Bright bi-i-i....
The moonface and the bottlenose were coming back from the lavatory reeling arm in arm among the palms in the hall.
“These damn fools make me sick.”
“Yessir these aint the champagne suppers we used to have in Frisco in the ole days.”
“Ah those were great days those.”
“By the way,” the moonfaced man steadied himself against the wall, “Holyoke ole fella, did you shee that very nobby little article on the rubber trade I got into the morning papers.... That’ll make the investors nibble ... like lil mishe.”
“Whash you know about rubber?... The stuff aint no good.”
“You wait an shee, Holyoke ole fella or you looshing opportunity of your life.... Drunk or sober I can smell money ... on the wind.”
“Why aint you got any then?” The bottlenosed man’s beefred face went purple; he doubled up letting out great hoots of laughter.
“Because I always let my friends in on my tips,” said the other man soberly. “Hay boy where’s zis here private dinin room?”