Little Ernie put down his glass. “Is that so?” He stared at George with interest.
George wished that Cora hadn’t brought that up again. He shuffled his feet and fiddled with his tie. “Have another Scotch?” he said, in a desperate attempt to be at his ease.
“’Ave one yourself,” Little Ernie said. “It’s on me.” He snapped his fingers at the barmaid. “Same again, Clara, and don’t drown ’em.” He looked at Cora questioningly, but she only gave him hack a jeering smile. “Kelly’s gunman, eh? Hmm, what are you doing over ’ere?”
“Mind your own business,” Cora snapped, before George could think of anything to say. “He’s one of us now.”
The green eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”
“That’s right. Three thugs once took him in a wood. They had ideas about him He walked out on his feet and alone,” Cora said, her eyes, cold and hard, on George’s bewildered face. “But he’s modest. He doesn’t talk about it.” She fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her hip pocket. “He’s quite a guy.”
Little Ernie lit her cigarette and then produced two cigars. He offered one to George, who took it, not because he wanted it, but because he was so embarrassed that he wasn’t quite certain what he was doing.
“Seems a quiet type of bloke, doesn’t he?” Little Ernie went on regarding George.
“He’s quiet all right,” Cora returned. “Aren’t you, George?”
George mumbled something. He didn’t know what all this was about, but he did feel a sense of pride at the respectful way Little Ernie was regarding him