had an accomplishment
except for making an uproar in a crowd. It seems ridiculous to show
signs of the orator now, without desire, ambition, study, or
preparation."

"Your California experiences," said the priest casually, "may have
something to do with it. But let me warn you," and he looked about to
make sure no one heard, "that early distinction in your case may attract
the attention you wish to escape."

"I feel that it will help me," Arthur answered. "Who that knew Horace
Endicott would look for him in a popular Tammany orator? The mantle of
an Irish Cicero would disguise even a Livingstone."

The surprise and pleasure of the leaders were cold beside the wild
delight of the Dillon clan when the news went around that Arthur had
overshadowed the great speakers of the banquet. His speech was read in
every gathering, its sarcastic description of the offensive Livingstone
filled the Celts with joy, and threw Anne and Judy into an ecstasy.

"Faith, Mare Livingstone'll see green on St. Patrick's Day for the rest
of his life," said Judy. "It' ud be a proper punishment if the bread he
ate, an' everythin' he touched on that day, shud turn greener than ould
Ireland, the land he insulted."

"There's curse enough on him," Anne replied sharply, ever careful to
take Arthur's side, as she thought, "and I won't have you spoiling
Arthur's luck be cursing any wan. I'm too glad to have an orator in the
family. I can now put my orator against Mary Everard's priest, and be as
proud as she is."

"The pride was born in ye," said Judy. "You won't have to earn it.
Indade, ye'll have a new flirt to yer tail, an' a new toss to yer head,
every day from now to his next speech."

"Why shouldn't I? I'm his mother," with emphasis.

CHAPTER IX.

THE VILLA AT CONEY ISLAND.

The awkwardness of his relations with Anne Dillon wore away speedily,
until he began to think as well as speak of her as his mother; for she
proved with time to be a humorous and delightful mother. Her love for
rich colors and gay scenes, her ability to play gracefully the awkward
part which he had chosen for her, her affectionate and discreet reserve,
her delicate tact and fine wit, and her half-humorous determination to
invade society, showed her as a woman of parts. He indulged her fancies,
in particular her dream of entering the charmed circle of New York
society. How this success should be won, and what was the circle, he did
not know, nor care. The plea