“You are not so new that you can’t give a gentleman his proper title.”
“He’s Councilor McGinty, young man,” said a voice from the group.
“I’m sorry, Councilor. I’m strange to the ways of the place. But I was advised to see you.”
“Well, you see me. This is all there is. What d’you think of me?”
“Well, it’s early days. If your heart is as big as your body, and your soul as fine as your face, then I’d ask for nothing better,” said McMurdo.
“By Gar! you’ve got an Irish tongue in your head anyhow,” cried the saloonkeeper, not quite certain whether to humor this audacious visitor or to stand upon his dignity. “So you are good enough to pass my appearance?”
“Sure,” said McMurdo.
“And you were told to see me?”
“I was.”
“And who told you?”
“Brother Scanlan of Lodge 341, Vermissa. I drink your health, Councilor, and to our better acquaintance.” He raised a glass with which he
