ess. One night he went for his wife with the
cleaver and she had to sleep a neighbour's house.

After that they lived apart. She went to the priest and got a separation
from him with care of the children. She would give him neither money
nor food nor house-room; and so he was obliged to enlist himself as a
sheriff's man. He was a shabby stooped little drunkard with a white face
and a white moustache white eyebrows, pencilled above his little eyes,
which were veined and raw; and all day long he sat in the bailiff's
room, waiting to be put on a job. Mrs. Mooney, who had taken what
remained of her money out of the butcher business and set up a boarding
house in Hardwicke Street, was a big imposing woman. Her house had a
floating population made up of tourists from Liverpool and the Isle
of Man and, occasionally, artistes from the music halls. Its resident
population was made up of clerks from the city. She governed the house
cunningly and firmly, knew when to give credit, when to be stern and
when to let things pass. All the resident young men spoke of her as The
Madam.

Mrs. Mooney's young men paid fifteen shillings a week for board and
lodgings (beer or stout at dinner excluded). They shared in common
tastes and occupations and for this reason they were very chummy with
one another. They discussed with one another the chances of favourites
and outsiders. Jack Mooney, the Madam's son, who was clerk to a
commission agent in Fleet Street, had the reputation of being a hard
case. He was fond of using soldiers' obscenities: usually he came home
in the small hours. When he met his friends he had always a good one
to tell them and he was always sure to be on to a good thing-that is to
say, a likely horse or a likely artiste. He was also handy with the mits
and sang comic songs. On Sunday nights there would often be a reunion in
Mrs. Mooney's front drawing-room. The music-hall artistes would oblige;
and Sheridan played waltzes and polkas and vamped accompaniments. Polly
Mooney, the Madam's daughter, would also sing. She sang:

I'm a... naughty girl.
You needn't sham:
You know I am.

Polly was a slim girl of nineteen; she had light soft hair and a small
full mouth. Her eyes, which were grey with a shade of green through
them, had a habit of glancing upwards when she spoke with anyone, which
made her look like a little perverse madonna. Mrs. Mooney had first
sent her daughter to be a typ