But one of the boys was over here at Jake’s a little while ago, and he says there must ’a’ been five hundred people around my house at six o’clock, already.
Whad ye think o’ that?”
“Same here.
I don’t take much stock in this lynching idea.
Still, you can’t tell.
I don’t know whether the police could help us much or not.
It’s a damned outrage.
Cowperwood has a fair proposition.
What’s the matter with them, anyhow?”
Renewed sounds of “Marching Through Georgia” from without.
Enter at this time Aldermen Ziner, Knudson, Revere, Rogers, Tiernan, and Kerrigan.
Of all the aldermen perhaps Messrs. Tiernan and Kerrigan were as cool as any. Still the spectacle of streets blocked with people who carried torches and wore badges showing slip-nooses attached to a gallows was rather serious.
“I’ll tell you, Pat,” said
“Smiling Mike,” as they eventually made the door through throngs of jeering citizens; “it does look a little rough.
Whad ye think?”
“To hell with them!” replied Kerrigan, angry, waspish, determined.
“They don’t run me or my ward.
I’ll vote as I damn please.”
“Same here,” replied Tiernan, with a great show of courage.
“That goes for me.
But it’s putty warm, anyhow, eh?”
“Yes, it’s warm, all right,” replied Kerrigan, suspicious lest his companion in arms might be weakening, “but that’ll never make a quitter out of me.”
“Nor me, either,” replied the Smiling One.
Enter now the mayor, accompanied by a fife-and-drum corps rendering “Hail to the Chief.” He ascends the rostrum.
Outside in the halls the huzzas of the populace.
In the gallery overhead a picked audience.
As the various aldermen look up they contemplate a sea of unfriendly faces.
“Get on to the mayor’s guests,” commented one alderman to another, cynically.
A little sparring for time while minor matters are considered, and the gallery is given opportunity for comment on the various communal lights, identifying for itself first one local celebrity and then another.
“There’s Johnnie Dowling, that big blond fellow with the round head; there’s Pinski—look at the little rat; there’s Kerrigan.
Get on to the emerald.
Eh, Pat, how’s the jewelry?
You won’t get any chance to do any grafting to-night, Pat.
You won’t pass no ordinance to-night.”
Alderman Winkler (pro-Cowperwood).
“If the chair pleases, I think something ought to be done to restore order in the gallery and keep these proceedings from being disturbed.
It seems to me an outrage, that, on an occasion of this kind, when the interests of the people require the most careful attention—”
A Voice.
“The interests of the people!”
Another Voice.
“Sit down.
You’re bought!”
Alderman Winkler.
“If the chair pleases—”
The Mayor.
“I shall have to ask the audience in the gallery to keep quiet in order that the business in hand may be considered.” (Applause, and the gallery lapses into silence.)
Alderman Guigler (to Alderman Sumulsky).
“Well trained, eh?”
Alderman Ballenberg (pro-Cowperwood, getting up—large, brown, florid, smooth-faced).
“Before calling up an ordinance which bears my name I should like to ask permission of the council to make a statement.