r. Alleyne flushed to the hue of a wild rose and his mouth twitched
with a dwarf s passion. He shook his fist in the man's face till it
seemed to vibrate like the knob of some electric machine:

"You impertinent ruffian! You impertinent ruffian! I'll make short work
of you! Wait till you see! You'll apologise to me for your impertinence
or you'll quit the office instanter! You'll quit this, I'm telling you,
or you'll apologise to me!"

He stood in a doorway opposite the office watching to see if the cashier
would come out alone. All the clerks passed out and finally the cashier
came out with the chief clerk. It was no use trying to say a word to him
when he was with the chief clerk. The man felt that his position was bad
enough. He had been obliged to offer an abject apology to Mr. Alleyne
for his impertinence but he knew what a hornet's nest the office would
be for him. He could remember the way in which Mr. Alleyne had hounded
little Peake out of the office in order to make room for his own nephew.
He felt savage and thirsty and revengeful, annoyed with himself and with
everyone else. Mr. Alleyne would never give him an hour's rest; his life
would be a hell to him. He had made a proper fool of himself this time.
Could he not keep his tongue in his cheek? But they had never pulled
together from the first, he and Mr. Alleyne, ever since the day Mr.
Alleyne had overheard him mimicking his North of Ireland accent to amuse
Higgins and Miss Parker: that had been the beginning of it. He might
have tried Higgins for the money, but sure Higgins never had anything
for himself. A man with two establishments to keep up, of course he
couldn't....

He felt his great body again aching for the comfort of the public-house.
The fog had begun to chill him and he wondered could he touch Pat in
O'Neill's. He could not touch him for more than a bob--and a bob was
no use. Yet he must get money somewhere or other: he had spent his
last penny for the g.p. and soon it would be too late for getting money
anywhere. Suddenly, as he was fingering his watch-chain, he thought of
Terry Kelly's pawn-office in Fleet Street. That was the dart! Why didn't
he think of it sooner?

He went through the narrow alley of Temple Bar quickly, muttering to
himself that they could all go to hell because he was going to have
a good night of it. The clerk in Terry Kelly's said A crown! but the
consignor held out for six shillings; and in the end the six shilling