“Well, then,” cried the other, relapsing in a moment into a bluff joviality, “we are all good friends again and there’s an end of the matter.”
He took a bottle of champagne down from the shelf and twisted out the cork.
“See now,” he continued, as he filled three high glasses. “Let us drink the quarrelling toast of the lodge. After that, as you know, there can be no bad blood between us. Now, then the left hand on the apple of my throat. I say to you, Ted Baldwin, what is the offense, sir?”
“The clouds are heavy,” answered Baldwin.
“But they will forever brighten.”
“And this I swear!”
The men drank their glasses, and the same ceremony was performed between Baldwin and McMurdo.
“There!” cried McGinty, rubbing his hands. “That’s the end of the black blood. You come under lodge discipline if it goes further, and that’s a heavy hand in these parts, as Brother Baldwin knows—and as you will damn soon find out, Brother McMurdo, if you ask for trouble!”
“Faith, I’d be slow to do that,” said McMurdo. He held out his hand to Baldwin. “I’m quick to quarrel and quick to forgive. It’s my hot Irish blood, they tell me. But it’s over for me, and I bear no grudge.”
Baldwin had to take the proffered hand, for the baleful eye of the terrible Boss was upon him. But his sullen face showed how little the words of the other had moved him.
McGinty clapped them both on the shoulders. “Tut! These girls! These girls!” he cried. “To think that the same petticoats should come