"What's that got to do with it?" Ernie asked. "D'you keep a dirty tongue all the week, and put on a clean one o Sunday with yer change o clothes?"
"Who was she?" persisted Alf, his eyes like the waters of a canal at night glittering in the murk of some desolate industrial quarter.
Ernie folded his arms. He said nothing; but the lightning flickered about his face.
"I know who she was then," continued Alf, his great head weaving from side to side. "She was one of the totties from the Third Floor—where you work." He thrust his head forward, and his eyes were cruel. "D'you think she's for you?—Earning twenty-two a week, aren't you?—and what the German Jews toss you. Why, I doubt if she'd fall to ME—and I'm a master-man."
Jeering laughter from the bowels of the earth punctuated his words.
Just then Mr. Trupp came through the great swing-doors. He stopped for a word with the hall-porter.
"You settled down here, Ernie?" he asked.
"Pretty fair, sir, thank you," Ernie answered without enthusiasm.
Mr. Trupp entered the car. He seemed perturbed.
"Well, if you want to make a change at any time, let me know," he said. "I only suggested this as a make-shift for you, till we could fix you up in something better, you know."