“Likeliest! H’if yer puts it that waie, h’I should saie yer’d be likeliest ter find ‘im in a pub.”
Out of the tail of his eye Ocky saw Peter entering.
“Horrid stuff,” he said loudly; then in a whisper to the barmaid, “Give me another three penn’orth.—— Why, hulloa, old son!”
Peter led him into a private room and said he’d pay for it. “D’you remember that night at the Trocadero—you know, when Glory was with us. I told you what I’d do for you if I ever had money. Suppose I could give you a chance to pull straight, what would you do with it?”
Tears came into Ocky’s eyes; he’d grown unused to kindness. “Is it the truth you’re wanting, Peter?—— If you gave me the chance to pull straight, I’d do what I’ve always done—mess it.”
Peter shook his head incredulously and smiled. “Don’t believe you. You’d pull straight fast enough if you knew that anyone cared for you.”
“No one does, except you, Peter.”
“Oh yes, there’s someone—someone whom you and I, yes, and I believe all of us, are always forgetting.”
