"
"I know just the right place, Your Honor," stated the policeman, pulling
his club from his belt and waving it to part the throng.
Morrison broke in upon Lanigan's mumbled threats. "Mind your manners,
Joe!"
"But he hit you!"
The mayor picked up his garments, one by one, inspected them, and dusted
them with his palm; then he pulled them on. The crowd gazed at him.
"He hit you!" Lanigan insisted, bellicosely. "When a man hits me, I lick
him!"
"You're a good fighter, Joe," agreed His Honor, running his forearm about
his silk hat to smooth the nap. "But let me tell you something! Unless you
put yourself in better shape there'll be a fellow some day that you'll
want to lick, and you won't be able to lick him, and you'll be almighty
sorry because you can't turn the trick."
"Show me the feller, Mister Mayor!"
"Go look in the glass, Joe."
"Lick myself--is that what you mean, sir?"
"Sure! If you can do it when it ought to be done, you'll have the right to
feel rather proud of yourself."
He invited Blanchard with a side wag of his head and led the way from the
hall.
"Morrison, let me say this," blurted the mill magnate, when they were on
their way in the limousine.
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