new sign of the glorious unity of
the country.

If therefore Mr. Newberry and Mr. Overend were found to be discussing
the corrupt state of their city they only shared in the national
sentiments of the moment. In fact in the same city hundreds of other
citizens, as disinterested as themselves, were waking up to the
realization of what was going on. As soon as people began to look into
the condition of things in the city they were horrified at what they
found. It was discovered, for example, that Alderman Schwefeldampf was
an undertaker! Think of it! In a city with a hundred and fifty deaths a
week, and sometimes even better, an undertaker sat on the council! A
city that was about to expropriate land and to spend four hundred
thousand dollars for a new cemetery, had an undertaker on the
expropriation committee itself! And worse than that! Alderman Undercutt
was a butcher! In a city that consumed a thousand tons of meat every
week! And Alderman O'Hooligan--it leaked out--was an Irishman! Imagine
it! An Irishman sitting on the police committee of the council in a
city where thirty-eight and a half out of every hundred policemen were
Irish, either by birth or parentage! The thing was monstrous.

So when Mr. Newberry said "It's worse than Russia!" he meant it, every
word.

* * * * *

Now just as Mr. Newberry and Mr. Dick Overend were finishing their
discussion, the huge bulky form of Mayor McGrath came ponderously past
them as they sat. He looked at them sideways out of his eyes--he had
eyes like plums in a mottled face--and, being a born politician, he
knew by the very look of them that they were talking of something that
they had no business to be talking about. But,--being a politician--he
merely said, "Good evening, gentlemen," without a sign of disturbance.

"Good evening, Mr. Mayor," said Mr. Newberry, rubbing his hands feebly
together and speaking in an ingratiating tone. There is no more
pitiable spectacle than an honest man caught in the act of speaking
boldly and fearlessly of the evil-doer.

"Good evening, Mr. Mayor," echoed Mr. Dick Overend, also rubbing his
hands; "warm evening, is it not?"

The mayor gave no other answer than that deep guttural grunt which is
technically known in municipal interviews as refusing to commit oneself.

"Did he hear?" whispered Mr. Newberry as the mayor passed out of the
club.

"I don't care if he did," whispered Mr. Dick Overend.

Half an hour later