They re-entered the store. O’Hara closed the door, while Larry seated himself upon the end of the counter.
“Clancy,” began the latter, “owes youse money.”
“He do,” admitted O’Hara. “Six hundred dollars, an’ ’tis due the day.”
“What d’youse t’ink his grocery’ed bring if ye sold him out?”
“About half av it, bad scram till him,” said O’Hara, viciously.
“McGonagle owes youse somethin’, too, don’t he?”
“Yis; I loaned him enough till buy his milk route, a year since, an’ divil the cint do I iver expect till see av it again!”
Larry crossed one leg over the other, and clasped his hands comfortably about his knee.
“I kin put youse next to a way to collect every cent, interest and all,” he informed O’Hara.
The second-hand dealer’s eyes snapped with interest. But he said, doubtfully: