."

"Are they sick?" asked the big mayor. "What is th' matter with thim?"

"They do look sick," agreed Fagan, breaking the bad news gently. "I
should say they look mighty sick, Dugan. If they looked anny sicker, I
would be afther lookin' for a place t' bury thim in. An' I am lookin'
for th' place now."

As the truth dawned on the mind of the big mayor, he lost his firm look
and sank into a chair. This was the last brick pulled from under his
structure of hopes. His head sank upon his breast and for many minutes
he was silent, while his aides stood abashed and ill at ease. At last
he raised his head and stared at Toole, more in sorrow than in
resentfulness.

"Mike," he said, "Mike Toole! What in th' worrld made ye soak thim
dongolas?"

"Dugan," pleaded Toole, laying his hand on the big mayor's arm. "Dugan,
old man, don't look at me that way. There was nawthin' else t' do but
soak thim dongolas. Many's th' time I have seen me old father soakin'
th' young dongolas t' limber thim up for swimmin'. 'If iver ye have to
do with dongolas, Mike,' he used t' say t' me, 'soak thim well firrst.'
So I soaked thim, an' 'tis none of me fault, nor Fagan's either, that
they soaked full o' wather. First-class dongolas is wather-proof, as
iveryone knows, Dugan, an' how was we t' know thim two was not? How
was me an' Fagan t' know their skins would soak in wather like a pillow
case? Small blame to us, Dugan."

The big mayor took his head between his hands and stared moodily at the
floor.

"Go awn away!" he said after a while. "Ye have done for me an' th' byes,
Toole. Ye have soaked us out of office, wan an' all of us. I want t' be
alone. It is all over with us. Go awn away."

Toole and the Keeper of the Water Goats stole silently from the room and
out into the street. Fagan was the first to speak.

"How was we t' know thim dongolas would soak in wather that way, Toole?"
he said defensively. "How was we t' know they was not th' wather-proof
kind of dongolas?"

The little alderman from the Fourth Ward walked silently by the Keeper's
side. His head was downcast and his hands were clasped beneath the tails
of his coat. Suddenly he looked Fagan full in the face.

"'Twas our fault, Fagan," he said. "'Twas all our fault. If we didn't
know thim dongolas was wather-proof we should have varnished thim before
we put thim in th' lake t' soak. I don't blame you, Fagan, for ye did
not know anny better, but I blame mesilf. For I call t' mind