bouquet to the woman-wine--and _you_ can't help it!"

"How do you old fellows down at the bivouac really feel about this
conduit business, Major," said Tom Cantrell as he moved his chair close
around by the major's after the last swish and rustle had left the men
alone in the dining-room for a few moments. "Just a question starts
father fire-eating, so I thought I would ask you to put me next. It's up
in the city council."

"Tom," answered the major as he blew a ring of smoke between himself and
the shrewd eyes, "what on earth have a lot of broken-down old Confederate
soldiers got to do with the management of the affairs of the city? You
young men are to attend to that--give us a seat in the sun and our
pipes--of peace."

"Oh, hang, Major! Look at the way you old fellows swung that gas contract
in the council. You 'sit in the sun' all right but they all know that the
bivouac pulls the plurality vote in this city when it chooses--and they
jump when you speak. What are you going to do about this conduit?"

"Is it pressing? Not much being said about it."

"That's it--they want to make it a sneak in. Mayor Potts is pushing
hard and we know he's just the judge's catspaw. Judge Taylor owns the
city council since that last election and I believe he has bought the
board of public works outright. The conduit is just a whisky ring scheme
to hand out jobs before the judge's election. They have got to keep the
criminal court fixed, Major, for this town is running wide open day and
night--with prohibition voted six months ago. They've got to keep Taylor
on the bench. What do you say?"