“Hello, Burke! Come in. Glad to see you.”
Farnum took the hat of his guest and relieved his awkwardness by guiding him to a chair and helping him get his pipe alight.
“How's everything? Little Mike must be growing into a big boy these days. Let's see. It's three years since I've seen him.”
A momentary flicker lit the gloomy eyes of the Irishman. “He's a great boy, Mike is. He often speaks of you, Mr. Farnum.
“Glad to know it. And Mrs. Burke?”
“Fine.”
“That leaves only Patrick Burke. I suppose he hasn't fallen off the water wagon yet.”
The occupation of Burke had been a threadbare joke between them in the old days. He drove a street sprinkler for the city.
“That's what he has. McGuire threw the hooks into me this morning. I've drove me last day.”
“What's the matter?”