"It escaped me mind," said Fagan. "I was thinkin' these was
broke t' swimmin' an' did not need t' be soaked. I wonder how
long they should be soaked, Mike?"

"'Twill do no harrm t' soak thim over night, anny how," said
Toole. "Over night is th' usual soak given t' th' soup-bean an'
th' salt mackerel, t' say nawthin' of th' codfish an' others of
th' water-goat family. Let th' water goats soak over night,
Fagan, an by mornin' they will be ready t' swim like a trout. We
will anchor thim in th' lake, Fagan--an' we will say nawthin' t'
Dugan. 'Twould be a blow t' Dugan was he t' learn th' dongolas
provided fer th' park was young an' wather-shy."

They anchored the water goats firmly in the lake, and left them
there to overcome their shyness, which seemed, as Fagan and Toole
left them, to be as great as ever. The goats gazed sadly, and
bleated longingly, after the two men as they disappeared in the
dusk, and when the men had passed entirely out of sight, the
goats looked at each other and complained bitterly.

Alderman Toole thoughtfully changed his wet clothes for dry
ones before he went to Casey's that evening, for he thought Dugan
might be there, and he was. He was there when Toole arrived, and
his brow was black. He had had a bad day of it. Everything had
gone wrong with him and his affairs. A large lump of his
adherents had sloughed off from his party and had affiliated with
his opponents, and the evening opposition paper had come out with
a red-hot article condemning the administration for reckless
extravagance. It had especially condemned Dugan for burdening the