“But he’ll sweat for it if he do,” he said, combing his matted whip-lash through his fingers. “Playin’ low-down on Mains, that is.”
“An’ what fur you?” cried Danny in wrath. “What fur you as is on’y sober when yer’s card playin’, an’ on’y workin’ when Ted’s got his toe inter the back of yer? You ter talk o’ low-down!”
Steve split the waking quarrel with the wedge of body and tongue.
“It’s a tough knot fur Ted ter chop through anyways,” he said. “He’s got ter tell Scannell as Jimmie’s a rotter—an’ he does love Jimmie as some chaps loves a gel—or he’s got ter guv Mains a chanst o’ more muckin’ when there comes a tight corner again. But Ted’ll tell Scannell.”
“Bein’ Ted I won’t say you’re wrong,” said Conlon. “But it’ll cut the heart out of him. And nine men out of ten wouldn’t do it.”
Conlon had come to this work for sheer love of it, as many another has done and will do. He knew every head of stock was sacred to Ted Douglas, for he too had given all that he had in payment for the serving of it.
“Bedad, ut’s ter’ble onplaisant to be the tinth man,” remarked Tod, fighting with his young filly as she twisted head-and-tail. “He’s apt to have all the sentiments an’ set-ups as belong be rights to the others too. An’ ut’s a quare
