a smooth Irish face and a pair of gold
eyeglasses hanging by a black cord. The air was heavy with
disputation; long-tailed words boomed sonorously; red-faced and
earnest, one of the occupants of the chairs assailed the man behind
the counter; with soft, sweeping, eloquent gestures the latter
defended himself.

"And what," demanded he, placing his hands upon the shining top of the
counter and shoving his head forward inquiringly, "is all this that we
do be hearing about your suffragette? Who is she? What is she? The
newspapers are filled to the top with her, but sorra the sight of her
did I ever see. If she has any existence outside of the comic
supplement, gentlemen, I'd like to have ye show me where. Did ye ever
hear a whisper of her till she began to send herself by registered
mail and chain herself to lamp posts? Niver the one of ye! Is your
wife a suffragette? She's not. Is your mother? No. Your sister? Again
it's no. Then who is it that composes the great army of female ballot
seekers? Is it the cook? The chambermaid? The woman that does the
plain sewing? I'll wager 'tis not. They have too much to do already;
it's not looking for additional burdens they are. Then where does this
advanced woman flourish and have her being?" Here one hand went up and
descended with a slap. "In the mansions of the rich," he declaimed
positively; "in the lap of luxury. Among the feminine descendants of
successful gum shoe men!"

Here the man with the flushed face attempted to speak; but an eloquent
sweep of both hands silenced him.

"They have nothing to do," stated the orator, "but to invent ways of
pleasing themselves. Monkey dinner parties, diamonds, automobiles and
boxes on the grand tier have no more attraction; private yachts and
other women's husbands have grown _passe_. They want a new toy, and
faith, nothing will please them but the destinies of the nation. Their
reasoning is simple and direct. If a man who wheels scrap iron at a
blast furnace is competent to handle the--"

At this point the speaker was interrupted by Ashton-Kirk advancing to
the counter.

"Pardon me," said the investigator, "but can you tell me where I can
find Mr. Tobin? Is he in?"

A look of great dignity came upon the face of the other; and he drew
himself up stiffly.

"You are speaking to him, sir," replied he.

"I thought so," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "My old friend Dan O'Connor has
mentioned you so often that I felt sure that I recognized the mann