"
The rich and prosperous people, as their manner is, congratulated
themselves on their escape, and gave no thought to the questions which
had come so near to an issue of fire and blood. In this city of two
hundred thousand people, two or three dozen politicians continued as
before to govern it, to assess and to spend its taxes, to use it as
their property and their chattel. The rich and intelligent kept on
making money, building fine houses, and bringing up children to hate
politics as they did, and in fine to fatten themselves as sheep which
should be mutton whenever the butcher was ready. There was hardly a
millionaire on Algonquin Avenue who knew where the ward meetings of his
party were held. There was not an Irish laborer in the city but knew
his way to his ward club as well as to mass.
Among those who had taken part in the late exciting events and had now
reverted to private life was Sam Sleeny. His short sentence had
expired; he had paid his fine and come back to Matchin's. But he was
not the quiet, contented workman he had been. He was sour, sullen, and
discontented.
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