“The stiff!” exclaimed Jerry McGlory, as Kelly came back into the barroom; “he t’inks if he blows his coin over the bar we’ll fall in line.”
“Look at Mart, over there,” said McCarty, “he’s looking black about something.”
“He was backcappin’ Murphy a while ago. He’s half lit up, and he’ll say somethin’ to Larry afore the night’s over, and Larry’ll slam him.”
It was McGonagle that spoke, and a moment later he added:
“Here he comes over! Play foxy, gents; don’t give him no excuse for bother, see?”
Young Kelly approached, and with him were Daily and Foley.
“How are youse, gents?” saluted Martin. “It’s the old man’s treat; won’t youse have somethin’?”
“We’re on the floor committee,” said McCarty, “an’ we ain’t touchin’ it to-night.”
Martin sneered; Daily heaved his bulging chest contemptuously and coughed. It was Foley that spoke.
“When a gent tries to be friendly wit’ me,” announced he, “I be’s friendly wit’ him, see? Ain’t that right?”