Gypo allowed himself to be dragged out backwards by the right hand into the street. They stood together on the kerbstone, with Katie’s arm entwined in his. “Come on up to Biddy Burke’s place,” she whispered in a friendly tone. “Come on up.” In front stretched a main road, brilliantly lighted and thronged with people. The light, the people, the suggestion of gaiety and of freedom attracted Gypo. To the rear stretched a dark, evil-smelling lane. It repelled him. There was where Katie wanted to bring him, down towards the slum district and the brothel quarter. Down there were his own haunts, people who knew him. He feared the darkness, the lurking shadows, the suggestion of men hiding in alleyways to attack him. Out there in front he could wander off, among strange people who did not care a straw about informers. “Come on Gyp, down to Biddy’s and buy us a sniff,” murmured Katie entreatingly, in a soft voice. “Yer flush, aren’t ye? I know well them American sailors carry a quare wad around with ’em. Let’s walk along. I’m perished with the cold.” “No,” muttered Gypo in a surly voice. “I’m goin’ down to the House to book a bed for the night.” He now remembered with pleasure that the reason for his going to the police-station was the fact that he wanted money for a bed. So why not go and buy a bed? It was a good excuse to get rid of her. “What are ye talkin’ about a bed for?” cried Katie angrily, clutching at his arm. Then her voice softened again. There was an eager glitter in her eyes. “Sure it’s not thinkin’ about a bed ye are when ye got money in yer pocket. Haven’t I got a bed anyway, an’ if it’s not good enough for ye, sure we can get a bed at Biddy’s, seein’ ye have money in yer pocket.” “I don’t want yer bed,” snarled Gypo, “an’ I’m not goin’ near Biddy Burke’s. I been robbed by the thievin’ old robber often enough.” “Ye don’t want me bed, don’t ye?” cried Katie, losing her temper again completely. “Ye were glad enough to have it last week when I brought ye in outa the rain like a drownded rat. Wha’?” “Now I’ll give ye nothin’ for yer imperence,” grumbled Gypo. “Yer too ignorant. That’s what ye are.” She moved up under his chin and held her two clenched fists to his jaws. They looked white and tiny against the size of his face. “All right,” she hissed, “you watch out for yersel’, Gypo Nolan.” She turned on her heel and went off at a fierce walk to the left, muttering curses as she disappeared rapidly into the darkness. Gypo stared after her, listening. He strained his neck in an effort to catch a final mumble of sharp words that floated up to him through the dark lane, as her obscure figure drifted around a corner. Then he shrugged his shoulders with a gasp as if he had just watched a valuable possession suddenly drop over a cliff. With his hands in his trousers pockets he stared at the ground.