“I can arrange that all right,” said the other⁠—“though it may cost you a few dollars, of course. But what was the trouble?”

“It was a man that did me a mean trick once,” answered Jurgis.

“Who is he?”

“He’s a foreman in Brown’s⁠—or used to be. His name’s Connor.”

And the other gave a start. “Connor!” he cried. “Not Phil Connor!”

“Yes,” said Jurgis, “that’s the fellow. Why?”

“Good God!” exclaimed the other, “then you’re in for it, old man! I can’t help you!”

“Not help me! Why not?”