When the politician had disappeared there were only five people left in the room, other than Jack McPhillip and his wife. Three men in the corner by the window, to the left of Gypo, had their heads close together, whispering with that sudden intimacy that is born of the presence of a calamity, or of something that has a common interest. Gypo knew two of them. Two of them were members of the Revolutionary Organization. “That skunk Bartly Mulholland is here,” muttered Gypo to himself, “an’ that’s Tommy Connor with him. Mulholland is lookin’ for Frankie McPhillip’s job on the Intelligence Department, I believe; an’ I suppose that big stiff Connor is trainin’ to be his butty. Huh.” Jack McPhillip sat on the narrow bed in the other corner, almost opposite Gypo. He was talking to two women, who had chairs close to the bed. They had pushed in to talk to McPhillip as soon as the politician had left. They were nodding their heads and fidgeting, with that amazing prodigality of emotion, which women of the very lowest rung of the middle class ladder display, when in the presence of members of the working class who are still _in puris naturalibus_. One was the wife of the Titt Street “small grocer.” The other was the wife of John Kennedy the lorry driver, who had just set up in business “for himself.” Jack McPhillip sat on the bed, with his right shoulder leaning against the pillow. One foot was almost on the floor. The other foot was on the bed. He held his right hand, palm outwards, in front of his face, as if he were trying to drive away some imaginary idea, as he talked. “There ye are now,” he was saying; “see what that man has done for himsel’ in life. That’s what every man should aim at doin’, instead of jig actin’ and endin’ up by bringin’ disgrace on his class an’ on his family. Johnny Daly is a member o’ Parliament this day because he spent any money and time he had to spare on his education. He looked after his business and he did his best to educate and better the condition of his fellow-men. That’s what every man should do. But my son . . . I put him into a good job as an insurance agent an’ if he had minded himself he’d be well on his way now towards a respectable position in life for himself, but instead o’ that——” Suddenly there was an amazing interruption that caused everybody to start. Gypo had spoken in a deep thunderous voice that filled the whole house. “I’m sorry for yer trouble, Mrs. McPhillip,” he cried.