“Stop us if you can.  Now, stand aside!” commanded the stranger menacingly.

“Let ’em by, men,” cried Morrissy.  “Don’t touch ’em yet.  You just leave it to me.  I know a way and a good one, too.  You just leave it to me.”

The angry strikers divided ranks and the strangers entered the shops.

Morrissy directed his steps to McQuade’s office, and together they paid a visit to the mayor.

“Look here, Donnelly, did you permit Bennington to swear in deputy police?” asked McQuade.

“Deputy police?  Bennington has no deputy police from this place,” answered Donnelly hotly.

“Well, all we know is that he has them,” snapped Morrissy.

“Then he has gone directly to the governor.”

“The governor?”

McQuade and Morrissy looked at each other blankly.

“He has that prerogative,” said Donnelly.

“But he wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, yes, he would.  It’s his last term; he is without further political ambition; he can act as he pleases, in the face of public condemnation.  There’s one thing left, though.”

“What?”

“Injunction,” said Donnelly tersely.

“With Republican judges on the benches?” replied McQuade ironically.

“And you can’t enjoin private property,” added Morrissy.

“I’ll send for Bennington,” Donnelly volunteered.  “Perhaps I can talk him into reason.”

“It’s up to you to block this move somehow,” said McQuade.  “It means the labor vote.  And we’ve got to have that.”

“I’ll do the best I can.  I can stop his permit to tear down the building, if he really intends to do that.”

“It will be a good day’s work for you.”

“I’ll act this very afternoon.”

Once outside the mayor’s office, McQuade turned to Morrissy.

“Where’s that receipt you promised on oath?”

“Haven’t you got it?” asked Morrissy, feigning surprise.

“No, and I doubt you sent it.  But I want it at once, and no more monkeying.”

“Well, I sent it.  I mailed it to your office.  You’ve overlooked it.”

“Come over to my office now and make it out,” McQuade insisted.

“You’ve got plenty of grips on me without that,” protested Morrissy reproachfully.

“But I want this one, and I’m going to have it.”

“I’ll go to your office.  Will Donnelly be game?”

“He will if he knows which side his bread is buttered on,” contemptuously.

The two went up to McQuade’s office.  It was deserted.

“The girl’s gone this afternoon,” said McQuade, “but I can handle the typewriter myself.”

“All I’ve got to say is that I mailed you a receipt.  What do you want it for?” with a final protest.

“I’ve got an idea in my head, Morrissy.  I want that receipt.  Some day you may take it into your head to testify that I offered you a thousand to bring on the strike at Bennington’s.  That would put me in and let you out, because I can’t prove that I gave the cash to you.  Business is business.”