The Rough Red grinned.
“Thrue for ye!” said he. “And what have ye been doing all these years?”
“That's just it, Jimmy,” said Orde, drawing the giant one side, out of ear-shot. “All my eggs are in one basket, and it's a mean trick of you to hire out for filthy lucre to kick that basket.”
“What do ye mane?” asked the Rough Red, fixing his twinkling little eyes on Orde.
“You don't mean to tell me,” countered Orde, glancing down at the other's rubber-shod feet, “that this crew has been sent up here just to break out those measly little rollways?”
“Thim?” said the Rough Red. “Thim? Hell, NO! Thim's my bodyguard. They can lick their weight in wild cats, and I'd loike well to see the gang of highbankers that infists this river thry to pry thim out. We weren't sint here to wurrk; we were sint here to foight.”
“Fight? Why?” asked Orde.
“Oh, I dunno,” replied the Rough Red easily. “Me boss and the blank of a blank blanked blank that's attimptin' to droive this river has some sort of a row.”
“Jimmy,” said Orde, “didn't you know that I am the gentleman last mentioned?”
“What!”