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"Well boys, I'm off for the present. See you later. 'Bye, 'bye." He went out of the room slowly. Neither Mr. Henchy nor the old man said anything, but, just as the door was closing, Mr. O'Connor, who had been staring moodily into the fire, called out suddenly: "'Bye, Joe." Mr. Henchy waited a few moments and then nodded in the direction of the door.
Then a bustling little man with a snuffling nose and very cold ears pushed in the door. He walked over quickly to the fire, rubbing his hands as if he intended to produce a spark from them. "No money, boys," he said. "Sit down here, Mr. Henchy," said the old man, offering him his chair. "O, don't stir, Jack, don't stir," said Mr. Henchy He nodded curtly to Mr.
He took two bottles from the table and, carrying them to the fire, put them on the hob. Then he sat down again by the fire and took another drink from his bottle. Mr. Lyons sat on the edge of the table, pushed his hat towards the nape of his neck and began to swing his legs. "Which is my bottle?" he asked. "This, lad," said Mr. Henchy. Mr.
The old man opened another bottle grudgingly, and handed it to the boy. "What age are you?" he asked. "Seventeen," said the boy. As the old man said nothing further, the boy took the bottle and said: "Here's my best respects, sir, to Mr. Henchy," drank the contents, put the bottle back on the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"He was the only man that could keep that bag of cats in order. 'Down, ye dogs! Lie down, ye curs! That's the way he treated them. Come in, Joe! Come in!" he called out, catching sight of Mr. Hynes in the doorway. Mr. Hynes came in slowly. "Open another bottle of stout, Jack," said Mr. Henchy. "O, I forgot there's no corkscrew! Here, show me one here and I'll put it at the fire."
Yerra, sure the little hop-o'-my-thumb has forgotten all about it." "There's some deal on in that quarter," said Mr. O'Connor thoughtfully. "I saw the three of them hard at it yesterday at Suffolk Street corner." "I think I know the little game they're at," said Mr. Henchy. "You must owe the City Fathers money nowadays if you want to be made Lord Mayor. Then they'll make you Lord Mayor. By God!
We'll have a family party." "Faith, Mr. Henchy," said the old man, "you'd keep up better style than some of them. I was talking one day to old Keegan, the porter. 'And how do you like your new master, Pat? says I to him. 'You haven't much entertaining now, says I. 'Entertaining! says he. 'He'd live on the smell of an oil-rag. And do you know what he told me?
Then he took up the corkscrew and went out of the door sideways, muttering some form of salutation. "That's the way it begins," said the old man. "The thin edge of the wedge," said Mr. Henchy. The old man distributed the three bottles which he had opened and the men drank from them simultaneously.
"Tell me," he said across the fire, "what brings our friend in here? What does he want?" "'Usha, poor Joe!" said Mr. O'Connor, throwing the end of his cigarette into the fire, "he's hard up, like the rest of us." Mr. Henchy snuffled vigorously and spat so copiously that he nearly put out the fire, which uttered a hissing protest.
After having drank each placed his bottle on the mantelpiece within hand's reach and drew in a long breath of satisfaction. "Well, I did a good day's work today," said Mr. Henchy, after a pause. "That so, John?" "Yes. I got him one or two sure things in Dawson Street, Crofton and myself. He hasn't a word to throw to a dog. He stands and looks at the people while I do the talking."
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