"She was a great gurl—a great gurl. But she wanted all the fun av coortin', an' none av the trouble that begins whin the coortin' inds, an' she kep' me an' Butch prowlin' 'round there, spittin' an' spattin' like a pair av tomcats on a fince, till we splitted the comp'ny into two halves with our fracshuns. An' whin Tweed run fer Alderman from the Sivinth, we both woorked to see which cud woork the hardest—an' Tweed wint in, with a toorch-light percession an' a hill av a jambaree—an' I got me job in the Coort House—an' Butch got a plintiful promise av big things to be."
Feenj snorted. "It 's a dirty game, politics. They 're a gang o' fakers."
"It 's like iv'rythin' ilse," the watchman replied. "It 's what we make av it. But it takes big men to play it big, an' the little men it makes little shysters." He reached out his black claw of a hand. "Man alive, if we Irish had the men to lead us! If we had the men! We stick to such as we have—we vote fer thim, an' fight fer thim, an' believe in thim whin iv'ry one ilse is peltin' thim with pursecutions—an' by God, they chate us, an' sell us, an' laugh at us—laugh at us!—till some one ilse sinds thim to jail fer stealin' from us! An' even thin do we give thim up? No, sor! 'Tis the curse av loyalty that's on us—the curse av loyalty. I mind the day whin I 'd' ve bit off me thumb fer Bill Tweed, an' I—"
"What 'd he do to yuh?" Feeny cut in. "What 'd he do to yuh?"
"He done me dirt. He done me dirt." He gulped.
