“If—” commented Mr. Kerrigan, dryly.
“If,” replied Mr. Gilgan, sententiously. “You’re very right. There’s a big ‘if’ in there, I’ll admit. But if these two wards—yours and Tiernan’s—could by any chance be carried for the Republicans they’d be equal to any four or five of the others.”
“Very true,” replied Mr. Kerrigan, “if they could be carried for the Republicans. But they can’t be. What do you want me to do, anyhow? Lose me seat in council and be run out of the Democratic party? What’s your game? You don’t take me for a plain damn fool, do you?”
“Sorry the man that ever took ‘Emerald Pat’ for that,” answered Gilgan, with honeyed compliment. “I never would. But no one is askin’ ye to lose your seat in council and be run out of the Democratic party. What’s to hinder you from electin’ yourself and droppin’ the rest of the ticket?” He had almost said “knifing.”
Mr. Kerrigan smiled. In spite of all his previous dissatisfaction with the Chicago situation he had not thought of Mr. Gilgan’s talk as leading to this. It was an interesting idea. He had “knifed” people before—here and there a particular candidate whom it was desirable to undo. If the Democratic party was in any danger of losing this fall, and if Gilgan was honest in his desire to divide and control, it might not be such a bad thing. Neither Cowperwood, McKenty, nor Dowling had ever favored him in any particular way. If they lost through him, and he could still keep himself in power, they would have to make terms with him. There was no chance of their running him out. Why shouldn’t he knife the ticket? It was worth thinking over, to say the least.
“That’s all very fine,” he observed, dryly, after his meditations had run their course; “but how do I know that you wouldn’t turn around and welch on the agreement afterward?” (Mr. Gilgan stirred irritably at the suggestion.) “Dave Morrissey came to me four years ago to help him out, and a lot of satisfaction I got afterward.” Kerrigan was referring to a man whom he had helped make county clerk, and who had turned on him when he asked for return favors and his support for the office of commissioner of highways. Morrissey had become a prominent politician.
“That’s very easy to say,” replied Gilgan, irritably, “but it’s not true of me. Ask any man in my district. Ask the men who know me. I’ll put my part of the bargain in black and white if you’ll put yours. If I don’t make good, show me up afterward. I’ll take you to the people that are backing me. I’ll show you the money. I’ve got the goods this time. What do you stand to lose, anyhow? They can’t run you out for cutting the ticket. They can’t prove it. We’ll bring police in here to make it look like a fair vote. I’ll put up as much money as they will to carry this district, and more.”
Mr. Kerrigan suddenly saw a grand coup here. He could “draw down” from the Democrats, as he would have expressed it, twenty to twenty-five thousand dollars to do the dirty work here. Gilgan would furnish him as much and more—the situation being so critical. Perhaps fifteen or eighteen thousand would be necessary to poll the number of votes required either way. At the last hour, before stuffing the boxes, he would learn how the city was going. If it looked favorable for the Republicans it would be easy to complete the victory and complain that his lieutenants had been suborned. If it looked certain for the Democrats he could throw Gilgan and pocket his funds. In either case he would be “in” twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars, and he would still be councilman.
“All very fine,” replied Mr. Kerrigan, pretending a dullness which he did not feel; “but it’s damned ticklish business at best. I don’t know that I want anything to do with it even if we could win. It’s true the City Hall crowd have never played into my hands very much; but this is a Democratic district, and I’m a Democrat. If it ever got out that I had thrown the party it would be pretty near all day with me.
“I’m a man of my word,” declared Mr. Gilgan, emphatically, getting up. “I never threw a man or
