"Hello, Buck!" they called out at sight of Foley.
"Hello, gents," he answered. He locked the door with a private key, and kicked a chair up to the table.
"Say, Buck, I got a thirst like a barrel o' lime," remarked he of the guileless face, commonly known as Arkansas Number Two. "D'you know anything good for it?"
"The amount o' money I spend in a year on other men's drinks'd support a church," Foley answered. But he ordered a quart of whisky and glasses. "Now let's get to business," he said, when they had been placed on the table. "I guess youse've got an idea in your nuts as to what's doin'?"
"Jake put us next," grinned Kaffir Bill. "Keating."
"Yes. He's over-exertin' his throat. He's likely to spoil his voice, if we don't sorter step in an' stop him."
"But Jake didn't tell us how much youse wanted him to have," said Kaffir Bill. "Stiff?"
"Not much. Don't youse remember when youse made an undertaker's job out o' Fleischmann? An' how near youse come to takin' the trip to Sing Sing? We don't want any more risks o' that sort. Leave your guns at home." Foley gulped down the raw whisky. "A couple months' vacation'd be about right for Keating. It'd give him a chance to get acquainted with his wife."
He drew out a cigar and fitted it to one corner of his mouth. "He's left handed, youse know. An' anyhow he works mostly with his mouth."
"An' he's purty chesty," said Jake, following up Foley's cue with a grin.