“Yes, Mister Tom.”
“It doesn’t look like a hotel.”
“Shure it is, though, more by token it belongs to an ould frind of mine, Carny Rafferty, from my own town in County Cork. Wasn’t it luck jist that I met him in the strate, and he took me home and gave me a job at once?”
“I should say it was luck, Mike. What do you think I am paying at my hotel?”
“How much, Mister Tom?”
“Eight dollars a day.”
“Shure, Carny charges four dollars for jist a bit of a shake down on the floor and board.”
“You said Carny had given you a job?”
“Yes. I’m the cook and make the beds and such like.”
“What do you know about cooking, Mike?” asked Tom laughing.