“What do you want of me?”

“Shure, every vote counts on a night like this.  An’ ye’d be afther helpin’ us big, for the district likes yez.”

“But, Dennis, I can’t vote without knowing something about the way things are.  I shouldn’t know whether I was voting rightly.”

“Why, a man votes right when he votes for his friends!”

“No; a man votes right when he votes for his convictions.”

“Convictions, is it?”

“Yes.  That is, he votes as he thinks is best for the country.”

“That, maybe, is the way yez do it where yez come from,” said Dennis, “but it’s no good it would be here.  Convictions, whatever they be, are never nominated here.  It’s real things we’re afther votin’ for in New York.”

Peter laughed.  “I’ve got to take you in hand, Dennis, and you’ve got to take me in hand.  I think we both need each other’s help.  Yes, I’ll come to the primary.  Will they let me vote?”

“The dirty spalpeens will never dare to stop yez!  Thank yez, sir.  Oi’ll be along for yez about eight.”

“Remember, though, Dennis—­I don’t say how I’ll vote.”

“Yez just listen, an I’m not afraid av what ye’ll do.”

That evening, Peter was ushered into a large hot room, pretty well packed with men, and the interstices already filled in with dense tobacco smoke.  He looked about him curiously, and was surprised to find how many of the faces he knew.  Blackett, Dooley, and Milligan were there, and shook hands with him warmly.  Judge Gallagher and Blunkers were in evidence.  In plain clothes were two policemen, and three of the “fire-laddies,” who formed part of the “crew” of the nearest engine, with all of whom he had often chatted.  Mr. Dummer, his rival lawyer in the case, and one of the jurymen in it, likewise were visible.  Also many faces which were familiar to Peter by a former occasional friendly word or nod exchanged in passing.  Intense excitement evidently reigned, and every one was whispering in a sort of breathless way, which showed how deeply interested they were.

At Dennis’s suggestion, made in walking to the room, Peter presented himself without guidance, at the desk.  Some one behind him asked if he lived in the ward, and for how long, but this was the only apparent opposition made to the prompt entering of his name.  Then Peter strolled round and talked to those whom he knew, and tried to find out, without much success, just what was the division.  Every one knew that a fight was on, but in just what it consisted they seemed neither to know nor care.

He noticed that hot words were constantly exchanged at the enrolling desk, over would-be members, but not understanding the exact nature of the qualifications needed, he could not follow the disputes.  Finally these ceased, for want of applicants.

“Misther Stirling,” said Dennis, coming up to him hurriedly.  “Will yez be afther bein’ chairman for us?”