For that reason she had responded suddenly to that strange exaltation, born of hatred for the law, which is traditional and hereditary in the slums. The one glorious romance of the slums is the feeling of intense hatred against the oppressive hand of the law, which sometimes stretches out to strike some one, during a street row, during an industrial dispute, during a Nationalist uprising. It is a clarion call to all the spiritual emotion that finds no other means of expression in that sordid environment, neither in art, nor in industry, nor in commercial undertakings, nor in the more reasonable searchings for a religious understanding of the universal creation. “I stand by what Frankie has done,” she cried, turning to the people. “I don’t agree with him in politics, but every man has a right to his opinions and every man should fight for his rights according to . . .” she got confused and stammered a little. Then she raised her hand suddenly with an enthusiastic gesture and cried in a loud voice: “He was my brother anyway and I’m going to stand up for him.” Then she suddenly put her handkerchief to her nose and blew it fiercely. There was a loud murmur of applause. The father made a half-hearted attempt to say something, but he subsided. Mrs. McPhillip was heard to mumble something, but nobody paid any attention to her. Nobody noticed her except Gypo, who still sat on the floor staring at her, fondling the memory of her past goodness to him, like a sumptuous luxury that he must soon relinquish. Although he had been the cause of all the excitement, he was now forgotten in the still greater excitement, caused by the argument between the father and daughter of the dead revolutionary. Then Mary turned to Gypo and addressed him. “If you were a friend of my brother,” she said, “you are quite welcome here. Come into the parlour a minute. I want to talk to you.” Gypo started and looked at Mary with his tufted eyebrows twitching ominously like snouts. But he said nothing. She was embarrassed by the uncouth stare and flushed slightly. She coughed in her throat and put her fingers to her lips. She began to talk rapidly, as if apologizing to the uncouth giant for having had the temerity to address him a request. “It’s because Frankie told us that he met you in the Dunboy Lodging House before he came here. You are the only one he met in town before he came in here, so I thought maybe that . . . you might be able . . .” She stopped in confusion, amazed at the startling change that had come over Gypo. He had become seized by some violent emotion as she spoke until his face contorted as if he were gazing at some awe-inspiring horror. Then she stopped. His face stood still gaping at her. Then for some reason or other he jumped to his feet, shouting as he did so at the top of his voice: “All right.”