more in sorrow than in resentfulness.

"Mike," he said, "Mike Toole! What in th' worrld made ye soak
thim dongolas?"

"Dugan," pleaded Toole, laying his hand on the big mayor's arm.
"Dugan, old man, don't look at me that way. There was nawthin'
else t' do but soak thim dongolas. Many's th' time I have seen me
old father soakin' th' young dongolas t' limber thim up for
swimmin'. 'If iver ye have to do with dongolas, Mike,' he used t'
say t' me, 'soak thim well firrst.' So I soaked thim, an' 'tis
none of me fault, nor Fagan's either, that they soaked full o'
wather. First-class dongolas is wather-proof, as iveryone knows,
Dugan, an' how was we t' know thim two was not? How was me an'
Fagan t' know their skins would soak in wather like a pillow
case? Small blame to us, Dugan ."

The big mayor took his head between his hands and stared
moodily at the floor.

"Go awn away!" he said after a while. "Ye have done for me an'
th' byes, Toole. Ye have soaked us out of office, wan an' all of
us. I want t' be alone. It is all over with us. Go awn away."

Toole and the Keeper of the Water Goats stole silently from the
room and out into the street. Fagan was the first to speak.

"How was we t' know thim dongolas would soak in wather that
way, Toole?" he said defensively. "How was we t' know they was
not th' wather-proof kind of dongolas?"