“Was the last motion seconded?” asked the chairman calmly.

“I seconded it,” shouted Blackett and Milligan together.

“You have heard the nominations, gentlemen.  Has any one any remarks to make?”

A man next Justice Gallagher said, “Mr. Chairman,” and being duly recognized, proceeded to talk for ten minutes in a very useless way.  But during this time, Peter noticed first a good deal of whispering among Blunkers’s friends, and then an interview between Gallagher and Dennis.  The latter was apparently not reconcilable, and shook his head in a way that meant war.  Then there was more consultation between the opposition, and another confab with Dennis, with more headshakes on his part.  Finally a compromise having been evidently made impossible, the orator was “called down” and it was voted to proceed to an election.  Peter named one of the firemen, Dooley, and Blunkers, tellers, who, after a ballot, announced that Dennis had carried his nominations, Peter heading the list with two hundred and twelve votes, and the others getting one hundred and seventy-two, and one hundred and fifty-eight respectively.  The “snake” got but fifty-seven votes.

“Shure,” said Dennis, later, “maybe we don’t vote for convictions here, but we don’t vote for the likes av him!”

“Then you are voting for convictions,” said Peter.

“It’s yezself is the convictions then,” said Dennis.

Perhaps he was right.

CHAPTER XX.

A POLITICAL DEBUT.

Peter declared the meeting adjourned as soon as the results of the election had been read, and slipped away in the turmoil that immediately followed, without a word to any one.  He was in truth not bewildered—­because he had too much natural poise and phlegm—­but he was surprised by the suddenness of it all, and wanted to think before talking with others.  So he took advantage of the mutual bickerings and recriminations which seemed the order of the day, to get back to his office, and there he sat, studying his wall for a time.  Then he went to bed, and slept as quickly and as calmly as if he had spent his evening in reading the “Modern Cottage Architecture” or “Questions de Sociologie,” which were on his table instead of presiding at a red-hot primary, and being elected a delegate.

The next morning Dennis came to see him as early as well could be.

“Misther Stirling,” he said, his face expanding into the broadest of grins, “let me salute the delegate to the State convention.”

“Look here, Dennis,” said Peter, “you know you had no business to spring that on me.”

“Ah, sir!  Shure, when that dirty little spalpeen av a Caggs went back on us so, what could Oi do?  Oi know it’s speak to yez Oi ought, but wid de room yellin’ like that it’s divilish tryin’ to do the right thing quick, barrin’ it’s not hittin’ some one’s head, which always comes natural.”