“Ha!” sneered McPhillip. “An’ what kind of a revolutionary d’ye call yersel’?” “A revolutionary Communist,” answered Gallagher. Then he turned about insolently and bent down his head to talk to Mrs. McPhillip. “Communist be damned,” cried McPhillip, jumping off the bed. “D’ye know what I’m goin’ to tell ye? Ye——” “Father,” cried Mary, wringing her hands, “don’t——” “Shut up, you young rip,” stamped the father; “am I master in me own house or am I not? You, ye Communist, as ye call yersel’! Yer the greatest scoundrel in Ireland. Yer the greatest enemy o’ yer class. Now, let me alone, Mary, or I’ll tan yer skin for ye. Let me tell him. . . . Let me . . . Let go,” he screamed shrilly, as she seized him tightly about the body and began to push him forcibly from the room. He placed his hands and feet against the jambs of the door and turning his head around, he continued in a half-hysterical voice: “It’s the likes o’ me that’s the revolutionaries, but we get no credit for it. It’s the likes o’ me that does the hard work, eddicatin’ me fellow-men, an’ at the same time strikin’ an honest blow for better conditions. But men like you are criminals. Criminals, criminals, that’s what yez are. Don’t lay hands on yer father, Mary. Don’t——” “I’m not touching you,” cried Mary. “Come on now. Get to bed.” She got him into the hall. He sighed and broke into half-stifled sobs. Going up the stairs he kept saying in a low melancholy voice: “If I had only put him on the scaffoldin’ with me, instead of eddicatin’ him, maybe he’d be alive an’ an honest man to-day. If I had only . . .” Then his voice died away into a mumble as a door closed behind him upstairs. When Mary returned to the kitchen after putting him to bed, she found Gallagher sitting beside her mother, writing rapidly in a notebook. He had taken off his hat. His close-cropped black head looked very handsome to her. Still she shivered looking at it. The side face looked very cruel, with the brooding expression on it, as he looked downwards at the notebook. She stood watching him until he finished writing. Then he sighed. He got up. He said a few words to Mrs. McPhillip. Then he shook hands with her and turned to Mary. “I want to speak to you,” he said.