But Gypo elbowed the man away fiercely and set out hurriedly across the floor towards Mrs. McPhillip. He elbowed the people out of his way without looking at them. He stood in front of Mrs. McPhillip. He stared at her impassively for a few moments. Then he put his hand slowly to his head and took off his hat. He felt moved by an incontrollable impulse. All his actions had completed themselves before his mind was aware of them. His mind was struggling along aimlessly in pursuit of his actions, impotently deprecating them and whispering warnings. But it was powerless. This impulse that had possession of him now was of the same origin as the one that controlled him when he was looking into the shop window thinking of his youth. He was beyond himself. His lips quivered. His throat got stuffed. He swallowed his breath with an articulate sound, resembling a cry of pain. He held out his left hand towards Mrs. McPhillip. He opened the hand slowly. The four white silver coins lay there. “Take it,” he muttered. “Ye were good to me an’ I’m sorry for yer trouble.” He felt a mad desire to pull out the roll of notes and give them to her also, but the very thought of such a mad action made him shiver. Instead he dropped the four coins into Mrs. McPhillip’s lap. Mrs. McPhillip glanced at the money and then burst into loud sobs. The sound maddened Gypo. He turned about and rushed towards the door. He stubbed his foot against the door-jamb and hurtled into the hall. He rushed along the passage, cursing and striking furiously at everybody that came in his way. He stood outside the street door and breathed deeply. Two men rushed out after him. They were Bartly Mulholland and Tommy Connor, the docker. CHAPTER V “Gypo!” Gypo had taken three steps down the street when his name came to him through the darkness, uttered in that long-drawn-out whisper which is the customary intonation among revolutionaries. He contracted his back suddenly like an ass that has been struck with violence. Then he halted. He did not turn about or reply. He waited. He listened with a beating heart to the slow footsteps that came up to him from behind. One, two, three, four . . . they stopped. Gypo looked to his left. Bartly Mulholland was standing there.