“Just saw Jim Degnan,” he said, grasping the sweating whisky bottle.
“You did, did you?” said Malachi, in a challenging tone.
“Yes,” said Brennan, determined to be genial. “He tells me you’re goin’ back to Ireland in the spring.”
“He does, does he?” again challenged Nolan.
“Didn’t you tell ’im?”
“If I did, did I tell ’im phat spring?”
“Well, I s’posed as a matter of course he meant this spring.”
Brennan bent over to measure his drink and to hide some confusion. “And I thought—you know what you said, Mal’chi—I was goin’ to have Mike here call the convention and round up the nomination—”
“Th’ hell you was! Th’—hell—you—was!” Malachi’s growing amazement lengthened the pauses between his words.
“Why, didn’t you say you’d t’row the nomination to me when you quit?”