"If youse give me three guesses, I might be able to hit it. But chair bottom's as cheap as carpet. Set down."
Mr. Driscoll sank into an upholstered chair, and a skirmish began between his purple face and the baby blue of the chair's back. "Let's get to business," he said.
"Won't youse have a drink first?" queried Foley, with baiting hospitality.
Mr. Driscoll's hands clenched the arms of the chair. "Let's get to business."
"Well,—fire away."
"You know what it is."
"I can't say's I do," Foley returned urbanely.
The contractor's hands dug again into the upholstery. "About the strike you called on the St. Etienne."
"Oh, that!—Well?"
Mr. Driscoll gulped down pride and anger and went desperately to the point. "What'll I have to do to settle it?"