The hook-nosed man raised his right hand dramatically to point at the ceiling and he glared at the old woman with fierce and menacing sorrow. But his words produced a contrary effect to that which he expected on the old woman. She looked at him contemptuously and then curled her mouth up in anger. “Yerrah, d’ye call it a crime to bate a policeman?” she cried in amazed indignation. “Certainly it is a crime,” cried the hook-nosed man. “Damn an’ blast it, what are ye talkin’ about, Boxer Lydon?” cried a burly fellow coming up to Lydon and staring him excitedly and angrily in the face. “Didn’t ye hear of what the polis did to-day to Frankie McPhillip? D’ye call it a crime to bate that murderin’ lot? Aye or shoot them either!” “I don’t say they were justified in what they did to-day,” cried Lydon, raising his voice to a querulous shout in order to drown the uproar; “but neither will I say that the dead man was justified in what he done. Do none o’ ye think o’ the man McPhillip killed? Wasn’t he a fellow-man like yersel’? Wasn’t he an Irishman of the same flesh an’ blood?” “Aw! that’s nationalism,” cried somebody. “What’s an Irishman no more than a Turk? Ye belong to the I. R. B., an’ that’s where ye get yer lingo. Up the workers!” The hook-nosed man paused with his hand raised until the interrupter finished. Then he continued unmoved: “Do none o’ ye think that maybe that man left a mother an’ a——” But he had to stop. His voice was drowned in the uproar and the scuffling. The old woman began to sing “Kelly the boy from Killane,” as she strolled out the door. Another man was pushing his way in through the crowd at the door towards the hook-nosed man. This new-comer had been standing at the door for some time. He was dressed from head to foot in a heavy black overcoat. He was better dressed than everybody present, but he looked as pale and haggard as the others. His face continually twitched and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked at the hook-nosed man fiercely and seized him nervously by the buttonhole. The hook-nosed man edged away. “For God’s sake, let up on that rubbish,” cried the new-comer, stammering at each word. His upper lip was contorting as if he were in a fit. “Let me go,” cried the hook-nosed man. “I’ll have my say, an’ I won’t be intimidated by any Socialist agitator. Keep back from me.” “I only wanted to tell ye,” shouted the other, “I only wanted to tell ye . . . I say . . . I say . . .”