the fellow member whom he had met in the train. Scanlan, a small, sharp-faced, nervous, black-eyed man, seemed glad to see him once more. After a glass or two of whiskey he broached the object of his visit.
“Say, McMurdo,” said he, “I remembered your address; so I made bold to call. I’m surprised that you’ve not reported to the Bodymaster. Why haven’t you seen Boss McGinty yet?”
“Well, I had to find a job. I have been busy.”
“You must find time for him if you have none for anything else. Good Lord, Man! you’re a fool not to have been down to the Union House and registered your name the first morning after you came here! If you run against him—well, you mustn’t, that’s all!”
McMurdo showed mild surprise. “I’ve been a member of lodge for over two years, Scanlan, but I never heard that duties were so pressing as all that.”
“Maybe not in Chicago.”
“Well, it’s the same society here.”
“Is it?”
Scanlan looked at him long and fixedly. There was something sinister in his eyes.
