"The amount o' money I spend in a year on other men's drinks'd support a church," Foley answered. But he ordered a quart of whisky and glasses. "Now let's get to business," he said, when they had been placed on the table. "I guess youse've got an idea in your nuts as to what's doin'?" "Jake put us next," grinned Kaffir Bill. "Keating." "Yes. He's over-exertin' his throat. He's likely to spoil his voice, if we don't sorter step in an' stop him." "But Jake didn't tell us how much youse wanted him to have," said Kaffir Bill. "Stiff?" "Not much. Don't youse remember when youse made an undertaker's job out o' Fleischmann? An' how near youse come to takin' the trip to Sing Sing? We don't want any more risks o' that sort. Leave your guns at home." Foley gulped down the raw whisky. "A couple months' vacation'd be about right for Keating. It'd give him a chance to get acquainted with his wife." He drew out a cigar and fitted it to one corner of his mouth. "He's left handed, youse know. An' anyhow he works mostly with his mouth." "An' he's purty chesty," said Jake, following up Foley's cue with a grin. "That's the idea," said Foley. "A wing, an' say two or three slats. Or a leg." The five understood and pledged the faithful discharge of their trust in a round of drinks. "But what's in it for us?" asked Arkansas Number Two. "It's an easy job. Youse get him in a fight, he goes down; youse do the business with your feet. Say ten apiece. That's plenty." "Is that all it's worth to you?" Arkansas asked cunningly. "Make it twenty-five, Buck," petitioned Kaffir Bill. "We need the coin. What's seventy-five more to youse?" The other four joined in the request. "Well, if I don't I s'pose every son-of-a-gun o' youse'll strike," said Foley, assuming the air of a defeated employer. "All right--for this once. But this ain't to be the regular union rate." "You're all to the good, Buck!" the five shouted. Foley rose and started out. At the door he paused. "Youse can't ask me for the coin any too soon," he said meaningly. The five held divergent opinions upon many subjects, but upon one point they were as one mind--esteem for the bottle. So when Buck's quart of whisky was exhausted they unanimously decided to remove themselves to Potomac Hall, in whose bar-room there usually could be found someone that, after a dark glance or two, was delighted to set out the drinks. They quickly found a benefactor in the person of Johnson, also a devotee of the bottle. They were disposing of the third round of drinks when Pete, who had been attending a meeting of the Membership Committee of the union, passed through the bar-room on his way out. Jake saw him, and, three parts drunk, could not resist the opportunity for advance satisfaction. "Hold on, Pig Iron," he called after him.