Everything went smoothly until noon, not a cloud in the sky, when, looking across the tracks at that hour, I beheld coming toward us with more or less uncertain step another individual, stocky of figure and evidently bent on seeing Rourke—­an Irishman as large as Rourke, younger, and, if anything, considerably coarser in fiber.  He was very red-faced, smooth shaven, with a black derby hat pulled down over his eyes and wearing a somewhat faded tight-fitting brown suit.  He was drunk, or nearly so, that was plain from the first.  From the moment Rourke beheld him he seemed beside himself with anger or irritation.  His expression changed completely and he began to swell, as was customary with him when he was angry, as though suffering from an internal eruption of some kind.

“The bla’guard!” I heard him mutter.  “Now, be gob, what’ll that felly be waantin’?” and then as the stranger drew nearer, “Who was it tould him I was here?  Maybe some waan at the ahffice.”

Regardless of his speculations on this score, the stranger picked his way across the tracks and came directly to him, his face and manner indicating no particularly friendly frame of mind.

“Maybe ye’ll be lettin’ me have that money now,” he began instanter, and when Rourke made no reply, merely staring at him, he added, “I’ll be waantin’ to know now, when it is ye’re goin’ to give me the rest av me time fer that Scarborough job.  I’ve been waitin’ long enough.”

Rourke stirred irritably and aggressively before he spoke.  He seemed greatly put out, shamed, to think that the man should come here so, especially on this peaceful Sabbath morning.

“I’ve tould ye before,” he replied defiantly after a time, “that ye’ve had aall ye earned, an’ more.  Ye left me without finishin’ yer work, an’ ye’ll get no more time from me.  If ye waant more, go down to the ahffice an’ see if they’ll give it to ye.  I have no money fer ye here,” and he resumed a comfortable position before the fire, his hands behind his back.

“It’s siven dollars ye still owe me,” returned the other, ignoring Rourke’s reply, “an’ I waant it now.”

“Well, ye’ll naht get it,” replied my boss.  “I’ve naathin’ fer ye, I’m tellin’ ye.  I owe ye naathin’.”

“Is that so?” returned the other.  “Well, we’ll see about that.  Ye’ll be after givin’ it to me, er I’ll get it out of ye somehow.  It’s naht goin’ to be ch’ated out av me money I am.”

“I’m owin’ ye naathin’,” insisted Rourke.  “Ye may as well go away from here.  Ye’ll get naathin’.  If ye waant anything more, go an’ see the ahffice,” and now he strode away to where the Italians were, ignoring the stranger completely and muttering something about his being drunk.  The latter followed him, however, over to where he stood, and continued the dispute.  Rourke ignored him as much as possible, only exclaiming once, “L’ave me be, man.  Ye’re drunk.”

“I’m naht drunk,” returned the other.  “Once an’ fer all now, I’m askin’ ye, arre ye goin’ to give me that money?”