“I want a drink,” he replied gruffly, in a low voice. Then he added after a pause with a sudden hoarse chuckle, “an’ anythin’ else that’s goin’.” “Ye can’t get a drink here,” said Aunt Betty. “You better be going somewhere else. You’re wasting your time here, my good man.” Aunt Betty spoke in a state of great excitement. This was habitual with her, owing to the terrific strain it caused her to try to effect the correct pronunciation of her words and “the educated accent of a woman of good family.” For she always tried to speak like a lady. Gypo took no notice of her, or of the pimp who had again entered the room and now stood against the wall, with his terror-stricken eyes gleaming and his face livid with malice. “Here,” he cried, “give everybody a drink. I’m callin’ a drink for the house.” He thrust his hand into his pocket, pulled out the roll of notes and separated one, which he held out to Aunt Betty. It was like the performance of a miracle. Aunt Betty’s eyes sparkled. She advanced almost unconsciously, laughing with her thin, hard lips, while her eyes gleamed with avarice. Her fingers almost trembled as she took the note slowly. Feverishly, she examined it under the light. Gypo laughed as she did so and gave her a loud, hearty smack on the back, with horrid familiarity. She merely nudged him playfully in response. The note was genuine and had passed her scrutiny. She sighed and cracked her fingers towards the pimp. “Glasses all round,” she said. There was a little thrill of applause from the throats of the women as soon as they saw that his money was genuine. Some of those who were sitting alone, dressed for the street, got up and approached him, uttering laughing endearments. Even the women who were already engaged, sitting on the knees of the men, slightly tipsy, sobered up and became contemplative and sulkily jealous of those women who were free to capture Gypo and his wad of Treasury notes. The men, on the other hand, now regarded him with hostility, jealous of the attraction he held for the women. Only one person in the room took absolutely no notice of the whole proceedings. That was the woman in the fur coat, who sat in the corner to the right of the fire, reading the newspaper. And Gypo, disregarding the soft, naked arms that attempted to embrace him and the amorous, sensuous faces, that were turned up to his on all sides and the soft, seductive, sibilant whispers that were uttered at him, kept his eyes towards the indifferent woman in the corner fixedly. “Keep out of me way,” he muttered.