“I don’t think there’s much doubt that money is being spent by both sides,” said Peter.  “I fear no bill could ever pass without it.  But the Hummel crowd are really responsible people, who offer the city a good percentage.  The other men are merely trying to get the franchise, to sell it out at a profit to Hummel.  I don’t like the methods of either, but there’s a road needed, and there’ll be a road voted, so it’s simply a choice between the two.  I shouldn’t mind if Denton voted against both schemes, but to say he’ll vote against Hummel for that reason, and yet vote for the other franchise shows that he’s not square.  I didn’t say so to him, because I wanted to talk it over with the ward a little first to see if they stood with me.”

“That we do, sir,” said Dennis, with a sureness which was cool, if nothing more.  Fortunately for the boldness of the speaker, no one dissented, and two or three couples nodded heads or pipes at each other.

Peter looked at his watch.  “Then I can put the screws on him safely, you think?”

“Yes,” cried several.

Peter rose.  “Dennis, will you see Blunkers and Driscoll this evening, or some time to-morrow, and ask if they think so too?  And if they don’t, tell them to drop in on me, when they have leisure.”

“Begobs, sir, Oi’ll see them inside av ten minutes.  An’ if they don’t agree widus, shure, Oi’ll make them.”

“Thank you.  Good-night.”

“Good-night, Mr. Stirling,” came a chorus, and Peter passed into the street by the much maligned side-door.

Dennis turned to the group with his face shining with enthusiasm.  “Did yez see him, b’ys?  There was style for yez.  Isn’t he somethin’ for the ward to be proud av?”

Peter turned to Broadway, and fell into a long rapid stride.  In spite of the cold he threw open his coat, and carried his outer covering on his arm.  Peter had no intention of going into an up-town drawing-room with any suggestion of “sixt” ward tobacco.  So he walked till he reached Madison Square, when, after a glance at his watch, he jumped into a cab.

It was a quarter-past nine when the footman opened the door of the Fifty-seventh Street house, in reply to Peter’s ring.  Yet he was told that, “The ladies are still at dinner.”

Peter turned and went down the stoop.  He walked to the Avenue, and stopped at a house not far off.

“Is Mrs. Pell at home?” he asked, and procured entrance for both his pasteboard and himself.

“Welcome, little stranger,” was his greeting.  “And it is so nice that you came this evening.  Here is Van, on from Washington for two days.”

“I was going to look you up, and see what ‘we, the people’ were talking about, so that I could enlighten our legislators when I go back,” said a man of forty.

“I wrote Pope a long letter to-day, which I asked him to show you,” said Peter.  “Things are in a bad shape, and getting worse.”