Grevemeyer took a drink from his glass, also. So did Toole, gravely. Dugan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned to Toole again.     

       “Mike,” he said, “what do ye think? Mebby 'twould do as well t' git a couple of sicond-hand dongolas an' have thim painted up. If they was in purty good shape no wan would know th' difference, an' 'twould make a bit more rake-off fer th' byes, mebby.”      

       “Th' same word was on th' ind o' me tongue, Dugan,” said Toole, nodding his head slowly. “I was considerin' this very minute where I could lay me       hand on a couple of purty good dongolas that has not been used much. Flannagan could paint thim up fine!”      

       “Or Stoltzenau could do such paintings,” interposed Grevemeyer.     

       “Sure!” agreed the big mayor. He toyed with his glass a moment. “Mike,” he said suddenly, “what th' divil is a dongola, anyhow?”      

       Mike Toole was just raising his glass to his lips with the movements of one accustomed to hold conversation with the mayor. His left hand rested on his hip, with his arm akimbo, and his hat was tipped carelessly to the back of his head. The hand raising his glass stopped short where it was when he heard the mayor's question. He frowned at the glass—scowled at it angrily.     

       “A dongola, Dugan”—he said slowly, and stopped. “A dongola”—he repeated. “A dongola—did ye ask me what a dongola might be, Dugan?”      

       The big mayor nodded, and Grevemeyer leaned forward to catch the answer. Casey, too, leaned on his bar and listened. Alderman Toole raised his glass to his lips and filled his mouth with the liquor. Instantly he dashed the glass furiously to the floor. He jerked off his hat and cast it into a far corner and pulled off his coat, throwing it after his hat. He was climbing on to the bar when the big mayor and Grevemeyer laid their hands on the little man and held him tightly. The big mayor shook him once and set him on the floor.     

       “Mike!” said the big mayor. “What's th' matter wid ye? What are ye goin'       afther Casey that way for? Is it crazy ye are? Or have ye gone insane?”      

       “Knock-out drops!” shouted Toole, shaking his fist at Casey, who looked down at him in 

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