ere married, the
ceremony being performed by the Reverend Dr. McTeague whose eyes filled
with philosophical tears as he gave them his blessing.

So the two churches of St. Asaph and St. Osoph stand side by side
united and at peace. Their bells call softly back and forward to one
another on Sunday mornings and such is the harmony between them that
even the episcopal rooks in the elm trees of St. Asaph's and the
presbyterian crows in the spruce trees of St. Osoph's are known to
exchange perches on alternate Sundays.

CHAPTER EIGHT: The Great Fight for Clean Government

"As to the government of this city," said Mr. Newberry, leaning back in
a leather armchair at the Mausoleum Club and lighting a second cigar,
"it's rotten, that's all."

"Absolutely rotten," assented Mr. Dick Overend, ringing the bell for a
second whiskey and soda.

"Corrupt," said Mr. Newberry, between two puffs of his cigar.

"Full of graft," said Mr. Overend, flicking his ashes into the grate.

"Crooked aldermen," said Mr. Newberry.

"A bum city solicitor," said Mr. Overend, "and an infernal grafter for
treasurer."

"Yes," assented Mr. Newberry, and then, leaning forwards in his chair
and looking carefully about the corridors of the club, he spoke behind
his hand and said, "And the mayor's the biggest grafter of the lot. And
what's more," he added, sinking his voice to a whisper, "the time has
come to speak out about it fearlessly."

Mr. Overend nodded. "It's a tyranny," he said.

"Worse than Russia," rejoined Mr. Newberry.

* * * * *

They had been sitting in a quiet corner of the club--it was on a Sunday
evening--and had fallen into talking, first of all, of the present
rottenness of the federal politics of the United States--not
argumentatively or with any heat, but with the reflective sadness that
steals over an elderly man when he sits in the leather armchair of a
comfortable club smoking a good cigar and musing on the decadence of
the present day. The rottenness of the federal government didn't anger
them. It merely grieved them.

They could remember--both of them--how different everything was when
they were young men just entering on life. When Mr. Newberry and Mr.
Dick Overend were young, men went into congress from pure patriotism;
there was no such thing as graft or crookedness, as they both admitted,
in those days; and as for the United States Senate--here their voices
were almost hushed in awe--why, w