"I hope that fact doesn't leave us out in the cold with the barbarians?"
Burnamy put in, with a smile.

"Do you think we are civilized?" retorted the other.

"We have that superstition in Chicago," said Burnamy. He added, still
smiling, "About the New-Yorkers, I mean."

"You're more superstitious in Chicago than I supposed. New York is an
anarchy, tempered by vigilance committees."

"Oh, I don't think you can say that," Kenby cheerfully protested, "since
the Reformers came in. Look at our streets!"

"Yes, our streets are clean, for the time being, and when we look at them
we think we have made a clean sweep in our manners and morals. But how
long do you think it will be before Tammany will be in the saddle again?"

"Oh, never in the world!" said the optimistic head of the table.

"I wish I had your faith; or I should if I didn't feel that it is one of
the things that help to establish Tammanys with us. You will see our
Tammany in power after the next election." Kenby laughed in a
large-hearted incredulity; and his laugh was like fuel to the other's
flame. "New York is politically a mediaeval Italian republic, and it's
morally a frontier mining-town. Socially it's--" He stopped as if he
could not say what.

"I think it's a place where you have a very nice time, papa," said his
daughter, and Burnamy smiled with her; not because he knew anything about