cant table to come
over. Hello, Bolles!"

"How do you do, Mr. Martin. Hot day, Mr. McQuade."

"Sit down," said McQuade, with a nod of invitation toward the
remaining vacant chair. "Cigar or a drink?"

"Bring me a little whisky--no, make it an old-fashioned cocktail.
That'll be about right."

"Mr. McQuade has a job for you, Bolles, if you're willing to undertake
it."

"I've got some time on my hands just now," replied Bolles. "Contract
work?"

"After a fashion," said McQuade grimly. "Eat your dinner and we'll go
up stairs to my office. What I have to say can't be said here."

"All right, Mr. McQuade. If it's dagos, I'll have plenty in hand in
November."

"I shall want you to go to New York," said McQuade.

"New York or San Francisco, so long as some one foots the bills."

"I'll foot 'em," agreed McQuade. "Hustle your dinner. We'll wait for
you at the bar."

Bolles ordered. A job for McQuade that took him to New York meant
money, money and a good time. There were no more contracts till
September, so the junket to New York wouldn't interfere with his
regular work. He had sublet his Italians. He was free. A few minutes
later he joined McQuade, and the trio went up stairs in a cloud of
tobacco smoke. McQuade nodded to the typewriter, who rose and left the
private office. The three men sat down, in what might be described as
a one-two-three attitude: domination, tacit acceptance of this
domination, and servility.

"Do you know Richard Warrington, the playwriter?"

"That snob? Yes, I know who he is, and I'd like to punch his head for
him, too."

McQuade smiled. This manifest rancor on Bolles' part would make things
easier than he thought.

"Well, listen. I've just been tipped that big things are going to
happen this fall. That fool Donnelly has queered himself, and is
making a muddle of everything he touches. Senator Henderson is a
shrewd man, but he wasn't shrewd enough this time. He should have
conducted his little conspiracy in his own home and not at a club
where servants often find profit in selling what they hear. Henderson
is going to put Warrington up for mayor."

"The hell he is!" said Bolles.

Martin's jaw dropped, and the cigar ashes tumbled down his shirt
bosom.

"It's no joke," went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. The
people are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the City
Hall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what that
means. Warrington m