George didn’t say anything.
“For Gawd’s sake,” Little Ernie went on to Cora, “what’s ’append to the bloke? Saw ’im a week ago, and ’e was as lovely as an oil painting. Look at ’im now.”
“Dry up, Ernie,” Cora said. “He’s been in the wars.”
“I’ll say ’e ’as,” Little Ernie said, undisguised admiration in his eyes. “Well, well. What’ll you ’ave? He rubbed a dirty finger under his nose and then wiped his finger on his trouser leg.
“We’ve got drinks, thank you,” George said, a little stiffly. He didn’t like this man He didn’t like the way he was eyeing Cora, a lewd look in his small green eyes.
Little Ernie rapped on the bar with a coin. “Hurry up,” he shouted. “I ain’t got all day. Gimme a double Scotch.” He turned to Cora. “Sure you won’t ’ave one?”
“All right,” she said, leaning her hack against the counter. She propped herself on her elbows and thrust her chest at him. “Give George one, too. You’re lousy with money, aren’t you?”
Little Ernie winked. “I get by,” he said, and raising his voice he shouted, “Make it three doubles, Clara, and out of the boss’ bottle!” He looked at Cora again, then he glanced at George. “Fine gel, ain’t she?” he said. “What a dairy! You could make pounds outta ’er if you knew ’ow to ’andle ’er.”
“Shut your dirty trap,” Cora said, her eyes bright with suppressed laughter. “George’s not like you.” She reached round and picked up her glass. “How’s Eva? Still buying your suits?”
Little Ernie’s cruel face darkened. “You don’t ’ave to shout all over the shop, do you?” he said, glancing uneasily over his shoulder. “Old Crockett was down the street not five minutes ago. She’s all right. She’s a good girl. Work! Gawd love me, I’ve never known a girl to work like it!”