‘“How can I pay the lovely man when I haven’t got the price of a drink about me?”
‘The cousin scratched his chin.
‘“Well—here, I’ll lend you a five-pound-note for a month or two. Go and pay the man, and get back to work.”
‘And the Flour went and found Dinny Murphy, and the pair of them had a howling spree together up at Brady’s, the opposition pub. And the cousin said he thought all the time he was being had.
. . . . .
‘He was nasty sometimes, when he was about half drunk. For instance, he’d come on the ground when the Orewell sports were in full swing and walk round, soliloquising just loud enough for you to hear; and just when a big event was coming off he’d pass within earshot of some committee men—who had been bursting themselves for weeks to work the thing up and make it a success—saying to himself—
‘“Where’s the Orewell sports that I hear so much about? I don’t see them! Can any one direct me to the Orewell sports?”
‘Or he’d pass a raffle, lottery, lucky-bag, or golden-barrel business of some sort,—
‘“No gamblin’ for the Flour. I don’t believe in their little shwindles. It ought to be shtopped. Leadin’ young people ashtray.”
‘Or he’d pass an Englishman he didn’t like,—