“Ah, Jimmie”—­the old man lowered his voice—­“are ye goin’ ter run f’r mayor?”

“Not—­yet,” James replied, dwelling upon his words in such a way as to convince his hearer that the delay was wholly a matter of his own convenience.  “Politics is movin’ some, father, but ’tis in my private capacity that I’m makin’ my present strides.”

“So,” murmured Riley; “an’ phwat may ye’er private capacity be, Jimmie?”

“’Tis of a confidential nature,” he replied, loftily.

“Has it ter do wid Misther Robert?”

“Him—­and others.”

“Who is th’ others?” the old man persisted.

“That’s my affair.  ’Tis confidential, I tell you.”

“Not wid me, Jimmie,” Riley begged; “not when I’ve watched over Misther Robert iver sence he was a little la-ad, not wid me when I’ve brought ye up fr’m a howlin’ little brat.  There can’t be nothin’ confidential, I tell ye, when it’s affectin’ thim I loves best in all th’ whole wide world.  Shure ye’ll tell me about it, Jimmie, shure ye will.”

In James’s present mood, it was easier to talk than to keep silent.  If his father really knew the importance of the part he felt himself to he playing in Mr. Gorham’s family complication, the old man’s appreciation of his son’s true position in the community could not fail to be enhanced.  James Riley’s most vulnerable point was his vanity, and the present opportunity to gratify it was more than he could well resist.  The elder Riley, without having analyzed his son’s characteristics to this extent, was intuitively conscious of a yielding to his appeal, and he was not slow to follow it up.

“That’s th’ good la-ad, Jimmie,” he said, coaxingly.  “Ye knows how tight I keeps me mouth shut; an’ phwat hits ye or Misther Robert hits me.”

“Well,” James replied, indulgently, blowing another cloud of smoke—­“’tis his wife that it’s all about.”

“His wife!” the old man repeated, surprised and excited—­“about Mrs. Gorham, d’ye say?”

“That is—­provided she is his wife.  There is them that says she ain’t.”

“Who says she ain’t?” Riley almost shouted the words as he rose excitedly to his feet.  “Who says she ain’t?  By God, I’ll kill th’ man phwat says that!”

“Slowly, slowly,” James answered, soothingly, thoroughly enjoying his father’s amazement and excitement.  “That’s for them to settle as knows how, but it’s to me Mr. Gorham must look to help him out.  Now, do you understand where I come in?”

“Ah, Jimmie, ye’re killin’ me wid yer slowness.  Out wid it, la-ad!  What do they say, an’ who done phwat?  Out wid it!”

“The divorce was crooked, so they say; and now her first husband is here in New York and wants her back.”

“But it ain’t true, Jimmie—­it ain’t true; tell me that.”

“I don’t know yet myself,” James admitted; “but there’s a few things I do know what ought to be worth the coin to Mr. Gorham.”