esent 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 issu