said.
Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons came in. Tom Rochford followed, a plaining hand on his claret waistcoat.
―Day, Mr Byrne.
―Day, gentlemen.
They paused at the counter.
―Who’s standing? Paddy Leonard asked.
―I’m sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn answered.
―Well, what’ll it be? Paddy Leonard asked.
―I’ll take a stone ginger, Bantam Lyons said.
―How much? Paddy Leonard cried. Since when, for God’ sake? What’s yours, Tom?
―How is the main drainage? Nosey Flynn asked, sipping.
For answer Tom Rochford pressed his hand to his breastbone and hiccupped.
―Would I trouble you for a glass of fresh water, Mr Byrne? he said.
―Certainly, sir.
Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates.