There was a pause.

"Phwhat finger's bit?" asked Maloney. Joe thought it was the littlest one
of the lot.

He approached the sofa again, knife in hand.

"Show me yer finger," he said to Dave.

For the first time Dave spoke. He said:

"Damn y'--what the devil do y' want? Clear out and lea' me 'lone."

Maloney hesitated. There was a long silence. Dave commenced breathing
heavily.

"It's maikin' 'm slape," whispered Maloney, glancing over his shoulder at
the women.

"Don't let him! Don't let him!" Mother wailed.

"Salvation to 's all!" muttered Mrs. Maloney, piously crossing herself.

Maloney put away the knife and beckoned to his man, who was looking on
from the door. They both took a firm hold of Dave and stood him upon his
feet. He looked hard and contemptuously at Maloney for some seconds.
Then with gravity and deliberation Dave said: "Now wot 'n th' devil are
y' up t'? Are y' mad?"