Tom Grogan [32]
him. Suppose it had struck nine and the polls had closed, what right had he to keep McGaw from handing in his other bid? (Both were higher than Tom's. This fact, however, McGaw had never mentioned.)
Around the tenements the interest was no less marked. Mr. Moriarty had sent the news of Tom's success ringing through O'Leary's, and Mrs. Moriarty, waiting outside the barroom door for the pitcher her husband had filled for her inside, had spread its details through every hallway in the tenement.
"Ah, but Tom's a keener," said that gossip. "Think of that little divil Cully jammed behind the door with her bid in his hand, a-waitin' for the clock to get round to two minutes o' nine, an' that big stuff Dan McGaw sittin' inside wid two bids up his sleeve! Oh, but she's cunnin', she is! Dan's clean beat. He'll niver haul a shovel o' that stone."
"How'll she be a-doin' a job like that?" came from a woman listening over the banisters.
"Be doin'?" rejoined a red-headed virago. "Wouldn't ye be doin' it yerself if ye had that big coal-dealer behind ye?"
"Oh, we hear enough. Who says they're in it?" rejoined a third listener.
"Pete Lathers says so--the yard boss. He was a-tellin' me man yisterday."
On consulting Justice Rowan the next morning, McGaw and his friends found but little comfort. The law was explicit, the justice said. The contract must be given to the lowest responsible bidder. Tom had deposited her certified check of five hundred dollars with the bid, and there was no informality in her proposal. He was sorry for McGaw, but if Mrs. Grogan signed the contract there was no hope for him. The horse-doctor's action was right. If McGaw's second bid had been received, it would simply have invalidated both of his, the law forbidding two from the same bidder.
Rowan's opinion sustaining Tom's right was a blow he did not expect. Furthermore, the justice offered no hope for the future. The law gave Tom the award, and nothing could prevent her hauling the stone if she signed the contract. These words rang in McGaw's ears--if she signed the contract. On this if hung his only hope.
Rowan was too shrewd a politician, now that McGaw's chances were gone, to advise any departure, even by a hair-line, from the strict letter of the law. He was, moreover, too upright as a justice to advise any member of the defeated party to an overt act which might look like unfairness to any bidder concerned. He had had a talk, besides, with his brother over night, and they had accordingly determined to watch events. Should a way be found of rejecting on legal grounds Tom's bid, making a new advertisement necessary, Rowan meant to ignore McGaw altogether, and have his brother bid in his own name. This determination was strengthened when McGaw, in a burst of confidence, told Rowan of his present financial straits.
From Rowan's the complaining trio adjourned to O'Leary's barroom. Crimmins and McGaw entered first. Quigg arrived later. He closed one eye meaningly as he entered, and O'Leary handed a brass key to him over the bar with the remark, "Stamp on the floor three toimes, Dinny, an' I'll send yez up what ye want to drink." Then Crimmins opened a door concealed by a wooden screen, and the three disappeared upstairs. Crimmins reappeared within an hour, and hurried out the front door. In a few moments he returned with Justice Rowan, who had adjourned court. Immediately after the justice's arrival there came three raps from the floor above, and O'Leary swung back the door, and disappeared with an assortment of drinkables on a tray.
The conference lasted until noon. Then the men separated outside the barroom. From the expression on the face of each one as he emerged from the door it was evident that the meeting had not produced any very cheering or conclusive results. McGaw had that vindictive, ugly, bulldog look about the eyes and mouth which always made his wife tremble when he came home. The result of the present struggle over the contract was a matter of life or death to him. His notes, secured
Around the tenements the interest was no less marked. Mr. Moriarty had sent the news of Tom's success ringing through O'Leary's, and Mrs. Moriarty, waiting outside the barroom door for the pitcher her husband had filled for her inside, had spread its details through every hallway in the tenement.
"Ah, but Tom's a keener," said that gossip. "Think of that little divil Cully jammed behind the door with her bid in his hand, a-waitin' for the clock to get round to two minutes o' nine, an' that big stuff Dan McGaw sittin' inside wid two bids up his sleeve! Oh, but she's cunnin', she is! Dan's clean beat. He'll niver haul a shovel o' that stone."
"How'll she be a-doin' a job like that?" came from a woman listening over the banisters.
"Be doin'?" rejoined a red-headed virago. "Wouldn't ye be doin' it yerself if ye had that big coal-dealer behind ye?"
"Oh, we hear enough. Who says they're in it?" rejoined a third listener.
"Pete Lathers says so--the yard boss. He was a-tellin' me man yisterday."
On consulting Justice Rowan the next morning, McGaw and his friends found but little comfort. The law was explicit, the justice said. The contract must be given to the lowest responsible bidder. Tom had deposited her certified check of five hundred dollars with the bid, and there was no informality in her proposal. He was sorry for McGaw, but if Mrs. Grogan signed the contract there was no hope for him. The horse-doctor's action was right. If McGaw's second bid had been received, it would simply have invalidated both of his, the law forbidding two from the same bidder.
Rowan's opinion sustaining Tom's right was a blow he did not expect. Furthermore, the justice offered no hope for the future. The law gave Tom the award, and nothing could prevent her hauling the stone if she signed the contract. These words rang in McGaw's ears--if she signed the contract. On this if hung his only hope.
Rowan was too shrewd a politician, now that McGaw's chances were gone, to advise any departure, even by a hair-line, from the strict letter of the law. He was, moreover, too upright as a justice to advise any member of the defeated party to an overt act which might look like unfairness to any bidder concerned. He had had a talk, besides, with his brother over night, and they had accordingly determined to watch events. Should a way be found of rejecting on legal grounds Tom's bid, making a new advertisement necessary, Rowan meant to ignore McGaw altogether, and have his brother bid in his own name. This determination was strengthened when McGaw, in a burst of confidence, told Rowan of his present financial straits.
From Rowan's the complaining trio adjourned to O'Leary's barroom. Crimmins and McGaw entered first. Quigg arrived later. He closed one eye meaningly as he entered, and O'Leary handed a brass key to him over the bar with the remark, "Stamp on the floor three toimes, Dinny, an' I'll send yez up what ye want to drink." Then Crimmins opened a door concealed by a wooden screen, and the three disappeared upstairs. Crimmins reappeared within an hour, and hurried out the front door. In a few moments he returned with Justice Rowan, who had adjourned court. Immediately after the justice's arrival there came three raps from the floor above, and O'Leary swung back the door, and disappeared with an assortment of drinkables on a tray.
The conference lasted until noon. Then the men separated outside the barroom. From the expression on the face of each one as he emerged from the door it was evident that the meeting had not produced any very cheering or conclusive results. McGaw had that vindictive, ugly, bulldog look about the eyes and mouth which always made his wife tremble when he came home. The result of the present struggle over the contract was a matter of life or death to him. His notes, secured