James M. (People's Choice) Curley Supporters Sing Victoriously Despite Band, Cigar Smoke

Two adipose individuals with twin bellies swagger before a packed Young's Hotel auditorium of Curley supporters. On the stage with them, twenty other persons, some fat, some thin, none with bellies to compare with the two leaders of the gathering, rock and away to the strains of "Mother Machree." A tear glistens on the check of the adipose one on the left. Unashamed he wipes it away. The band ceases its dripping strains.

The adipose individual with his vest open is going to make an announcement: "146 Precincts. Goodwin--10,072; Bacon--31,089; Curley--34,828."

Everyone cheers. The crowd goes wild. The cloud of tobacco smoke eddies and swirls with the commotion. Another of the platform heroes steps forward. "Now, I don't want to speak ill of the dead," be begins. Silence. "So I won't say anything against Bacon." Again silence. He waits. Number 1 of the twin-bellies laughs uproariously. The crowd laughs. The speaker has said something fanny. More humor. The crowd laughs some more. The band plays "My Wild Irish Rose."

In the campaign room, a dozen precinct captains swarm around the phone. Each wears a round badge, patriotically decorated in red, white, and blue, also with green, yellow, and purple, thrown in to make it attractive. An enormously fat bull-dog with a hide that was once white, rolls on the floor in the havoc of cigar-butts, torn posters, and dirt. He slouches away from one of the campaign managers. He upsets the spittoon. "Jesus, Curley, watch it!" one of the cigar-chewers admonishes him.

In the adjacent auditorium, the crowd listens to another speaker.--"don't want to speak ill of the dead, so I won't speak ill of Goodwin." They all got the point immediately. They laugh.

The band again. More precinct returns. More courtesy to the dead. The two twin-bellies roll in time to the music. The bellies never bump; the owners attached stand six feet away from each other.

Outside the hall, beyond range of the speakers, the air is cool. A streetlight gleams on the building next the Curley headquarters. A paint-flaked sign proclaims the name of the building outside the Curley front door; "Hibernia Bank."