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"Enough to get me down to Singapore. Where do you want me to hang out?" "Suit yourself. You're out of this play and it's my last." "You're quitting the big game?" "Yes. What's left of my schedule I'm going to run out on my own. So we probably won't meet again for a long time, Morrissy. Here's a couple of hundred to add to your store. If we find the beads I'll send your share wherever you say."
The meeting broke up, and many of the men flocked into the near-by saloons. Morrissy approached Ben, who had waited for him. No one was within earshot. "What the hell do you mean by saying you were paid less than I was?" he said, his jaw protruding at an ugly angle. "I mean, Morrissy," answered Ben fearlessly, "that you had better move carefully in the future.
He found Bill Osborne alone at a table. "Will they strike, Ben?" he asked in a rough whisper. "Yes. I thought I might influence them, Bill, but I've only made an ass of myself. Two whiskies," he ordered, "and make one of them stiff. I told Morrissy." "You didn't mention my name, Ben? Don't say you told him that I was on the other side of the partition!" Bill's eyes nearly stood out of his head.
"Well, all we know is that he has them," snapped Morrissy. "Then he has gone directly to the governor." "The governor?" McQuade and Morrissy looked at each other blankly. "He has that prerogative," said Donnelly. "But he wouldn't dare!" "Oh, yes, he would. It's his last term; he is without further political ambition; he can act as he pleases, in the face of public condemnation.
It's the penitentiary for both of us if any one finds that." "I know what I am doing," McQuade responded quietly, as indeed he did. "But look; you've got the strike and I've got the cash; that makes us quits." "Sign it," was all McQuade replied to this argument. "All right. What's bad for me is bad for you," and without further ado Morrissy affixed his fist to the sheet.
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