"Just as youse like. Only every day raises the price."
Mr. Driscoll made haste to promise to deliver the money Monday morning as soon as he could get it from his bank. And Foley thereupon promised to have the men ready to go back to work Monday afternoon. So much settled, Mr. Driscoll started to leave. He was suffocating.
"Won't youse have a drink?" Foley asked again, at the door.
Mr. Driscoll wanted only to get out of Foley's company, where he could explode without having it put in the bill. "No," he said curtly.
"Well!—now me, when I got to swallow a pill I like somethin' to wash it down."
The door slammed, and Mr. Driscoll puffed down the stairs leaving behind him a trail of language like a locomotive's plume.
Chapter III
THE RISE OF BUCK FOLEY
