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Alderman Altvast. "Yea." Fear had conquered him. "Well, there's one baby down." Alderman Kerrigan. "Yep." "Ballenberg?" "Yea." Alderman Tiernan. "Say, has Ballenberg weakened?" Alderman Kerrigan. "It looks that way." "Canna?" "Yea." "Fogarty?" "Yea." "There goes Fogarty." "Hvranek?" "Yea." Alderman Tiernan. "And Hvranek!" "It's coming out of their hair."
"I don't see what we can do," said Alderman Pinski to Alderman Hvranek, his neighbor. "It looks to me as if we might just as well not try." At this point arose Alderman Gilleran, small, pale, intelligent, anti-Cowperwood. By prearrangement he had been scheduled to bring the second, and as it proved, the final test of strength to the issue.
It was staggering. At this news Mr. Kerrigan, who had been calculating on a number of thousands of dollars for his vote on various occasions, stared incredulously. "Well, I'll be damned!" he commented. "They've got a nerve! What?" "I've been talking to this fellow Klemm of the twentieth," said Mr. Tiernan, sardonically. "Say, he's a real one! I met him over at the Tremont talkin' to Hvranek.
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