"Fadder Mike!" sniffed Perault contemptuously. "Dat beeg feller hees roll Fadder Mike up in one beeg bunch an' stick heem in hees pocket. Dat feller he's not 'fraid noting. Beeg blam-fool, jus' lak ole boss, for sure."
"I guess he must be good stuff, Rainy, if you put him in that class."
"Dat's hees place," averred Rainy with emphasis. "Jus' lak ole boss."
At this point Carroll came in.
"Hello, Perault!" he said. "What the blank, blank are ye doin' here?"
Perault spat deliberately into the ash-pan, tipped back his chair without looking at the big Irishman, and answered coolly.
"Me? After one pack pony an' some outfit for de ole boss."
"Pony an' outfit, is it?" shouted Carroll. "What the blank, blank d'ye mane? What 'av ye done wid that pack pony av moine, an' where's yer blank ould fool av a boss?"
Carroll was working himself up into a fine rage.
"De boss, he's in bed," replied Perault coolly. "De pony, he's in de Black Dog Reever, guess."