"Don't get gay, young man; don't get gay," said Peter, raising his furzy eyebrows with surprise. "You people are in business—I'm in business—we're all in business—for money."
"Yes, Peter, yes; all in business—all in business—a nasty thing it is, sir, this grafting business," returned Mike. "But my employers are getting tired of having their legs pulled so often. All the profits already go to your bunch—how can they pay any more?"
"Eh, young man, you are talking a little too gay—a little too gay, for one of your experience; hey?"
"Well, it's the truth," answered Mike.
"What have I to do with that? Yes, I, sir; I? Answer me that question?" asked Peter, with a little more animation than he had previously shown in the conversation.
"A whole d—— lot!" exclaimed Mike.
"Don't! don't! don't! boy! Don't cause me to throw you out!" roared Peter, now looking out his peephole.
"I am not a bit afraid of you—no more than I am of that door knob," answered Mike, haughtily.
"Maybe not, Mike; but you fellows must be reasonable," said Peter, less uproariously than before.
"So must you fellows," remarked Mike, placidly, as he indolently shifted one leg over the other and bent forward.