“Ah, ye know damn well what I mean! Youse t’ink yer a hot guy, O’Hara, but ye’ll buy a gold brick some day, le’me tell youse that. Ye’ll go flat on yer back wit’out a cent in yer pants.”
“Divil take ye, have yez gone crazy!”
“I’m tellin’ ye what’s right, ain’t I?”
“Shame on ye, Larry Murphy!” exclaimed Bridget, “is poor Mary’s dyin’ words—”
“Say, cut that out! I won’t’ stand for any o’ youse draggin’ her into yer little game.”
“God forgi’ yez!” cried Ellen. “Oh, God forgi’ yez.”
O’Hara strove to look impressive. “Iv any wan had towld me,” said he, “that yez had no rayspect for Mary, I would’ve towld him that he lied!”
Larry laughed. “That’s a slashin’ good jolly,” remarked he. “It might have worked, too; on’y I’m next to yer little scheme,” he paused a moment, regarding O’Hara, soberly. “Say,” he resumed “I didn’t come to see youse on’y about that, but to do youse a good turn if ye’ll on’y let me.”
“What have ye till say?” inquired O’Hara.
“Come into the store,” said Larry, with a glance at the two old women. “This t’ing’s private.”