McPhillip stared at the table for a long time. His right hand toyed nervously with the butt of his pistol. His left hand rapped the table. Then a strange sparkle came into his eyes. He laughed suddenly. It was a strange laugh. It made Gypo start.
“What’s the matter, Frankie?” he asked in a terrified voice.
“Nothin’ at all,” said McPhillip, shaking himself. “Gimme somethin’ t’ eat.”
He began to eat ravenously, using his penknife as a knife and fork. He had not eaten for a long time. He did not taste the food but gulped it down at a great speed.
Gypo ate also, but he kept staring at McPhillip while he ate. Every time his wandering little eyes reached McPhillip’s eyes they narrowed and became very sharp. Then he would roll his tongue around in his cheek and make a sucking sound.
At last McPhillip stopped eating. He wiped his penknife on his trousers and put it into his pocket.
“Gypo,” he said slowly, “are there any cops watchin’ our house, the old man’s place in Titt Street?”
Gypo shook his head three times in reply. His mouth was full. Then he swallowed his mouthful, he put his fork to his forehead and set to thinking.
“Lemme see,” he said at last. “Yeh. They had two cops watchin’ the place until after Christmas. Then they took ’em off. They didn’t put any on since as far as I know, but I believe that a fellah goes around there now an’ again to make inquiries. O’ course they might have secret-service men on it as well. God only knows who’s givin’ information to the Government now, an’ who isn’t. Ye never know who yer talkin’ to. I never in me life saw anythin’ like it. Tell ye what, Frankie, the workin’ class is not worth fightin’ for. They think yer gone to the United States, but all the same it might be dangerous goin’ down there now. I’m sorry I have no money to give ye, so as ye could—”
“Where the divil did ye get all the gab?” cried McPhillip suddenly, looking suspiciously at Gypo. “I never knew ye to let out all that much talk in a day, or maybe a whole week. Are ye goin’ to the university now in yer spare time or what ails ye?”
McPhillip began to rap the table again. There was silence. Gypo nonchalantly transferred the scraps from his plate to his mouth on the flat of his knife. When the plate was completely cleaned up he rattled the knife and fork on to it. Then he stuck out his massive chest and rubbed his palms along it.
Suddenly McPhillip swore and jumped to his feet. He stood, as if in a dream, looking at the table for several moments. Gypo watched his face, with his little tufted eyebrows quivering. At the same time he cleaned his teeth with his left thumbnail. At last McPhillip drew in a deep breath through his teeth, making a noise as if he were sucking ice.
“Right,” he said, with his eyes still on the table. “My ould fellah is at home now, is he?”
“Yes,” said Gypo. “I saw him yesterday. He was over in the ’Pool on a job, but he’s back this fortnight. I think he’s workin’ on a new house out in Rathmines.”
“Right,” said McPhillip again. Then he raised his eyes, looked at Gypo fiercely and smiled in a curious fashion. “See ye again, Gypo, unless the cops get me.”
As he spoke he seemed to think of something. His face quivered and darkened. Then he shrugged his shoulders and laughed outright. He nodded twice and turned on his heel. He strode hurriedly out of the room.
Gypo looked after him for a long time without moving. He had finished cleaning his teeth. He just stared at the door through which McPhillip had disappeared. Then gradually his mind began to fill with suggestions. His forehead wrinkled up. His body began to fidget. At last he jumped to his feet. He collected the plate, the knife and fork and the salt. He walked into the passage and put them in a locker, which was provided by the management for the lodgers. The locker did not belong to Gypo. He had no locker because he was merely a casual lodger since he had no regular income to pay for a bed by the week. The locker belonged to a carter of Gypo’s acquaintance. Gypo had seen the man put his next-day’s dinner in the locker and go away without turning the key. Gypo knew also that the man would not be back until ten o’clock that night. So he took the dinner.
He placed the things in the locker and walked away casually. He sat on the corner of a seat in one of the alcoves. He rummaged in the pockets of his dungarees and collected several minute scraps of cigarettes. He carefully unrolled the scraps, collecting all the tobacco in the palm of his right hand. Then he begged a cigarette paper from an old man who sat beside him. The old man had none and said so with an angry curse. Gypo wrinkled his forehead and sniffed as if he were smelling the old man. Then he turned to a young man who passed and requested a cigarette paper. The young man halted and supplied one grudgingly. Gypo took the paper in silence, without a word or a nod of thanks. He rolled his cigarette and lit it at the gas jet. Then he sat down again, crossed his legs, let his body go limp and began to smoke.
His ears seemed to stick out very far, as he lay back limply in the seat, in the half-darkness of the corridor.
For a minute the odour and the taste of
