“This is the situation,” Lilienfeld explained as they drove through the length of the cold, grey, dreary city.  “At present New York is in the control of Tammany.  At the last elections the Republicans were defeated.  Ilroy, the Mayor, is a Tammany man.  The word Tammany is derived from an Indian sachem, Tamenund, who figures in Cooper’s Leather-stocking novels.  The party leaders have silly Indian names and titles.  But don’t be deceived by all that romantic Indian nonsense.  The members of Tammany Hall are mighty practical.  The Tammany tiger is an animal not to be trifled with in the great New York sheepfold.  I think we may feel pretty sure, though not absolutely certain, of having the Tammany tiger, and therefore the Mayor, with us in this matter.  Mr. Garry is a Republican, a deadly enemy of Tammany Hall, and it would give Ilroy the greatest satisfaction to deal a neat little blow at him and that idiotic institution, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.  But his term is nearly expired, and as he would like to be elected again, it is politic for him to make a few concessions to the Republicans.  Well, we’ll see.  We have to wait and see.”

The cab rolled down Lenox Avenue through Central Park and along Fifth Avenue, past the Metropolitan Museum, the Lenox Library, the millionaire residences, and St. Patrick’s Cathedral.  Below Fiftieth Street it turned into Broadway, where Lilienfeld pointed out the buildings of interest, Madison Square, and the Hoffman House, the gathering place of the Democrats.  Finally they reached the City Hall Park, in the centre of which stands the City Hall, a marble structure with a cupola and a portico.  In the portico the gentlemen awaited the ladies.

While walking to and fro, Frederick suddenly felt someone tugging at his coat.  He turned and saw a pretty, stylishly dressed little girl.

“Why, Ella Liebling, where do you come from?”

Ella courtesied and said: 

“I am out with Rosa.  There she is.”

Frederick turned and saw Rosa standing on the steps.

“Good morning, Doctor von Kammacher,” she said.

Frederick introduced Ella to Mr. Lilienfeld.  “Ella was in the shipwreck.  Here you have additional proof of the tremendous physical power of resistance of the so-called weaker sex.”

“Good morning, little girl.  Is it really true that you were in that awful shipwreck?”

“Yes, indeed,” came the unabashed answer, spiced with a dash of childishly coquettish pride, “and my brother was drowned.”

“Oh, poor child,” said Lilienfeld.  His manner was abstracted.  Evidently his mind was on the speech he might be compelled to deliver before the Mayor of New York.  “Excuse me,” he said suddenly to Frederick, and moved a few steps away to make a hasty, nervous perusal of his notes, which he had written on a slip of paper and had taken from his pocket.

“My mother was dead, too, but came back to life again.”