They sat down at the lower end. At this moment, Horse Hines, the undertaker, entered, producing, although he was not a thin man, the effect of a skeleton clad in a black frock coat. His long lantern mouth split horsily in a professional smile displaying big horse teeth in his white heavily starched face.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said for no apparent reason, rubbing his lean hands briskly as if it was cold. His palm-flesh rattled together like old bones.
Coker, the Lung Shark, who had not ceased to regard McGuire’s bean— hunt with sardonic interest, now took the long cigar out of his devil’s head and held it between his stained fingers as he tapped his companion.
“Let’s get out,” he grinned quietly, nodding toward Horse Hines. “It will look bad if we’re seen together here.”
“Good morning, Ben,” said Horse Hines, sitting down below him. “Are all the folks well?” he added, softly.
Sideways Ben looked at him scowling, then jerked his head back to the counterman, with a fast bitter flicker of his lips.
“Doctor,” said Harry Tugman with servile medicine-man respect, “what do you charge to operate?”
“Operate what?” McGuire barked presently, having pronged a kidney bean.
“Why—appendicitis,” said Harry Tugman, for it was all he could think of.
“Three hundred dollars when we go into the belly,” said McGuire. He coughed chokingly to the side.
“You’re drowning in your own secretions,” said Coker with his yellow grin. “Like Old Lady Sladen.”
“My God!” said Harry Tugman, thinking jealously of lost news. “When did she go?”
“To-night,” said Coker.
“God, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Harry Tugman, greatly relieved.
“I’ve just finished laying the old lady out,” said Horse Hines gently. “A bundle of skin and bones.” He sighed regretfully, and for a moment his boiled eye moistened.
Ben turned his scowling head around with an expression of nausea.
“Joe,” said Horse Hines with merry professionalism, “give me a
