Do you remember what date this is, my boy?" he inquired.

Alderson named the date. Brassfield nodded, as if he were pleased to
find Alderson correct in his exercises.

"Of course you know what we've arranged for to-day, don't you?" he went
on.

"The deferred annual meeting of the Construction Company?" asked
Alderson. "If that's it, it's all attended to. I took the proxies to
Mr. Smith yesterday."

"Good!" was Brassfield's hearty response. "You'll do for an animated
'office tickler' if you continue to improve. You used to forget all
these things."

They had now come to a certain turning, down which Brassfield gazed, to
a place where the highway was torn up and excavated. A center line of
bowed backs, fringed by flying dirt. Indicated that the work was still
in progress.

"You may go on to the office," said Brassfield, "and I'll be up
immediately. I'm going down to see Barney Conlon a moment."

He walked down among the men, nodding to the busy ones, and stopping
for a handshake or a joke with others.

"Hello, Barney," he shouted to the man who seemed to be in charge.
"How long are you going to keep people jumping sideways to prevent
themselves from being buried alive? You old Fenian!"

Conlon looked at him for a moment with an air of distinct disfavor.

"Look out there!" he shouted to a teamster who was unloading pipe.
"D'ye want to kill the min in the trinch? Ah, is thot you, Mr.
Brassfield?"

"What's left of me," replied Brassfield, quickly aware of the coolness
of the reception--the politician's sensitiveness to danger. "By the
way, Conlon, can't you come up to the office soon? I've got some
specifications I want you to see. Pipe-line. Can you do that sort of
work?"

"Do it!" gushed Conlon, thawing. "Do it! Ah, Mr. Brassfield, d'ye ask
me thot, whin ye mind 'twas me thot done the Rogers job!"

"Oh, yes, I remember now, you did have that," said Brassfield. "Well,
that was fairly well done. Come up and figure with me, and I believe
we can make a deal."

"Thank ye kindly, Mr. Brassfield," said Conlon, all his obsequiousness
returning. "Thank ye! Annything new in politics, Mr. Brassfield?"

"I don't know a thing," said Brassfield. "I'm so busy with other
things, you know----"

"It'll be a great honor," said Conlon, "or so I should take it, to be
the mare of the city, an' the master of the fine new house an' all
that'll be in it, all this same spring!"

"Yes, Conlon, yes--but as