present
at this conference. "Paret seems to be running Watling's campaign,
anyway."

It was settled that I should be the emissary. With lively sensations of
curiosity and excitement, tempered by a certain anxiety as to my ability
to match wits with the Spider, I made my way to his "lair" over Monahan's
saloon, situated in a district that was anything but respectable. The
saloon, on the ground floor, had two apartments; the bar-room proper
where Mike Monahan, chamberlain of the establishment, was wont to stand,
red faced and smiling, to greet the courtiers, big and little, the party
workers, the district leaders, the hangers-on ready to be hired, the city
officials, the police judges,--yes, and the dignified members of state
courts whose elections depended on Mr. Jason's favour: even Judge Bering,
whose acquaintance I had made the day I had come, as a law student, to
Mr. Watling's office, unbent from time to time sufficiently to call there
for a small glass of rye and water, and to relate, with his owl-like
gravity, an anecdote to the "boys." The saloon represented Democracy, so
dear to the American public. Here all were welcome, even the
light-fingered gentlemen who enjoyed the privilege of police protection;
and who sometimes, through fortuitous circumstances, were hauled before
the very magistrates with whom they had rubbed elbows on the polished
rail. Behind the bar-room, and separated from it by swinging doors only
the elite ventured to thrust apart, was an audience chamber whither Mr.
Jason occasionally descended. Anecdote and political reminiscence gave
place here to matters of high policy.

I had several times come to the saloon in the days of my apprenticeship
in search of some judge or official, and once I had run down here the
city auditor himself. Mike Monahan, whose affair it was to know everyone,
recognized me. It was part of his business, also, to understand that I
was now a member of the firm of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon.

"Good morning to you, Mr. Paret," he said suavely. We held a colloquy in
undertones over the bar, eyed by the two or three customers who were
present. Mr. Monahan disappeared, but presently returned to whisper:
"Sure, he'll see you," to lead the way through the swinging doors and up
a dark stairway. I came suddenly on a room in the greatest disorder, its
tables and chairs piled high with newspapers and letters, its windows
streaked with soot. From an open door on its farther side is