So that they did this, their presence in the place, be their business, lawful or unlawful, was a matter of no moment to him.
"A bottle of Cagney's particular and two glasses, Paddy, and you may keep the change," said Callister, throwing down a five-dollar bill. "We have a little business to transact together—don't let us be disturbed."
"O. K., gents," replied the sleepy bartender, with a gleam of intelligence in his blinking red eyes. "I'll look out for yez, and if ye want anything else, wy jest tap that ere bell."
He presently returned with bottle and glasses and having placed them upon the table, withdrew.
"Here, Rube, drink this. It will give you some heart," said the stock operator, pouring out a portion of the liquor and passing it to his friend.
The man seized the glass eagerly and drained it to the last drop.
"My God—my God! Lije, what a terrible thing this is!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, as he set the glass upon the table again. "I can see her face before me now, so white and worn! It will never leave me—I feel it—I know it! It will haunt me as long as I live!"
"Nonsense, man! You have been guilty of a piece of tremendous folly, but we've too much at stake to break all to pieces over such a slip."
"Poor Maria! poor girl!" groaned the man Rube, again burying his face in his hands and groaning aloud. "It was all my vile temper, Lije. I swear to God I never meant to kill her, and now——"
"And now she's dead," returned Callister, with an air of hardened indifference. "She was hopelessly mad, and a nuisance to herself and to us. She's dead, and it can't be helped. You let your temper get the better of you, and you killed her. That's all there is to be said."