“Begobs,” said Dennis, “it’s the leaders an’ the papers are just afther discoverin’ there is a sixth ward, an’ it’s Misther Stirling’s made them do it.”

The chief party leaders had stayed over at Saratoga, but Peter had a call from Costell before the week was out.

“The papers gave it to you rather rough,” Costell said kindly, “but they didn’t understand it.  We thought you behaved very square.”

“They tell me I did Porter harm.”

“No.  It was Maguire did the harm.  You simply told about it.  Of course you get the blame.”

“My constituents stand by me.”

“How do they like Catlin?”

“I think they are entirely satisfied.  I’m afraid they never cared much who got it.”

“I’m told Kennedy is growling, and running amuck?”

“He’s down on Catlin and me.”

“Well, if you think best, we’ll placate him?  But Gallagher seemed to think he couldn’t do much?”

“I don’t think he has much of a following.  Even Moriarty, who was his strong card, has gone back on him.”

“Will you make a couple of speeches for us in this ward?”

“If you’ll let me say what I want?”

“You can support us?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll leave it to you.  Only beware of making too many statements.  You’ll get dates and places from the committee as soon as they are settled.  We pay twenty-five dollars a night.  If you hit the right key, we may want you in some of the other wards, too.”

“I shall be glad to talk.  It’s what I’ve been doing to small crowds in the saloons.”

“So I’m told.  You’ll never get a better place.  Men listen there, as they never will at a mass-meeting.”  Costell rose.  “If you are free next Sunday, come up into Westchester and take a two o’clock dinner with me.  We won’t talk politics, but you shall see a nice little woman, who’s good enough to make my life happier, and after we’ve looked over my stables, I’ll bring you back to the city behind a gray mare that will pass about anything there is on the road.”

So Peter had a half day in the country and enjoyed it very much.  He looked over Mrs. Costell’s flower-garden, in which she spent almost her whole time, and chatted with her about it.  He saw the beautiful stables, and their still more beautiful occupants.  He liked the couple very much.  Both were simple and silent people, of little culture, but it seemed to Peter that the atmosphere had a gentle, homely tone that was very pleasing.  As he got into the light buggy, he said to Mrs. Costell: 

“I’ll get the seed of that mottled gillyflower from my mother as soon as possible.  Perhaps you’ll let me bring it up myself?”

“Do,” she said.  “Come again, whether you get the seed or not.”

After they had started, Mr. Costell said:  “I’m glad you asked that.  Mrs. Costell doesn’t take kindly to many of the men who are in politics with me, but she liked you, I could see.”