Peter dressed himself the next evening with particular care, even for him.  As Peter dressed, he was rather down on life.  He had been kept from his ride that afternoon by taking evidence in a referee case.  “I really needed the exercise badly,” he said.  He had tried to work his dissatisfaction off on his clubs and dumb-bells, but whatever they had done for his blood and tissue, they had not eased his frame of mind.  Dinner made him a little pleasanter, for few men can remain cross over a proper meal.  Still, he did not look happy, when, on rising from his coffee, he glanced at his watch and found that it was but ten minutes past eight.

He vacillated for a moment, and then getting into his outside trappings, he went out and turned eastward, down the first side street.  He walked four blocks, and then threw open the swing door of a brilliantly lighted place, stepping at once into a blaze of light and warmth which was most attractive after the keen March wind blowing outside.

He nodded to the three barkeepers.  “Is Dennis inside?” he asked.

“Yes, Misther Stirling.  The regulars are all there.”

Peter passed through the room, and went into another without knocking.  In it were some twenty men, sitting for the most part in attitudes denoting ease.  Two, at a small table in the corner, were playing dominoes.  Three others, in another corner, were amusing themselves with “High, Low, Jack.”  Two were reading papers.  The rest were collected round the centre table, most of them smoking.  Some beer mugs and tumblers were standing about, but not more than a third of the twenty were drinking anything.  The moment Peter entered, one of the men jumped to his feet.

“B’ys,” he cried, “here’s Misther Stirling.  Begobs, sir, it’s fine to see yez.  It’s very scarce yez been lately.”  He had shaken hands, and then put a chair in place for Peter.

The cards, papers, and dominoes had been abandoned the moment Dennis announced Peter’s advent, and when Peter had finished shaking the hands held out to him, and had seated himself, the men were all gathered round the big table.

Peter laid his hat on the table, threw back his Newcastle and lit a cigar.  “I’ve been very short of time, Dennis.  But I had my choice this evening before going uptown, of smoking a cigar in my own quarters, or here.  So I came over to talk with you all about Denton.”

“An’ what’s he been doin’?” inquired Dennis.

“I saw him to-day about the Hummel franchise that comes up in the Board next Tuesday.  He won’t vote for it, he says.  I told him I thought it was in the interest of the city to multiply means of transit, and asked him why he refused.  He replied that he thought the Hummel gang had been offering money, and that he would vote against bribers.”

“He didn’t have the face to say that?” shouted one of the listeners.

“Yes.”

“Oi never!” said Dennis.  “An’ he workin’ night an’ day to get the Board to vote the rival road.”