Roscommon would
continue his wiping without looking up, but yet conscious of the
presence of each customer. "And it's not another dhrop ye'll git, Jack
Brown, until ye've wiped out the black score that stands agin ye."
"And it's there ye are, darlint, and it's here's the bottle that's been
lukin' for ye sins Saturday." "And fwhot hev you done with the last
I sent ye, ye divil of a McCorkle, and here's me back that's bruk
entoirely wid dipping intil the pork barl to giv ye the best sides, and
ye spending yur last cint on a tare into Gilroy. Whist! and if it's
fer foighting ye are, boys, there's an illigant bit of sod beyant the
corral, and it may be meself'll come out with a shtick and be sociable."
On this particular day, however, Mr. Roscommon was not in his usual
spirits, and when the clatter of horses' hoofs before the door announced
the approach of strangers, he absolutely ceased wiping his counter and
looked up as Dr. Guild, the President, and Secretary of the new Company
strode into the shop.
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