have found it out a long toime ago. Bhut do we not know that somethin’ has put the fear an’ all into him? An ’who wud it be but Pipi, the ould omadhaun?”
“We-ell,” said Steve, slowly, “where’s the sense o’ goin’ arter Jimmie, anyways? Old Buggy hadn’t a relation belongin’ to him but hisself, and who would be puttin’ in a claim fur the money?”
“Murray ain’t got the heart fur his work, though,” said Danny, wisely; “an’ ye kin bet yer teeth it’s Pipi’s blame—what? Sartinly, yer kin call it rot, Jack Yates, but it’s truth fur all that. Didn’t yer see it in the parlour that night? Well, ef yer didn’t see, I kin’t help it. There ain’t been a machine invented fur givin’ a chap brains yet.”
“It was Lou should ’a’ footed that bill,” said Derrett, and Blake grinned.
“Lou’s name won’t hold good fur all the bills he orter foot. But Murray’s———”
“Shut it!” Steve enforced command with his elbow, and the men drew together to see Murray go by with a face that had no right to belong to that uniform. For it was the face of blank fear. Thrice before the street-turning he glanced back over his left shoulder, hastening speed at each glance.
Hynes whistled, and spat into the gutter.
“Shore ’nuff, Murray has rats,” he said; and Lossin gave echo, with the addendum that he
