The Clover Leaf young men， after two years of blindness，suddenly perceived charms in Miss Toole. They flexedtheir compelling muscles before her and bespoke her forthe dance.
Thus she scored； but to Terry O’Sullivan the honours ofthe evening fell thick and fast. He shook his curls； he smiledand went easily through the seven motions for acquiringgrace in your own room before an open window ten minuteseach day. He danced like a faun； he introduced mannerand style and atmosphere； his words came trippingly uponhis tongue， and—he waltzed twice in succession with thepaper-box girl that Dempsey Donovan brought.
Dempsey was the leader of the association. He wore adress suit， and could chin the bar twice with one hand.
He was one of “Big Mike” O’Sullivan’s lieutenants， andwas never troubled by trouble. No cop dared to arresthim. Whenever he broke a pushcart man’s head or shot amember of the Heinrick B. Sweeney Outing and LiteraryAssociation in the kneecap， an officer would drop aroundand say：
“The Cap’n ’d like to see ye a few minutes round to theoffice whin ye have time， Dempsey， me boy.”
But there would be sundry gentlemen there with largegold fob chains and black cigars； and somebody would tella funny story， and then Dempsey would go back and workhalf an hour with the six-pound dumbbells. So， doing atight-rope act on a wire stretched across Niagara was asafe terpsichorean performance compared with waltzingtwice with Dempsey Donovan’s paper-box girl. At 10o’clock the jolly round face of “Big Mike” O’Sullivan shoneat the door for five minutes upon the scene. He alwayslooked in for five minutes， smiled at the girls and handedout real perfectos to the delighted boys.
Dempsey Donovan was at his elbow instantly， talkingrapidly. “Big Mike” looked carefully at the dancers， smiled，shook his head and departed.
The music stopped. The dancers scattered to the chairsalong the walls. Terry O’Sullivan， with his entrancing bow，relinquished a pretty girl in blue to her partner and startedback to find Maggie. Dempsey intercepted him in themiddle of the floor.
Some fine instinct that Rome must have bequeathedto us caused nearly every one to turn and look at them—there was a subtle feeling that two gladiators had met inthe arena. Two or three Give and Takes with tight coatsleeves drew nearer.
“One moment， Mr. O’Sullivan，” said Dempsey. “I hopeyou’re enjoying yourself. Where did you say you live？”
The two gladiators were well matched. Dempsey had，perhaps， ten pounds of weight to give away. The O’Sullivanhad breadth with quickness. Dempsey had a glacial eye，a dominating slit of a mouth， an indestructible jaw， acomplexion like a belle’s and the coolness of a champion.
The visitor showed more fire in his contempt and lesscontrol over his conspicuous sneer. They were enemies bythe law written when the rocks were molten. They wereeach too splendid， too mighty， too incomparable to dividepre-eminence. One only must survive.
“I live on Grand，” said O’Sullivan， insolently； “and notrouble to find me at home. Where do you live？”
Dempsey ignored the question.
“You say your name’s O’Sullivan，” he went on. “Well， ‘BigMike’ says he never saw you before.”
“Lots of things he never saw，” said the favourite of thehop.
“As a rule，” went on Dempsey， huskily sweet， “O’Sullivansin this district know one another. You escorted one of ourlady members here， and we want a chance to make good. Ifyou’ve got a family tree let’s see a few historical O’Sullivanbuds come out on it. Or do you want us to dig it out ofyou by the roots？”
“Suppose you mind your own business，” suggestedO’Sullivan， blandly.
Dempsey’s eye brightened. He held up an inspiredforefinger as though a brilliant idea had struck him.
“I’ve got it now，” he said cordially. “It was just a littlemistake. You ain’t no O’Sullivan. You are a ring-tailedmonkey. Excuse us for not recognising you at first.”
O’Sullivan’s eye flashed. He made a quick movement，but Andy Geoghan was ready and caught his arm.
