added a little; and we went to the office. The old man saw us. When ever there was any hitch, I told 'em a story; and-well, before we went the old man had his cigars out; and I guess Robb knows it's better sometimes to settle a strike than to let her flicker. "He's after a reputation as a peacemaker with honor now. But we got to hustle this afternoon, all of us, and git our men together, and then Robb will give 'em taffy, and Hollister has promised a little bit; and we'll have the meeting, and settle the strike flat! See?" They were all three (for Billy was flattered deeply by the way the Alderman asked his opinion on subjects of which he knew a good deal) discussing how to see the most men and do the most in the shortest time when Harry Lossing returned. Some of Hollister's speeches were sticking in his brain. "Look here, Lossing, you may say what you please, that Irishman has got something more than boodle in him," this was one of them"the way he managed those fellows and by the way he managed me, was immense! And I'm hanged if I don't believe he was disinterested in the affair. He'll get knifed by Timberly for his meddling [a true prediction], and I don't see that he stands to gain a thing except the consciousness that he's been decent!" With these words puzzling him, Harry went straight at the fence. "I wasn't sure how you would feel, Mr. McGinnis," says he. "You ever seen a big strike, young man?" "Yes, I know what it is." "Well, now, take it in. This is the ward that I represent, to the best of my humble ability. As long as I'm representing it, I go for what will help and for against what will hurt it. Every time. Look at those fellers! They couldn't win that strike. Hollister's hard, some ways, and desperately aggravating; but he's honest; and he does a good many fair things. Strikers have got to have a howling grievance to win the public sympathy, and they ain't got it. They couldn't git sympathy or contributions or pressure or nothing! Then what would happen? A strike is the devil! It stirs up bad blood all over. It ain't only losing the wages, there's the hard feelings; and the |