"I've had the spalpeens after myself afore now," spoke the tramp, in a low, confidential whisper.
"You keep yourself devilish low, then, for I know all the lads, and it's the first time I've clapped these two eyes on you."
"Do ye think I mane to let the fly cops put their darbies on me, that I should be nosin' around in the broad day?"
"You're too fly for them, I see," said the bar-keeper, with a sagacious shake of his head. "You an' Barney are a pair."
"Barney? Ye mane the Irish lad that was just here a bit ago?"
"The same. He's square. He's one of you."
The tramp leaned forward, his eyes fastened on the bloodshot eyes of the drink-compounder, and in an earnest tone, asked:
"Is he a bye that could crack a plant with the loikes o' me?"
Impressed with the tone and manner of the tramp, the bar-keeper gazed quickly around the room, and in a still lower tone, replied:
"He's on a lay himself. Would you like to go his pal?" The tramp slowly nodded his head, and after receiving the whispered invitation to come around later, strolled out of the saloon; and so on up the road.