“Norah Ryan,” said Ellen.
“That’s it,” said the man, looking at the girl in the bed. “Perhaps you’ll be her. If you are, you buckle on to Dermod. He’s one that any girl should be proud of; and he can use his fives! But women don’t understand these things.”
“Don’t they?” queried Ellen.
“Some think they do,” said the man. “Well, Dermod went to London and worked on a newspaper as a somethin’. Graft of that kind is not in my line, and the job wasn’t in Dermod’s line neither. He came back here to Glasgow, and he’s lookin’ for his old flame. I’m just helpin’ him.”
“Well, that’s the lass he’s lookin’ for,” said Ellen, pointing to the girl in the bed. “Now run awa’, Joe, and bring Dermod.”
“By all that’s holy! she’s a takin’ wench,” said the man, looking first at the girl, then at Ellen, then back to the girl in the bed again. “Well, I’d better be goin’,” he said.
“Ye’d better,” answered Ellen.
“Are ye well off here?” asked the man, who was apparently unperturbed by Ellen’s remark.
“Gey poorly,” said the woman; “we’ll soon hae a moonlight flittin’; that’s when we have anything to flit with.”
The man dived his hand into his trousers’ pocket, rattled some money, then as if a sudden thought struck him he went towards the door.