I know I can be of use to
him."
Little did Peter know how useful his last client would be to him.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE PRIMARY.
After this rush of work, Peter's life became as routine as of yore. The
winter passed without an event worth noting, if we except a steadily
growing acquaintance with the dwellers of the district. But in July a
new phase was injected into it by a call from Dennis Moriarty.
"Good-mornin' to yez, sir, an' a fine day it is," said the latter, with
his usually breezy way.
"Yes," said Peter.
"Misther Stirling. An' is it engaged yez are for this night?"
"No." Peter had nothing.
"Then," said Dennis, "maybe ye'll be afther goin' wid me to the
primary?"
"What primary?"
"For the election of delegates to the convention, shure."
"No. What party?"
"What party is it?"
"Yes."
"Misther Stirling, do yez know my name?"
"Dennis Moriarty, isn't it?"
"Yes. An' what's my business?"
"You keep a saloon."
"Yes. An' what ward do Oi live in?"
"The sixth, don't you?"
"Then," said Dennis, his upper lip twisting into a smile of enormous
proportions, "Oi suppose yez afther thinkin' Oi'm a dirty black
Republican.
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