“Katie,” cried Gypo angrily, “none o’ that talk. Lave God alone.” “God forgive me, yer right,” cried Katie, beginning to sob. But she pulled herself together suddenly with surprising speed and turned to Gypo almost sharply. Her eyes narrowed slightly and a quaint weird smile lit up her face. There was a trace of beauty in her face under the influence of the smile, a trace of beauty and merriment. “Tell us where ye got all the money, Gypo. Ye had none this mornin’.” Gypo started in spite of himself and glanced at her in terror. He struggled violently, trying to formulate an excuse for his sudden wealth. He fumed within himself for not having made a plan. Unconsciously he cursed McPhillip, whom he had sent to his death, for not having made a plan. He looked at Katie with glaring eyes and open lips. Then he bent towards her, tried to speak and said nothing. But she misunderstood him. “Ya,” she said, “I knew ye were yellow. Have ye robbed a church or what, an’ are ye afraid of bein’ turned into a goat be the priests?” “Shut up,” he hissed suddenly, gripping at the word “robbery” and hooking a plan on to it. It was a customary word, a friendly thing that he recognized, with which he felt at home. He bent down, with quivering face, eager to hurl out the words of his plan before he could forget them again. “It wasn’t a church. It was a sailor off an American ship. I went through him at the back o’ Cassidy’s pub in Jerome Street. But if ye say a word ye know what yer goin’ to get.” “Who? Me?” Katie laughed out loud and looked at him with emphatic scorn over her shoulder. “What d’ye take me for? An informer or what?” “Who’s an informer?” cried Gypo, gripping her right knee with his left hand. The huge hand closed about the thin frail knee and immediately the whole leg went rigid. Katie’s whole body shrivelled at the mere touch of the vast strength. There was silence for a second. Gypo stared at Katie with a look of ignorant fear on his face. The word had terrified and infuriated him. It was the first time he had heard it uttered in the new sense that it now held for him. Katie, hypnotized by the face, panted and looked back at him. “What are ye talkin’ about informin’ for?” panted Gypo again, tightening his grip on her knee. He had not meant to hurt. He merely wanted to give emphasis to his words. “Lemme go,” screamed Katie, unable to endure the pain any longer and terrified by the look in Gypo’s face and by his strange behaviour. Gypo let go immediately. The barman came striding over, wiping his hands in his apron. He pointed toward the door. Gypo got to his feet and stared at the barman, glad to have a man in front of him, against whom he could vent his ignorant rage. He lowered his head and he was about to rush forward when Katie hung on to him and cried out. “Come on, Gypo,” she cried rapidly, “let’s get out of here. Let him alone, Barney. He’s got a few pints on him. He didn’t mane any harm. Come on, kid.”