The group of men turned to the clock which was ticking high up on the wall between the smudgy painting of Leda and The Swan and the framed group photograph of famous pugilists from Paddy Ryan to the present day.
"It's only nineteen past; plenty time for just one more."
Jim Connor compared his watch with the clock and found they tallied. The grave bartender took the dice and box from behind the cigar counter and courteously placed them upon the bar.
"Well," bargained Jim, "if it is just one more."
"J.O.M." they chorused, and the dice rolled upon the polished oak.
"What'll it be, gents?"
"Beer."
"Scotch high."
"Bourbon."
"A small beer, Jack."