He paused to notice the effect of his words.
Jimmy’s calm annoyed him; Massey’s indifference was outrageous.
“An’ it’s Jimmy’s share, an’ Connor’s share, an’ it’s Miss Kathleen Kent’s share.”
This time the effect was better. Into Jimmy’s inexpressive face had crept a gleam of interest.
“Kent?” he asked quickly. “Wasn’t that the name of the man——?”
Old Reale chuckled.
“The very feller, Jimmy—the man who came in to lose a tenner, an’ lost ten thousand; who came in next night to get it back, and left his lot. That’s the feller!”
He rubbed his lean hands, as at the memory of some pleasant happening.
“Open that cupboard, Jimmy.” He pointed to an old-fashioned walnut cabinet that stood near the door. “D’ye see anything—a thing that looks like a windmill?”
Jimmy drew out a cardboard structure that was apparently a toy working-model. He handled it carefully, and deposited it on the table by the old man’s side. Old Reale touched it caressingly. With his little finger he set a fly-wheel spinning, and tiny little pasteboard rods ran to and fro, and little wooden wheels spun easily.